#or i oddly relate to it a bit too much

[loonatic260]

So often, I think about how Thomas's relationship with Edward (the blind soldier in season 2) would have gone if Edward was permitted to stay and recover at the hospital. I mean, really, there's so many different scenarios of how things *could* have gone for Thomas if his love interests loved him back (and stuck around long enough to make it work).

During the confrontation in the courtyard (S2E2)... Corporal Barrow to his left, Nurse Crawley to his right, and a badgering doctor in front of him, Edward speaks his mind about wanting to stay. "Please— don't send me away. Not yet," the soldier states, contorlling his emotions. And instead of Thomas being cut off this time, he continues to speak, "Sir, surely we... can still take care of him, until the time comes that he is fully recovered." Thomas looks over to Edward, for the response in his gaze that supports and appreciates his efforts, but is quickly reminded that a look of condolence is hard to get out of a blind man. "Corporal Barrow, you will not speak out of turn—" his tone shifts, "every one of our beds is needed for the injurred and dying. Lieutenant, you will make your recovery at Farley. Corporal, I will see you in my office." The doctor pats Edward's shoulder and turns away, leaving the three in silence. Sybil looks to Thomas, then to Edward, "We are fully capable of keeping you here to treat you until you are better. Thomas, I'm sure we can find a way to change the doctor's mind." Thomas takes a long moment to think of what could be said, but Edward breaks his thought by looking up towards him. Thomas knows those bright eyes can't see him, but Edward's longing for an answer, and longing for some way to stay, are clearly conveyed by that deep stare. Thomas distracts himself from the way the light shown across his face and illuminated his scars. "I don't want to leave, Corporal, not right yet. I don't feel fully recovered yet— a convalescent home won't help me." Thomas looks to Sybil. They both know Edward's outlook on his own life; it isn't good, and if they can get him to stay under their care, they'd know he'd be a healthier man of it.

"Please, one man staying here to recover- or convalesce, as you put it- is not getting in the way of us taking care of other injurred soldiers." Thomas stands opposite of the doctor, only a desk between them but many dense layers of invisible emotions as well. "We have the equipment and time to continue to tend to Edward while caring for others' just as well," Sybil enters the office eagerly to back him up. "I am taken aback by both of your confidence. Nurse Crawley, you may be used to having the social upper-hand, but not here. My decision is final in keeping Ed—" The clicking heels of an adamant, old woman can be heard stomping nearer, alerting Clarkson of his likely misjudgment. "Doctor Clarkson, I do beg your pardon, but have you tended to Lieutenant Courtenay as closely as Corporal Barrow or Nurse Crawley?" Her distinct tone sends exaughst from every hole of the doctor's body. "I do recall Thomas talking with the Lieutenant, reading him his letters, and offering condolences, therefore giving him an accurate assessment of Lieutenant Courtenay's mental health." Sybil looks to Thomas from behind, looking to see even the slightest smile peaking through his cheeks, but Corporal Barrow stays straight-faced. Sybil knows they've won this argument now. "And Nurse Crawley has tended to his physical needs and growth in his condition, so she should be more than qualified- in this circumstance- to claim whether or not Lieutenant Courtenay should continue to be seen here, so if she claims he is still of our assistance, then we shall grant him that." Without much more word from Doctor Clarkson— at least not much anything that Thomas had to listen to due to smirking and showing Sybil his slight excitement— Corporal Barrow met Lieutenant Courtenay at his cot.

"Are you happy to be out of your bandages, Lieutenant Courtenay?" Thomas smiled towards Edward, finding himself repeating natural mannerisms from his service at Downton when it wasn't always necessary, especially right now. "Please, don't call me 'Lieutenant.' I've lost that privilege of title the moment I wasn't able to perform my duties properly anymore." Slouching halfway out from under his sheets, he turned away from the sound of Thomas's voice, imagining the disappointment. "You can call me 'Edward'," the soldier finished. Thomas furrowed his brows, "I told you not to be so hard on yourself. I won't lie to you, and I won't tell you that you'll be able to perform your duties properly again, but I can say that you will- and do- have the opportunity to live a good life." Thomas laid his palms on Edward's knuckles, carefully centered on the soldier's knee as if to plead. "I already told you: don't let other's drag you down. It doesn't matter what they think of ya, or do to ya, so you'll resolve things with your brother and mother—" Thomas saw the muscles in Edward's face start to quiver, "Or else I'll have to go knock some sense into them, and they don't want that!" A chuckle was pulled out of Edward as a tear strolled down his cheek, and Thomas gave a laugh of relief to be able to make Edward smile. "We'll take care of you as long as we can, Edward. We'll make things work. Despite what Clarkson thinks is best for someone he doesn't know."

Sybil smiled from the doorway, watching their interaction, and glad of their soldier's brightened spirits. She'd never seen Thomas so emotional before, but it was an effective way of getting through to Edward. Surprisingly, the doctor listened to Isobel once again; it seems that only Isobel can truly get through to Doctor Clarkson.

[nmakii]

strayed from the main idea of this drabble… oops.

sae itoshi, who loves calling his girl ‘amorcita’. that’s fine, and all. it’s romantic, but he likes calling you his princess much more.

princess is more than just a pet name to him though. because to him, you’re truly a princess, graceful and beautiful despite your faults; someone who deserves to be given the world. he’d go to the ends of the earth to find something that doesn’t exist if you asked him to find it.

it’s not much of an exaggeration when you say that he’s down bad.

he is— he’s just very good at hiding it. he doesn’t boast about you loudly in the ways that someone like that devil— shidou— might, but he instead manages to offhandedly relate any conversation topic to you.

oddly enough, the only other time sae’s ever as talkative or passionate about something other than football, is when he’s talking about you.

that additional time where aiku asked shidou why he was making funny faces in the locker room? after that, sae mentioned, “my princess makes weird faces too. when she’s sleeping, her cheek is always pressed up to me, and it leaves a red mark in the morning. and, she can never manage to keep her mouth closed when she’s asleep. once, i was able to feed her while she was asleep.” and he sighed, silently smiling at the funny memory.

in his first interview after going public with you as his girlfriend, he immediately jumped at the opportunity to mention you. he had always thought that these interviews were an unnecessary hassle. he’s a good football player, and he’ll let his work speak for itself. “right! soo… sae, how are you adjusting to your new team?” the interviewer asks. sae thinks for a moment, his lower lip raising in a slight pout as he thinks of how to answer. “…the center forward has incredible dribbling skills, i’ll admit that. but, his shot range and goal chance percentage are awful. the rate at which he can score goals is still lukewarm.” he sighs disappointedly, “the best striker in the world seems to have not had his awakening yet. it’s annoying, but the city isn’t so bad. there’s a french bakery near my apartment that my princess and i like to frequent. she loves those flaky croissants with chocolate in them— pain au chocolat, but i tend to just get their house black coffee.” he’s recalling your typical order as if it’s the back of his hand, and the flow of his speech is much more relaxed than when he had been speaking about his new team.

and at this point, the interviewer is confused. “pardon… your ‘princess’?” he repeats, trying to confirm what he heard. sae nods, “yes, my princess; my girlfriend. she really likes those chocolate croissants. she eats about a fourth of it in just one bite. and when some hot chocolate from the inside burns her on the lip, she complains a bit and asks me to kiss it better. it’s really cheesy on her part, but i guess i don’t mind if it’s for her.” even sae doesn’t know just what he’s saying. he didn’t mean to reveal this much about how he feels. …yet, here he was, going on like a pining gentleman in love, and remembering how the softness of your lips felt against his as the piping hot chocolate pressed and stuck onto his lips as well.

in his eyes, you’re as close to perfection as there ever will be. it didn’t matter whether or not your physical appearance changed, or if you suddenly decided to change your career path— as long as you stayed as who you are, he’d be at your side.

and to be worthy of such a perfect human being; his princess. he has to become a king— a king of the field. one who domineers the field with his spatial awareness alone, and passes to the one who can keep up with his vision; the greatest egoist. that’s who he needs to become in order to earn your love; to become worthy of being the one that gets to love you every day and every night.

but even so, it’d still never be enough for him. you always make him want to push his limits further, and show you just how amazing he is.

sae’s really down bad for his princess.

[sqgeism]

Can I ask for something related to an Anaxa with a reader who gets nervous easily? An already established relationship.

𐙚 𓏵𓏵𓏵 𐙚 feeling like i need something | amphoreus men x gender neutral reader

💌 — ; feeling like i need you . amphoreus men (anaxa, mydei, phainon) with a nervous reader !

love mail — thank you anonnie for a request, i'm happy to write for you :D not much to say here, just working on a quick reqs (*ﾟーﾟ) does this count as a layout change again (;゜0゜)?

anaxa wasn't entirely sure how to help with your shyness, he was a blunt man, never afraid of confrontation or anything of the sort. but something he noticed was that you had a tendency to fidget, as a fellow professor who taught a major class, sometimes you grew frustrated with your nervousness before teaching a new lesson and possibly messing up (you never have, you're a top teacher and anaxa finds it a little humorous).

but in the faculty, you'd be going over your notes and powerpoints for the students, mumbling and picking at your fingertips. of course, not wanting you to hurt your poor fingers any longer, anaxa makes his way to your desk and pulls his chair next to yours. you look at him, furrowed brows and downturned lips, and he sighs. "here." he holds his hand out to you quietly. "i don't want you picking on your skin anymore. if you so.. need it. use my hand instead. i'll be alright."

now he has you in a loop. he knows you don't want to hurt him, even if it's something as significantly painless as picking at his skin (he gouged his eye out ..), you still don't want to hurt him. so he watches as you poke his knuckles, tug on his fingers, and just use his hand as a little fidget toy.

the morning break for teachers comes to an end, and professors part ways into different classes. anaxa, knowing you were the second teacher in his first class, decides he wants to leave you a surprise. "you'll do great, dove." anaxa murmurs as he presses a kiss to your hand, soothing your worries.

once your second class comes along, you see him exit the classroom and smile at you, holding the door open for you to enter. "how oddly cheery." you think, walking in and placing your material on the teachers desk, until something catches your eye.

"ease your worries, my dove. you're the smartest person in the room, never hesitate to speak that brilliant mind of yours."

a letter, simple as it is, you know it's from the heart. anaxa had long left, likely not wanting to be late, but your chest swells with pride.

you receive a commendation later that day, the students have all passed their homework early and had been genuinely invested in your class. <3

mydei is gentle, but still urges you to try and come out of your comfort zone. taking you to meet the children, long strolls to ease your worries after a long day, all of those little things. something you seem to particularly shy away from, is eye contact.

now mydei knows he's a bit.. on the intimidating side, but he finds it funny that you can't look at him too long or you'll turn away.

so he's made some sort of 'training' for you. which is really just staring into his eyes. sometimes (all the time) he makes it harder by caressing your cheek, or brushing hair away from your face, simple things that fluster you with ease. it's funny, he won't lie, but he wants to help you. eye contact is important during conversations (and he wants to see your eyes when he talks to you).

one day, after a few weeks of this, mydei had called you over to ask you for something. unfortunately, the warrior had 'completely forgotten'. and you two stared at each other as he tried to figure it out. the entire time, you held eye contact, even smiled at him in a baffled manner. only for him to lean down and press a kiss to your lips right after.

"you did great, sweetheart" is all he says before going on his day.

phainon doesn't mind your nervousness. he'd want to help you try and move past it, but he'd hate for you to feel pressured. so instead, he makes you laugh! whenever something makes you feel a little anxious, he cracks a joke or pulls you closer, wanting to stray you away from that experience or moment. his goal is to eliminate the cause of your anxiety, but he knows he can't always do that. so he makes due with words of encouragement, getting your spirit and confidence high as he cheers for you like he's been on a cheer team for five years. probably your biggest supporter, he's sure of it.

if you struggle with stuttering, he's sure to guide you through it. he's serious the entire time you practice a script or a presentation, helping you calm down every time you start to stutter from the pressure or grow frustrated with yourself when you forget a line.

"hey, hey, baby. you're doing great." phainon's holding down your wrists kindly because he knows you'll sometimes hit your head out of annoyance with yourself. he doesn't want that. "try again, slowly. the world isn't ending, honey. take your time."

you eventually memorize the presentation and phainon jumps out of his seat and cheers, wrapping you in a bear hug and exclaiming how proud he is of you to the aeon's.

© sqgeism or wtv (^_^;)

[petermorwood]

More on pre-electricity lighting.

Interesting to see this one pop up again after nearly two years - courtesy of @dduane, too! :->

*****

After experiencing a couple more storm-related power cuts since my original post, as well as a couple of after-dark garden BBQs, I've come to the conclusion that C.J. Cherryh puts far too much emphasis on "how dark things were pre-electric light".

For one thing eyes adjust, dilating in dim light to gather whatever illumination is available. Okay, if there's none, there's none - but if there's some, human eyes can make use of it, some better or just faster than others. They're the ones with "good night vision".

Think, for instance, of how little you can see of your unlit bedroom just after you've turned off the lights, and how much more of it you can see if you wake up a couple of hours later.

There's also that business of feeling your way around, risking breaking your neck etc. People get used to their surroundings and, after a while, can feel their way around a familiar location even in total darkness with a fair amount of confidence.

Problems arise when Things Aren't Where They Should Be (or when New Things Arrive) and is when most trips, stumbles, hacked shins and stubbed toes happen, but usually - Lego bricks and upturned UK plugs aside - non-light domestic navigation is incident-free.

*****

Here are a couple of pics from one of those BBQs: one candle and a firepit early on, then the candle, firepit and an oil lamp much later, all much more obvious than DD's iPad screen.

Though I remain surprised at how well my phonecam was handling this low light, my own unassisted eyes were doing far better. For instance, that area between the table and the firepit wasn't such an impenetrable pool of darkness as it appears in the photo.

I see (hah!) no reason why those same Accustomed Eyes would have any more difficulty with candles or oil lamps as interior lighting, even without the mirrors or reflectors in my previous post.

With those, and with white interior walls, things would be even brighter. There's a reason why so many reconstructed period buildings in Folk Museums etc. are (authentically) whitewashed not just outside but inside as well. It was cheap, had disinfectant qualities, and was a reflective surface. Win, win and win.

*****

All right, there were no switches to turn on a light. But there was no need for what C.J. describes as stumbling about to reach the fire, because there were tinderboxes and, for many centuries before them, flint and steel. Since "firesteels" have been heraldic charges since the 1100s, the actual tool must have been in use for even longer.

Tinderboxes were fire-starter sets with flint, steel and "tinder" all packed into (surprise!) a box. The tinder was easily lit ignition material, often "charcloth", fabric baked in an airtight jar or tin which would now start to glow just from a spark.

They're mentioned in both "The Hobbit" and "The Lord of the Rings". Oddly enough, "Hobbit" mentions matches in a couple of places, but I suspect that's a carry-over from when it was just a children's story, not part of the main Legendarium.

Tinderboxes could be simple, just a basic flint-and-steel kit with some tinder for the sparks to fall on...

...or elaborate like this one, with a fancy striker, charcloth, kindling material and even wooden "spills" (long splinters) to transfer flame to a candle or the kindling...

This tinderbox even doubles as a candlestick, complete with a snuffer which would have been inside along with everything else.

Here's a close-up of the striker box with its inner and outer lids open:

What looks like a short pencil with an eraser is actually the striker. A bit of tinder or charcloth would have been pulled through that small hole in the outer lid, which was then closed.

There was a rough steel surface on the lid, and the striker was scraped along it, like so:

This was done for a TV show or film, so the tinder was probably made more flammable with, possibly, lighter fuel. That would be thoroughly appropriate, since a Zippo or similar lighter works on exactly the same principle.

A real-life version of any tinderbox would usually just produce glowing embers needing blown on to make a flame, which is shown sometimes in movies - especially as a will-it-light-or-won't-it? tension build - but is usually a bit slow and non-visual for screen work.

*****

There were even flintlock tinderboxes which worked with the same mechanism as those on firearms. Here's a pocket version:

Here are a couple of bedside versions, once again complete with a candlestick:

And here are three (for home defence?) with a spotlight candle lantern on one side and a double-trigger pistol on the other.

Pull one trigger to light the candle, pull the other trigger to fire the gun.

What could possibly go wrong? :-P

*****

Those pistol lanterns, magnified by lenses, weren't just to let their owner see what they were shooting at: they would also have dazzled whatever miscreant was sneaking around in the dark, irises dilated to make best use of available glimmer.

Swordsmen both good and bad knew this trick too, and various fight manuals taught how to manage a thumb-shuttered lamp encountered suddenly in a dark alley.

There's a sword-and-lantern combat in the 1973 "Three Musketeers" between Michael York (D'Artagnan) and Christopher Lee (Rochefort), which was a great idea.

Unfortunately it failed in execution because the "Hollywood Darkness" which let viewers see the action, wasn't dark enough to emphasise the hazards / advantages of snapping the lamps open and shut.

This TV screencap (can't get a better one, the DVD won't run in a computer drive) shows what I mean.

In fact, like the photos of the BBQ, this image - and entire fight - looks even brighter through "real eyes" than with the phonecam. Just as there can be too much dark in a night scene, there can also be too much light.

*****

One last thing I found when assembling pics for the post were Folding Candle-lanterns.

They were used from about the mid-1700s to the later 20th century (Swiss Army ca. 1978) as travel accessories and emergency equipment, and IMO - I've Made A Note - they'd fit right into a fantasy world whose tech level was able to make them.

The first and last are reproductions: this one is real, from about 1830.

The clear part was mica - a transparent mineral which can be split into thin flexible sheets - while others use horn / parchment, though both of these are translucent rather than transparent. Regardless, all were far less likely to break than glass.

One or two inner surfaces were usually tin, giving the lantern its own built-in reflector, and tech-level-wise, tin as a shiny or decorative finish has been used since Roman times.

I'm pretty sure that top-of-the-line models could also have been finished with their own matching, maybe even built-in, tinderboxes.

And if real ones didn't, fictional ones certainly could. :->

*****

Yet more period lighting stuff here, including flintlock alarm clocks (!)

[emberwhite]

Do people judge a book by its cover? They absolutely do. They take one look at this, and they either often instantly hate it or love it.

Talking about how things should be is just yelling into the void. There is just reality. And this is the reality of being a self-published indie author.

People make complete conclusions based off of incomplete information. In this case, my book, there are no adults pressuring the boy into getting any surgery. There's no mention of surgery at all even. This person is thinking of a children's book written by a very popular political figure. Some people have had the courtesy to ask me if it's like that book. It's not at all. It's not even political. It's a story told from the perspective of a kid who grows up knowing they are very different and yet can tell no one about it. Even saying a word about it would bring all of his deepest and darkest fears into reality.

The challenge was to make the story as dark and scary as I could without ever going too far for a children's book. There are already some scary children's books and movies out there that prove what's possible, and I worked with my illustrator, Marta, to push it as far as we could go. There's one page we had to re-do almost completely because even I said that's a bit much.

But I'm very happy with the final result because we also got to do so many fun and colorful pages like this.

There will be plenty more drive-by reviews as the book continues to grow and grow. They take one look and see a soapbox to express all of their disappointments and frustrations in life.

I think they might be scared of the book. The world they grew up in is slowly fading away day by day, and it's all they have come to know. They've been around for so long that everything has become a bore to them, and the only remaining pleasure is to escape into the past in order to better preserve it. I can oddly relate, actually.

So the book is on Amazon, and you can watch the whole thing for free on YouTube as well. If you get the chance, let me know what you think. Literally, watching it for free and then giving it a simple rating on Amazon is the best way to support the book. But I also love waking up to reviews like this every day.

[itsnesss]

hi can I please make a request for Axel Kovacevic. Just finished season 6 and I’m in love with him. I’m thinking super fluffy where he and y/n meet at the tournament and it’s like love at first sight. He can show her around Barcelona and maybe they finally kiss or something and with her teammate’s (Miyagi-Do ) reactions to their relation ship. Maybe also something with the huge fight at the end and the cobra Kai guy kicks y/n and axel goes all protective mode and comforts her after beating up the other guy. Sorry this is so long I’m just rambling😅

𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐚 | axel kovacevik × fem!reader

summary | they fall in love at first sight and he shows you places in Barcelona while confessing his feelings to you, a bit of reactions from his friends at Miyagi-Do

warnings | fluff, romance, emotional tension

word count | 1.5 k

Ever since you saw him defeat the Cobra Kai guys in the first match, something changed inside you. There was something about the way Axel fought: so direct, so confident, without hesitation. It wasn't just his combat prowess that had drawn you in, but the way he handled pressure, how he never lost his cool, and that commanding presence that seemed to control the space around him. The guys from Cobra Kai didn't stand a chance, and even though you'd been focused on your own matches, you couldn't help but admire the way Axel moved, with a confidence that was hard to ignore.

That day, after practice, you decided to go out and explore the city a bit. As you were walking down the hallway of the gym, someone caught your eye. You were surprised to see it so close, after having seen it sweep the tatami. He was even more impressive in person, but there was also something different about him. Despite her strong exterior, there was a much softer energy, as if her sincere gaze and reserved smile hid a sweeter and, oddly enough, shy side.

When his eyes met yours, a shiver ran down your spine. It was an instant spark, although you didn't understand what had caused it. Axel looked at you with that confident look, but also a little cautious, as if he wanted to know more about you before taking another step.

"Wow, a Miyagi-Do in person," he said in a soft tone, almost as if apologizing for his closeness.

You couldn't help but blush, though you tried to keep your composure.

"I'm not the only one," you replied, not thinking too much about what you were saying, but the words sounded almost like an apology.

Axel smiled calmly, but his gaze was different.

"First time in Barcelona?" He asked, and his voice had a softness that made you feel comfortable.

"Yes, it's impressive," you said, looking out over the city.

"Would you like me to show you around the city?" There's a lot more to it than the tournament here. "I can show you some of my favorite places," Axel looked at you with a genuine smile.

You were silent, feeling a mixture of confusion and attraction. You hadn't come to Barcelona for sightseeing, but something about their proposal made you think that maybe you needed a break. The city, the atmosphere... Everything seemed so different to you.

"Okay" Finally, you nodded, not quite knowing why, but with the feeling that you didn't want to let that opportunity pass you by.

Axel looked at you with a subtle smile as they walked through the streets of Barcelona together. They had already traveled through several areas, from Park Güell to the Gothic Quarter, and now they were near the Olympic Port, enjoying the peaceful atmosphere while the sound of the sea reached their ears softly.

In the middle of his walk, Axel, who until then had been somewhat reserved, suddenly stopped, looking at you in a way you hadn't seen before. There was something in his eyes, a faint glimmer of vulnerability that you hadn't noticed until that moment.

"You know?" He said, his voice soft, but somewhat more serious. "I know that, sometimes, I can seem intimidating and scary. All that Iron Dragons stuff, the attitude... Many see me as the tough guy. But, actually, I'm a mess when it comes to this." Axel pointed to the space between the two, as if he was referring to something bigger than the simple act of walking together. "You should get a little closer".

You were silent, surprised by his frankness. For a moment, you thought that what he had just said was a confession of insecurity, one that you hadn't expected from someone like him.

"Axel..." you whispered, before pausing for a moment, staring him in the eye. The intensity of his gaze made you feel as if time stood still. And, without thinking too much, you completed your thought: "I'm not afraid of you, not at all."

The relief on his face was immediate. Axel, who had been in a kind of silent tension up until that point, now seemed a little more relaxed. His smile widened, and his posture, which had been somewhat rigid before, now showed a confidence that you had not seen before.

"That makes me feel... Good," he said, and his voice was full of unexpected tenderness. It wasn't just about his words, but how he said them, as if he was sharing something important to him. "People always think that I am someone who is not afraid of anything. But the truth is that there are many things that scare me... And I'm not just talking about the fights or the tournament. There are things I've never known how to handle... like this." He waved his hand, pointing to the air between the two of them, but his gaze was still fixed on yours.

Your heart took a small leap. Although you didn't have a clear idea of what was going on between you and Axel, something in his sincerity touched you deeply. There was something about his attitude that made you feel that all of this, everything that was going on between you, was real. It was not just a whim of the moment or a game. There was something genuine, something that Axel had inadvertently let through.

You got a little closer, not knowing what to say, but feeling a need to be closer to him. Axel did not back down. In fact, he took a small step towards you, until both of you were only a few inches away from each other. The tension between you somehow disappeared. It was as if the world around them was fading away, leaving them both in their own bubble, oblivious to the noise of the city.

"I wish this wasn't just a moment. Don't just make it because of the tournament," Axel spoke again, this time with a seriousness in his tone that made your chest beat faster. You could see in his eyes that he wasn't playing, that his words were serious.

"I'm sorry, but I don't want you to see me as a distraction. Or as something that might interfere with your goal," you said, with a slight nervousness, but you looked at it with determination, as if you were looking for an answer, a confirmation.

Axel let out a soft laugh, almost as if he was telling you without words that you had nothing to worry about.

"I'm not seeing you as a distraction," he said with a calm smile

Then, without warning, Axel moved a little closer, until the touch of his lips touched yours. It was a soft, tender kiss, as if they were both tasting water for the first time, doubtful but determined. It was not a passionate kiss, but it was charged with a feeling of complicity and emotion that enveloped you completely.

When they parted, Axel took a deep breath, as if he had been holding his breath the entire time. His face was more relaxed, and his smile, though shy, was sincere.

You lost count of how many times you had kissed that night before and after arriving at the hotel, it seemed that you had become addicted to him in just a few minutes, unfortunately you both had to rest for the day that awaited you so without wanting to do so you went to your room without stopping thinking about him, and not a little about the consequences it could bring.

The next day was a challenge. The tournament was still everyone's main focus, but for you, there was something more important than competing. As you got ready in the hotel lobby, with your companions by your side, you couldn't help but think about what had happened between you and Axel.

Miguel, Sam, Robby, and Hawk arrived in the lobby, chatting about the fighting, but as soon as they saw you, Hawk's gaze didn't go unnoticed.

"Hey, is that true?" he asked you, his tone somewhat incredulous, but with a hint of curiosity. "Did we see you last night with Axel, the guy from Iron Dragons?"

The question made you pause for a second, your heart racing, as you tried to find the right words.

"What about that?" you replied, not wanting the situation to become more uncomfortable than it already was.

Hawk, frowning, didn't seem entirely convinced.

"Are you messing with that monster?" His tone was sharper than you expected, and for a moment you thought the conversation might become even more tense.

"Don't call him that, Hawk. You don't know him," you replied, defending Axel without a second thought. It surprised even yourself.

Sam, noticing the discomfort in the air, quickly chimed in with a reassuring smile.

"You have to leave it. If she likes it and is happy, that's all that matters" Sam looked at you with support, as if he wanted to defuse the situation before it got any more complicated.

Miguel also raised his hand, joking to lighten the atmosphere.

"Hawk, are you afraid that someone else will steal the limelight?" Miguel said, with a mocking smile, which made the tension in the group decrease a little.

Robby, with his usual calmness, took a step forward.

"Do what you feel is right, but don't let it influence the tournament," Robby smiled at you, trusting that you knew what was best.

"Look who says it," Miguel let out a small laugh, which lightened the atmosphere even more.

Hawk, though still with a somewhat reluctant expression, said nothing more. The atmosphere, although still tense, began to clear.

[syluses]

omg I saw your post about frontman!sylus in a squid game au! now the rot is taking over my brain

does sylus have a heartbreaking moment with the reader where he fake dies like the real frontman does in the show? I can imagine it so clearly where reader is devastated that someone she's become so close with is taken from her in one of the last few rounds of the game... until she wins and is escorted to the office where he unmasks and her heart drops in relief that he's alive! but wait... why are you up here, all cleaned up and in a similar uniform to the guards?.. until it finally clicks and the relief morphs into horror...

would love to hear your thoughts!

frontman! sylus

cw. squidgame! au, manipulation, being held hostage, yandere themes, 1.5k

an. nonnie i loooove the way you think!! 😣sorry i was sitting on this but im actually obsessed & just wanted to give it some extra thought bc your idea is 🔥🔥 MWAH sorry its a lil long im insane and sleepy lol :,)

Frontman! Sylus is unreachable to most guards.

With the attention the games require of him and other related matters (communication, keeping the place under wraps, organizing meetings, just to name a few), it’s gonna take a little more than just a red mask to score a conversation with him. He’s worked for. Not worked with. To most, he’s just a deep, mechanical voice who stands tall behind a wall of television screens, and someone in so much power that it’s implicitly understood that he is not to be fucked or toyed with. So all obey him.

He expects nothing but order and blind loyalty and even though it brings a certain monotony he can’t quite shake, he gets exactly what he demands.

Frontman! Sylus is disgustingly wealthy through underhanded means, but he’s oddly classy for someone who holds a mantle earned entirely through blood and violence. This is one big dirty game he oversees, but the contestants know what they’re signing up for, so he can’t really will himself into guilt when they’re all the same— different faces and names but identical minds and hearts. Corrupted. Selfish.

Sylus values a purity that cannot be found within the massive walls of red light green light as players push and step over each other; dalgona, as idiotic sheep use contraband lighters and sweat as a ticket to the next game; mingle, as the more irredeemable of the men yank women from their rooms and lock the door behind them. Sylus also values a purity that does not exist within himself, or not anymore: whatever he had of that is beaten to a pulp as hours pass behind an obsidian mask and he grows colder for it.

Richer, too, so powerful it’s scary— but that’s beside the point.

With every match he witnesses, he loses another scrap of faith he had in humanity. To be fair, he knows he’s no saint, he would never claim to be, but—

But when you come along— a bungling girl who’s landed herself in a debt she can’t hope to climb out of, surprisingly kind to the others but a bit too naive- resourceful, though, enough to inspire the success of several other contestants— his world tilts. A hand reaches through the static of his screen and dares to lift his mask. He sees your pretty face staring agog at the floating piggybank when he closes his eyes: the aquamarine jersey, the white label 109, seared into his conscience and there to stay.

And at first, he’s intrigued more than anything. It’s just curiosity. Maybe a little bit of mean amusement too, okay sure- he’ll admit it’s a whit hard to not chuckle when you cutely plead for the bathroom to a stoic guard(— it’s alright, let 109 in— ) who’s just not hearing you or nearly fall off your bunk amidst a very fitful sleep.

But those feelings that develop within the span of a couple days are nothing too crazy, nothing he can’t manage and process.

For a short time.

You seem a silly, clumsy girl at face value, your trembling hands, clear as day through the monitor, a blatant sign of the fear you do a damn bad job at hiding- yet it’s not enough to cloud your mind. You prevail through the games and pull some unexpected, winning move right when he’s convinced you’ll succumb to stupidity, a mistake (either yours or another’s), or the malicious will of someone you’d looked at as a friend mere moments before the timer started.

You’re clever. Adaptive. He’s reminded of bunnies and how even the smallest, fairest of creatures have the base survival instinct in them; you’ll do what you must to make it out of here.

Your half-baked plan of going along with the flow and later adjusting to it is as unreliable as it is unable to be helped- you don’t have much better options in such an unpredictable environment. It goes surprisingly well, though, and earns both the respect and attention of an otherwise unfeeling frontman.

Well, it goes well up until it doesn’t. It goes well until it’s nighttime and the lights go out and Sylus braces for utter chaos to unloose itself between the bunks— unexpectedly stiff behind his screen as he searches for your figure amidst a collage of thermal shapes. Your ragtag group of misfits (the unwanted: elderly folk, females and the disabled) is attacked and takes an impressive stand, but you’re just a girl at the end of the day, and your foes are more numbered, so much bigger and infinitely more cruel—

Sylus rushes out the viewing room, briskly replacing his ominous, black garb for a teal-blue tracksuit. There’s no questions asked; the guards carry on with their jobs quietly, noting their boss’s strange behavior with a little jerk of their heads but no outward shock is risked beyond that.

They give him a wide berth because the look smoldering in ruby-red eyes is frightening.

Sylus decides right then, in the unfurling havoc, that he’s sure as hell no saint but he can play the part for a few games if it means saving your ass now.

And eventually, when it’s dwindled down to just a few players, he’ll even be a martyr. He’s not entirely sure why he does what he does where your presence is involved, the measures he goes to— all Sylus knows is that he needs to protect you from the fucked-up, dog-eat-dog world (and maybe the consequences of your own financial actions), and maybe endear yourself to him in the process.

…What better way to endear yourself to him than to watch as he consistently puts his life on the line for you throughout the course of the next few games-? snarling in the faces of other hostile, foolish players while you’re cowering behind his broad back, guarding you like a hound as you rest, suggesting his arms as your ulitimate safehouse and whispering shh, sweetie, I won’t let anything get close tonight, so sleep.

To hell with all that— what better way to endear yourself to him than to die in your place?

So he does. Or, you’re all but convinced he does, and that’s all that matters.

In the last round, more or less the grand finale of the whole game, he goes out like a hero, sacrificing himself for you with a few dying words and a gentle command ‘to remain true to yourself’ as you cup his face for as long as you’re allowed before the red-suited figures almost hesitantly step over and drag him away. Sylus knows telling you his name is risky- even making a short cameo in the activities is life-threatening- but he can’t find it in him to regret it when you’re howling it over the speakers, knelt to the ground and ugly-crying as you shake your fists. No doubt you’re blaming yourself, deciding in your heart that it should’ve been you instead of him.

No, it should’ve been everybody else, kitten, and he made damned sure it was.

Sylus is charmed by it, readying himself by the door as a muffled hubbub of boots echo on the other side, committing your each and every kindness to memory. It wounds him, again to his own surprise, to see you so devastated and know he’s the catalyst for it, but a part of him preens when you’re so wrapped up in your own heartbreak over his supposed death that you forget your handsome cash prize entirely.

Unselfish girl. Beautiful girl. His chest puffs with pride. You really are his girl.

And in the end, all of these rotten games were worth it, the time and violence and the better part of his humanity. Even if you don’t quite realize that yet, stumbling through his door with wobbling knees and a ruddy face that quickly warps with a plethora of emotions- confusion, relief, and then a brilliant look of mortification that steals the breath from his lungs- even if it takes time and patience on his end to work you through it. He’ll gently assure that he won’t hurt you, that you’ll never end up as an insignificant player in those childish killing fields again.

He’ll scoop your broken pieces up in his strong arms and tuck you under his chin, to his breast, murmuring sweet nothings as he sends his watchful unit of guards a quiet look to leave the room. And of course they do because they value their heads.

“You did well, Sweetie- but don’t forget about your prize, hm? Tonight, I’ll give you more than you could possibly imagine,” he plants a kiss to your forehead, sickeningly tender, and knuckles aside the hair matted there, damp from all your needless sobbing.

He chuckles lightly, voice velvety soft. “I think some… thanks are in order, don’t you?”

[theseinfernalangels]

Kiss It Better? — Sawyer Henrick

Synopsis: Sawyer comes back from sparring in need of a little TLC (Mender!Reader).

A/N: The voices got too loud. I’m giving myself the responsibility for filling up the Sawyer tag since my boy doesn’t have that many fics for some odd reason. A little bit suggestive, but not enough to warrant a huge warning.

Includes: Fluff, hurt-comfort, Sawyer being touch-starved. Takes place during Iron Flame.

     With a heavy thud, you slam your textbook shut and groan into the silence of your empty room. You loved Violet Sorrengail, truly, but her commitment to studying books from front to back was honestly excruciating. For such a small woman, she had huge brain, and even bigger patience when it came to historical academia.

     You could not relate. You’d rather re-memorize the muscular system than read another Brief History of Navarre excerpt. You silently curse your boyfriend, Sawyer, for making that pact with Violet last year — to teach her combat in exchange for the more academic classes. Sure, her knowledge kept the Iron Squad (and, by extension, you) afloat, but if you looked at another map of Navarre’s evolving borders, you’d just about lose it.

    You pause. Wait. Speaking of which…Where was your aforementioned boyfriend? He usually stopped by your room at least once a day, just to see you and give you some much-needed loving, but you’d only seen a glimpse of him in the morning before he had to go and do his Executive Officer duties. You weren’t necessarily a clingy person, but…You missedhim. Like, a lot. Maybe it was because it was almost that time of the month, or maybe because you’d gotten so used to seeing him all the time — you weren’t exactly sure.

     Your dragon, Cridhe, lets out an amused rumble. “Never have I heard you yearn for the Russet One’s company so hard.”

     Your lips droop into an indignant pout. “I’m not yearning,” you argue. “I just…Oh, dammit. You’re right. I’m pathetic, Cridhe. I miss him.”

     Cridhe snorts. “Pathetic isn’t necessarily the word I’d use, Ciúin. Perhaps infatuated. Definitely not pathetic.”

     He abruptly adds, “Trust me, I’ve seen plenty of pathetic humans in my time. You being oddly clingy to the Russet One is just you being a young woman.”

     You raise an eyebrow. Trust your own dragon to reduce your love into girlhood. “You sound like my dad.”

     Cridhe barks out a laugh. “I can assure you, I do not sound like Major Callahan. I think I’d need to have a little more audacity to my character.”

     Before you can respond, there’s a familiar knock at your door. Two long knocks and then a short one, followed by what sounds like the rapping of a single finger against the wood. Your special knock. Sawyer.

     I really need to figure out how to modify the wards so he can just walk in himself, you think as you slide off your bed and swing your door open. You’re met with tired but amused eyes as Sawyer leans against the side of your door, patiently waiting for you to pull him in. You open your mouth to greet him cheerfully — the literal sight of him has boosted your mood tremendously — before you falter.

     “Were you…sparring?” you ask, tilting your head. He’s got a split lip, and bruises seem to trail over his neck and under his shirt. It’s nothing new, but it definitely alarms you.

     His soft smile warms your heart. “Yeah. Seems like that one girl in your squad, Holt, had it out for Aetos earlier. She decided to use me as her personal punching bag.”

     You snort, grabbing his hand and yanking him into your room. “Not surprised. Those two have got issues.”

     Sawyer closes the door behind him and wastes no time in settling on your bed. At the beginning of your relationship, he would have just stood awkwardly in the corner and waited for you to tell him that, Yes, you’re fine, you can sit. Now, though, he’s less hesitant and just plops down, looking at you expectantly.

     Another great thing about Sawyer Henrick: He was just as clingy as you.

     You practically float over to him, climbing on to his lap and throwing your arms around him. You tuck your face into his neck and breathe in his scent — woodsy, with the slightest hint of vanilla — and sigh. “Missed you.”

     His chest rumbles gently as he laughs. “So I heard. Sliseag told me so.”

     Your eyebrows furrow for a moment. How would Sawyer’s dragon know you missed him?

     “Oh,” you huff quietly when you connect the dots. “Dammit, Cridhe.”

      Your dragon’s silence practically confirms his guilt. Sawyer laughs a little harder at your ensuing complaints. “It’s alright, darling. I missed you, too. I didn’t get to see you earlier.”

     You draw back enough to face him and actually look at him. In the dying sunlight, he looks ethereal. Even with a split lip and bruised skin, the sun makes his hair look more orange, and his freckles stand out in the light. If you weren’t so tired, you’d count every single one of them and then retrace your steps about five times over.

     “It’s okay,” you reply, tracing his features with a single finger. “That just means you get to stay here longer.”

     The wince he looses when your finger brushes over his lips doesn’t make it past you. “Sore?”

     He nods and then averts his gaze. When he looks back to you, you notice that his cheeks have turned a little pink. “…Kiss it better?” he queries, his voice a little hesitant. It seems old mannerisms die hard, especially for a shy boy like him.

     Fortunately for you, you were dying to get your lips on him anyway. You study his bruises for a moment, your eyes trailing down to his neck. Yeah, sundown was definitely his time; he looked utterly divine despite his skin being marred with flecks of purple. Your finger snags the edge of his shirt, pulling it down to expose more bruising. You meet his eyes for a moment, his pupils slightly dilated and sparkly as ever. Cute.

     You lean down, brushing your lips against his neck and allowing your signet to ignite and soothe the skin of his throat. His breath catches, his fingers gripping your waist a little harder at the heated rush that sings against his skin.

     “Not what I had in mind,” he murmurs, his words a little shaky, “but…Damn, darling. You’re something else, aren’t you, sweet girl?”

     You smile against his neck as you keep moving your lips up and around the damaged skin, shifting your thighs slightly as you lean closer to him. “Not really,” you hum against his skin. “You’re just sensitive sometimes.”

     He can’t — and doesn’t — argue with you. He barely opens his mouth in fear of any soft noises escaping him as you kiss up his throat, Mending his bruises little by little as you go. You’re not sure where this desire of yours came from; maybe it’s because you haven’t seen Sawyer for a little longer than you’d like, or maybe it’s because he just looks too good like this, or maybe it’s because you’re not too great at shielding yet and Cridhe is quite the romantic dragon. You’re not sure, but you’re egged on by the feeling of rough fingertips scraping against the hem of your shirt, threatening to dip under to the skin of your stomach if you continue.

     You suddenly get a bright idea. 

     Pausing in your movements, you ask him, “Sawyer? Did you miss me, too?”

     He barely registers your question, his eyes glued shut and his mind swimming in the velvet sensation of your lips on him. He cracks an eye open, though, once you speak, his voice breaking slightly. 

     “Of course I did, darling,” he sighs. “Like I said, I barely — Shiiiit.”

     His words are cut off by a ragged curse as you trace the warm tip of your tongue in a figure-eight around one last purple mark by his pulse point, which pounds furiously under your mouth.

      Sawyer groans. “You evil, evil woman. You set me up.”

     You grin, sweetly pecking his jaw. “Maybe,” you giggle, drawing back from the crook of his neck to look at him fully. Your lovely, patient boyfriend was looking at you through half-lidded eyes, his chest heaving as though your lips had produced some sort of chokehold on him. Maybe, in a way, you had, given how he gripped your hips with his short nails digging into your flesh.

     You lean in, nose-to-nose, your mouth barely brushing his lips. “Something tells me,” you add, your hand moving to rest on his shoulder, “that you’re not going to complain about it.”

     He closes the distance between you two, catching you slightly off-guard. You snap out of your daze, though, early enough that you can reach with one hand to cup his jaw to keep his face still as you press your lips firmly to the wound on his, your signet Mending the flesh with a rush of heat to accompany the oddly satisfying feeling of his lip knitting itself back together. The feeling makes his hands drop and grab at the nearest part of you — the back of your thighs — and squeeze, forcing a sharp inhale from you.

     Sawyer pulls back (much to your dismay), his hands shaking as he reaches for the hem of his shirt. You almost ask what he thinks he’s doing, but he slowly drags the fabric up, exposing the skin of his toned stomach…Which also happens to be littered with yellow and purple bruises.

     He just looks at you, his expression unreadable. “These, too?”

     You can’t help the fond but mischievous smile that graces your lips as you peck his newly-Mended lower lip. “I thought you’d never ask, pretty boy.”

[ohmy-gojo]

ceo! shouto having a crush on his cute assistant!reader

"mr. todoroki? would you like coffee?" you softly smiled at him.

shouto never felt the need to have an assistant. he was organized, having every file sort in alphabetical and color coded order, and all the important times and dates were written on his laptop. he was capable of handling himself just fine.

his dad on the other hand, suggested he should get one, saying how this will help him save time. with natsuo supporting his father's words and touya chiming in too ('itd be nice if the assistant is adorable,' he said) shouto ended up agreeing. he supposes some free time for himself is actually what he needed

so thats were you came, looking way out of place in this giant office of theirs. you were probably the youngest worker here and with a sunny smile on your face, an ipad decorated with stickers and handbag full of keychains you stuck out like a sore thumb in an office which mostly consisted of suit wearing officers or sleep deprived employees.

at first he was a little confused by you smiling so much, working in this company is really not fun at all. the workers under his father go through hell and are most of the time cranky because of it (he wouldnt say theyre mean.. but his father could be a lot so he understands) so he expected them to be a little.. rough with you? but apparently you won them over (it really didnt take much, you just made coffee for them sometimes)

you actually were quite diligent in your work. you adapted to his work routine and managed his schedule and work related things quite well. but at the same time you were a bit more on the friendly side. during lunch or coffee breaks you would come and chat with him. and sometimes when he skipped meals or was working overtime, you would gently scold him and offer to write the paperworks for him. on lunch time you would both have lunch together in his office with you talking about some random thing and he would listen to you attentively. you had offhandedly once asked him what his favorite food was one day and the next day you made him cold soba packed in a bento. sometimes you also make him take a walk with you near the park by their office building when you notice he should take a break. it was your first job so he could tell you didnt know that it was a bit unprofessional to act this way with your boss, but secretly he enjoyed your conversations or the way you doted on him.

it wasnt until touya said his assistant 'was such a doll' and how he wants you as his assistant, he started to feel oddly jealous. why was he feeling this way towards his assistant? he asked fuyumi, who laughed at his clueless look and said maybe he has a crush on you. he blinked. thats where everything started clicking in, so him being happy with you doting on him, his heart stuttering when your hands brushed while giving him files or being possessive (although silently) over you was all because of his crush on you??

so he planned on confessing to you, now that he could name his feelings he wanted to share it with you, like you share your last onigiri with him. but everytime he was scared, what if you rejected him? what if you liked touya?! lately he also found you absolutely beautiful and your smile, oh your smile now makes him absolutely nervous to spell out his feelings to you. like the way youre smiling at him now–

wait has he been staring at you and getting lost again? you asked him a question probably 5 minutes ago and are still staring at him expectantly and he was just staring at you like a fool?! you waved a hand in front his face to get his attention.

"Are you off to the dreamland again?" you giggled. "I wonder what you always think so hard about, is it cold soba?"

he huffed. he couldnt tell you it was far from cold soba.. it was your pretty eyes.

he should really confess soon so he doesnt end up making a fool in front of you again and get teased by you... maybe it would be his turn to fluster you from now on? he smiled at his thoughts.

[toto-the-cactus]

Primarchs + Daughters (2)

Finally finished the damn part two. Been kinda busy here and there with my new job but lo and behold, the one yall asked for. Soon enough, yall find out why it took me a while writing this one for the two main guys I had to add here.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

Konrad Curze

A’right, I’ll open this one with the fact we all know that this man shouldn’t even be legally allowed to have children. I’m gonna be real for a hot second and admit that I stared at the screen for HOURS not knowing what to write because any poor little girl that is born from this guy will have the dubious privilege of being the most sheltered and hidden secret the Primarch ever kept close. With all those visions of death and inevitable doom mixed with the sudden power rush that fatherhood gave him, it left in its wake a perfect storm for this lunatic to develop a paranoid and obsessive need (NEED) to keep his daughter safe; something hard to achieve when he already knows the essence of his Legion. His fatalistic nature regarding his own future would suddenly clash violently with the Primarch’s new found protective stance concerning his child. It's almost sad to consider that this poor man GENUINELY wished to avoid becoming the monster his visions showed, but knowing that he’ll be balancing in the thin line of one day hurting his precious girl (or worse than that) it'll put him in the hard decision of having to let go of her eventually. He is no Perturabo, for that matter. In the rare and far away moments of lucidity, I can see Konrad choosing to protect the innocence and life of his child by trusting in the last person ANYONE might expect the Night Hunter would seek help: Vulkan. Honestly this is just plain sad, man.

Sanguinius

This is it! The golden boy, yall! We all know the kind of person Sanguinius is, but add a precious little daughter in the equation and all you get is the perfect example of textbook girl dad. No matter how busy this man is, somehow he’ll squish some playtime with his baby and enjoy every bit of it. Seriously, this guy acting like a dedicated father is worth being in a stockphoto image. His baby girl asks him to play tea party? Some astartes will find their Primarch hunched over, awkwardly holding a comically small cup between his thumb and index while his precious princess pretends to pour more tea for herself. The daughter of Sanguinius doesn't go a single day without knowing that her papa loves her a lot and when the man isn’t around, the Blood Angels Legion are close to keep her company to the point that even she calls them ‘big brothers’. No one is safe when she wants to play dress-up. The single problem I see with Sanguinius when raising his little girl is that he sins of being completely oblivious to the more mortal side of his daughter’s needs. He easily gets so wrapped up in his role of The Perfect Angel that he doesn’t realize his tiny princess has boundaries that are being constantly crossed, but since she feels the need to prove that she can be like her father, endures all those problems and refuses to seek help about anything. It becomes a kind of toxic mix considering how much Sanguinius is loved and adored by others, to the point that his daughter becomes like a coveted gem too by relation, making her need to prove her own ‘perfection’ an unconscious action the older she grows. I’m not even gonna touch with a ten feet pole the “fun fact” called the Red Thirst on this one because, let's be fair, that would require for me to write more than 3 pages with ONLY Sanguinius and his daughter in the spotlight and that’s only assuming his baby girl didn’t inherit it. I specialized in visual arts and marketing, not psychology jfc.

Ferrus Manus

It took me a while but after some investigating and more reading I can safely put this man in between the Papa-tier and ‘tough love’ guys. His practical mentality and belief of the strongest are (oddly enough) healthily separated from his parenting skills. This is one of the few Primarch that can see their daughter as an individual of their own and makes sure to be as present as possible in her life but the loyalty of this man to the Emperor is his own flaw. Not in the case that he’ll choose the Imperium before his little girl, but because it’ll put him in the dreading and guilty notion that he’ll always prioritize his daughter despite his oath to serve for the Great Crusade. Most of his brothers (except maybe Jaghatai and Konrad) just assume or don’t even think about the long term future of their daughters or simply presume that they will become a great part of the Imperium’s well oiled structure. Not exactly their fault since they never grew up with anything resembling normal. On the brighter and wholesome side (whiplash change!), this is a man who finds handmade gifts more meaningful and always makes sure to explain the reason behind them mostly out of the enjoyment of watching his little princess look so amazed at her papa’s skills. More often than not, Ferrus’ belief of the strongest would falter a little as he perceives the true fragile nature of his daughter and, even if she share the resilient blood of a Primarch, that isn’t enough to convince him that she isn’t vulnerable but instead of letting the worry fester, he’ll try to teach the girl the art of fighting. That’s where the ‘tough love’ kind of guy I mentioned comes out to light. He will not spare kind words during those moments of teaching, as he wishes for his princess to prevail any difficulty but he’ll make sure to always end any sort of training with “I love you so much that the idea of one day not being there to protect you, pains me beyond any form” to make sure that his harsh actions have a reason behind. Honestly, it's the kind of father-daughter relationship that possesses so many shades that makes its own drama novel. Good thing that uncle Fulgrim is always there to smooth the hard edges that may come in the future and makes up for the lack of spoiling the little girl deserves. Ferrus is not amused by it. Forgot to mention that the Primarch will be even more motivated to take off the metal of his hands, for he has yet to truly feel the warm and soft flesh of his baby’s hand. It's the one feeling he keeps missing and craves so much.

Angron

Oh man, another of the hard ones. Okay, if I managed with Konrad, I can tackle this bitch too. You need to comprehend that we are talking about a guy that has been so intimate with the meaning of pain that it's amazing he’ll be capable of ranging through other emotions that don’t involve fury into that combo too. That being said, this whole shitshow of being the father of a young girl can only be described as sad AND tragic. First off, Angron’s daughter wouldn’t even be allowed to leave her chambers at The Conqueror for obvious safety reasons and having her stay on Terra can’t be an option too, as Angron would rather be death than leave in a silver plate this one single pittance of good he helped to create under the light of the Emperor. That being said, any little girl born from Angron would be terribly isolated and one can’t even blame the Primarch for that as he, despite his disposition, finds his daughter as a genuine reflection of what he could never ever dream to have or be. That sometimes results in him feeling short and spontaneous moments of anger from the impotence of not being able to be close to his daughter, let alone console her with anything resembling compassion. This is a man that is horribly aware that he’s away from one sharp stab of the Nails to his brain to end up killing his little girl in one single swat of his hand. The moments of anything resembling fatherly love are few and very tense, for Angron has to constantly be focused on not letting the pain control his actions and that always looks as if he’s dismissing his child’s love language or actions. What else can I say that most people don’t know already? This is just a sad story waiting to end in tragedy and had it not been for how Sanguinius ended during the heresy, I can see The Great Angel taking Angron’s daughter under his care as the only consolation and promise to his corrupted brother before his demise. After becoming a Daemon Prince, Angron’s only genuine and foggy memory of his little girl is her crying while calling him with heavy despair. Goddamn I almost tear up with this one.

Roboute Guilliman

Look at my big nerd! One of the few guys that actually is humble enough to feel more human than any of his brothers… sometimes. I gotta say it, Roboute has the vibe of what happens when someone incredibly autistic suddenly becomes a parent; expect lots of books to try and be prepared for what entails to take care of a mortal baby. He’ll have a wholeass strict routine of activities and diets that you AND the baby must follow to ensure both of your health along with “fun facts” regarding a toddler’s development that half of the time lack the keyword ‘fun’ in there. Honestly, Euten will be a BLESSING sent, for she’ll be the one railing back the most extreme attempts of her adoptive son to try and raise his little princess like she was just another task of paperwork. Over all his quirks, the Primarch of the Ultramarines is absolutely trying his hardest to be a good father just as the one that raised him, but this is a man that half of the time ends up clumsily trying to spend time with his little girl only for it to backfire as he simply doesn’t understand how to entertain his daughter. Good thing the child will simply be happy to spend time with her papa despite his weird personality. More often than not, some of the astartes will see the young lady at her father’s chambers in a little booster chair beside him, doodling on some papers to pretend that she’s a big girl helping her papa with his very important job. It's probably the most adorable sight anyone can ever get the chance to see. Just like most of his brothers, Roboute isn’t that good at expressing his love towards his daughter with words, so he simply let his little princess be on his lap and hug her as if it will be the last time.

Mortarion

I’ve written enough of this man being a father that you all can get a wild idea of how he will be when confronted with parenthood. Even if he believes himself to be undeserving of anything resembling happiness thanks to his perception of being nothing but a tool of the Emperor, this guy will only need to see his precious little flower and feel like everything in the world can be forgotten, including his ever festering negative emotions. His daughter is the single light of love that he selfilish believes is his right after such torturous upbringing although that mentality rarely affects his princess, as he simply shows nothing but care and tenderness towards her. He may be a nervous trainwreck, fully aware that his Legion and himself aren’t exactly safe-hazardous, but that never has stopped him from doing his utmost best to protect the little girl from anything that may hurt her. Like most of his traitorous brothers, Mortarion would not hesitate to bring entire worlds into devastation if it meant that his family can be safe, even if that’ll end up making a terrible gap to grow between him and those he loves. It's quite terrible and sad to know that, unlike Fulgrim or Angron, Mortarion was the closest to his daughter and showered her with as much genuine love as he could in an attempt to avoid being anything like his supposed father (adopted or creator equally), so when he turned into a Daemon Prince, the festering and rotting resentment that consumes him sometimes simmers down when he remembers the laugh of joy his little princess often released when he would carry her up in his arms. Oh yes, some good ol’ gut-wrenching emotional damage, teehee.

I will not apologize for being a mean bitch by writing sad shit. XOXO

[vintagerpg]

The fourth edition of the Call of Cthulhu rules, the first I owned, has a bunch of color plates tipped into the regular pages. They are mostly drawn from color plates that Games Workshop stuck into its own publication of the third edition rules — Chaosium apparently liked that, and did the same for some of their books for a while. Anyway, most of those plates featured art by English painter Les Edwards. Oddly, none of these really related to the Cthulhu Mythos, a fact that might have made them (and the world of the Call of Cthulhu RPG) all the more beguiling. It was my first real encounter with Edwards’ work (I wouldn’t learn he did the HeroQuest cover art until much later) and they pretty much made me a fan for life.

Of course, that meant I’d be on the hunt for Blood & Iron (1989), one of two art books Games Workshop produced in the ’80s (the other, a collab between Ian Miller and John Blanche called Ratspike, is still very much on my want-list, but is pretty universally priced outside my budget). I found it recently for a reasonable price (no easy task) and while it may be the mustiest book I currently own, it was well worth it to get such a concentrated dose of Edwards’ work.

He’s gnarly, man. All bug-eyes and too-wide grins and gore galore. Some of his fantasy stuff is kind of hilarious (his covers for Fighting Fantasy are pure, glorious cheese) and it’s is cool to see the process essay for the gross AF cover of The Lost and the Damned, but his horror work is really where it’s at for me. It’s so metal (to the point that, unsurprisingly, a number of his paintings were used as album covers). Even his pin-up paintings, which routinely feature big boobs and improbable poses, still come off as appealing somehow — that black idol is so good! I don’t really care about the titular high priestess, but she doesn’t bug me the way a lot of other artists pin-up work makes my eyes roll (see Chris Achilleos, tomorrow).

Anyway, a real wonderful time capsule of Edwards’ work. Oh! The cover. I gotta mention the cover — it’s the second version of the cover of a Graham Masterton novel called The Devils of D-Day (1978) which was used to replace Edwards’ earlier cover painting. It’s a novel about a demonic tank? I dunno. But the first cover! That was re-used for the Metallica single Jump in the Fire. One of my favorite bits of fantasy/metal cross-over trivia.

[gakukitty]

03 . LONELY GIRL

featuring. . . SHIN ASAKURA + FEM!READER

summary . being around these weirdos make you feel something . something different from the rush of killing , different from the pounding in your chest after training .

cw . a little bit sad if u squint rlly hard , and i don’t rlly know what else !

masterlist ✦ next

as you stand before the Sakamoto family’s shop, you think you’re going to fall over and pass out on the spot. you came here because you need the money from mr. Sakamoto’s bounty. your lipstick is waiting for you— looking so pretty in the store’s glass window. she looks at you every day, basically begging to be taken home with you. she will be yours. you will wear that lipstick today after killing mr. Sakamoto and claiming the bounty. yes, you will! you will!!

however, when you finally step inside, the air conditioning lightly brushing over your face— you really can’t bring yourself to think of anything related to your job. your gaze drifts across the store, a quiet sigh escaping your lips. so much for the money, you guess.

you walk over to the aisle with makeup remover— you forgot to get some last time you were here. not that you would’ve had a chance to get it even if you did remember.

“here.” shin says, already holding out the item for you. flinching, you blink back at the man with slightly widened eyes. you glance down at the makeup remover; the exact one you were just thinking of. this guy’s good.

“thank you, shin.” you mutter, gently grabbing the item from him. you give the man a hesitant look, feeling uneasy from that weirdly kind smile on his face. he looks good— very good— but you’re not particularly used to such warmth. wasn’t this guy supposed to be like mr. sakamoto? an ex-assassin?

then again, it seems everyone here is oddly sweet.

you can’t remember the last time someone’s looked at you with eyes that sparkle like that.

in your little daydreams, you fail to notice the way shin’s becoming increasinginly more flustered. you’re looking at him so closely, and everything you’re thinking at the moment is a mix between sparkly hearts and thunderstorms. he can’t get a read on you— or maybe he’s just too distracted by you. more specifically, the way your lips are parting and your lashes flutter.

you’re both hauled out of your eye-contact when someone comes crashing into the shop, flass shattering everywhere. shin clicks his tongue— mr. sakamoto’s not gonna be happy.

you’re quick to pull out your pistol, aiming and shooting at the intruder. dead instantly.

“hey!” shin flounders, eyes wide. yeah, mr. sakamoto’s definitely not going to be happy! “you can’t just— how did you— i thought your—“

“i think you’re cuter when you’re not flailing around like a fish abour a bit of blood, y’know.” you deadpan, glancing back at shin. that’s a lie. you think he’s cute all the time. but you won’t tell him that.

too bad, he can read minds.

shin looks back at you, his cheeks flushed with that shade of pink you’ve become so familiar with, and you swear you could feel your heart beat just a little faster. not in the same way it beats after a kill, not in the same way it quickens during a date— but an entirely new pace that you really can’t control.

“uh—“

you’re cut off by a figure— the assassin that you thought you killed earlier— standing back up. you immediately shriek, arms wrapping around shin and clinging onto him like a lifeline as a yelp escapes his lips.

“what. the. fuck!!” you shout, shoving the blonde-haired man in front of you. ghosts are totally not your thing. i mean, haven’t you heard about thise stories of the souls of people you’ve killed coming back to haunt you?! no freakin’ way! this cannot be happening right now!!

“chill,” shin pleads, a hand reaching to grab yours. that has the opposite effect. you’re already scrambling away from shin, and that freak in front of the two of you as you clutch onto one of the shelves.

“(name)—“

“AHHHGGHH!! GET IT AWAAAYYY!!” you squeal, a shaky hand pointing back at the figure. did it just grow another head?! you think you’re about to pass out.

“uh.. Lu? Heisuke?” shin mutters skeptically, taking a step closer. your eyes widen; grasp tightening on the shelf. goodbye, cruel world. you can’t believe that shin’s going to surrender to that creature—

“HAHAHAH, SHIN, YOU SHOULD’VE SEEN THE LOOK ON YOUR FACE!” Lu beams, slapping her knee as she giggles and laughs. Heisuke smiles brightly from beside her, and it’s only now that it starts to click with shin.

they wore a costume and pretended to be an assassin.

you crack an eye open hesitantly, and your jaw drops. that red-haired girl and the funny bird guy.. your cheeks suddenly feel quite warm.

“was that supposed to be a prank?” you mumble, almost shyly; shin thinks you look very cute. the way your eyes avert at Lu’s teasing, the way you huff at Heisuke’s little jab. you’re much more suited for a life with them.

even if you are better suited for a life with the Sakamoto family, you refuse to submit. so after an afternoon of kidding around and cleaning up the mess from earlier, you don’t really hesitate stepping outside.

next time you’ll get that bounty money, for sure.

“(name), wait.” shin says, jogging up behind you. he looks back at you, suddenly feeling slightly hesitant. “let me walk you home.”

you just stare back at him. you don’t know if you should feel offended or flattered at his offer. the guy knows that you’re a skilled assassin, yet he still tries to be a gentleman? you keep quiet for a few moments, silently thinking over how to respond.

“alright, sure. i’ve never been one to deny a pretty boy, anyways.” you draw out, lips quirking up into a smile. a smile that shin’s grown to like a lot. he’s not quite sure about these feelings, but after an embarrassing conversation with mrs. Sakamoto, he’s decided to see where these emotions leads him.

the sun begins to set, and you find yourself yawning softly; today’s been pretty eventful. you’re not even this tired after missions. man, having fun can be pretty exhausting sometimes.

“…you should quit being an assassin.”

“not happening.”

shin sighs; mumbling a soft “it was worth a shot” under his breath as he glances over to you. he pauses, stumbling just slightly.

you’re very beautiful under the glow of the sunset.

you stop, looking back at shin as he straightens up. your eyes meet, the breeze gently brushing through your hair. for a moment, you’d almost believe that time had stopped.

befote you cough softly, quickly turning straight ahead and starting to walk again. your heart’s beating so fast. so, so fast. this is so weird, so unlike anything you’ve ever felt before.

the rest of the walk sort of passed by in a blur of emotions, eventually whisking you away and guiding you to the door to your apartment.

you look back at each other, the faint glow of the lamo above flickering slightly. by now, the sun has set and the moon has risen; leaving you feeling awfully vulnerable.

it’s something about the darkness, that just leaves you feeling so .. emotional. or maybe it’s the man standing infront of you, looking at you with those pretty eyes of his.

“thank you for walking me home.” you finally speak, your usual charisma vanishing. you’ve been able to charm many men into this very same apartment; but you can’t bring yourself to do the same with shin.

“uh, yeah.” he trails off, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck esther awkwardly. something’s telling him that he should stay. but he really can’t put his finger on it. think, shin! think! what did mrs. Sakamoto tell you…

‘just go with what feels right!’ her kind voice rings through his mind, like a gentle bell that’s ongoing. shin averts his gaze for a moment, before finally locking eyes with you.

and something, something that he really can’t tell what it is, pushes him to lean closer. his hand moves to cup your cheek, thumb brushing over the skin.

he’s never done this before, so he’s slightly unsure. but judging by the look on your face, the thoughts running through your mind, shin finds himself closing the gap between your lips.

it’s a soft, chaste kiss; but just enough to answer the questions you two have been agonising over.

shin blinks slightly as you pull away, a flustered expression on your face as you scramble to open your apartment door. and before he can open his mouth to speak, it’s already slammed shut in his face.

© gakukitty please don’t copy my work , repost it and claim as your own , translate , or do anything stupid with it ! try and improve on ur own skills first ♡

[thegreatgatslin]

INTRODUCING: THE HUMANITIES AND SOCIAL SCIENCES DEPARTMENT, PART 2 [PART 1 HERE]

                               ✦ MA MEILLEURE ENNEMIE ✦                                           RIN ITOSHI X READER

Y/N L/N (HSS DEPT, ENGLISH LIT) overall rating: 4.3/5 || 85% would take again || 4.3 level of difficulty

51 student ratings:

COURSE: CLASSIC POETRY COMMENTARY would take again: yes || grade: A "prof l/n is a great prof all around. she marks our essays - like ACTUALLY marks them, unlike some profs i know - and gives the best feedback. she makes lectures interesting, even if we’re learning about the driest classical poetry known to man."

COURSE: MODERN LITERATURE ANALYSIS would take again: yes || grade: A "she buys us snacks when we ace her quizzes i love her to bits"

OLIVER AIKU (HSS DEPT, EUROPEAN HISTORY) overall rating: 4.5/5 || 90% would take again || 4.0 level of difficulty

52 student ratings:

COURSE: THE RISE AND FALL OF AUTHORITARIAN REGIMES would take again: yes || grade: B "how is this man still single??? we have to set him up with prof [REDACTED] from [REDACTED] department someday..."

COURSE: THE LEAGUE OF NATION'S SUCCESSES AND FAILURES would take again: yes || grade: A+ "prof oliver?? aiku??? (we don't know which is his first name still) is one of the best educators i've ever had the privilege of meeting. he truly cares for his students and how they learn, and he secretly extends office hours for us sometimes!"

YOICHI ISAGI (HSS DEPT, PSYCHOLOGY) overall rating: 4.7/5 || 78% would take again || 3.9 level of difficulty

70 student ratings:

COURSE: SOCIAL COGNITION would take again: yes || grade: A- "his case studies are oddly specific sometimes and he gets a little too excited when he asks us for our opinions... but he's fun and relatable! highly recommend taking prof hiori's courses along with prof isagi's since they complement each other's so well"

COURSE: MENTAL HEALTH AND DISTRESS would take again: yes || grade: B "once i caught him in an empty classroom rambling on about puzzle pieces forming?? (he's an oddball but he's MY oddball)."

YO HIORI (HSS DEPT, PSYCHOLOGY) overall rating: 4.6/5 || 70% would take again || 3.8 level of difficulty

59 student ratings:

COURSE: SIGMUND FREUD AND HIS THEORIES would take again: yes || grade: B+ "professor hiori might seem like a innocent guy, but just going off how much he knows about sigmund freud... yeah i firmly believe he's a closeted FREAK. chill guy tho."

COURSE: SOCIAL PSYCHOLOGY OF THE UNCONSCIOUS would take again: yes || grade: B "i take prof ness's ethics courses too and prof hiori's classes really help me understand them better"

taglist: @bakery-anon, @shidousveneers, @swelterweather, @ranzess, @saeyari, @blueballslock, @rroxii, @hellothere9597, @inojinieeee, @arwawawa2, @ihsoti, @shironagi, @cyberheartrebel (open, reply to this post to be added)

© thegreatgatslin || ✦ series m.list ✦ || ✦ M.LIST ✦

[juniperdugong]

The games we play - Mingyu

WC: 2.2k || Genre: Fluff || CW: Drinking || husband!mingyu x wife!reader, implied that the reader is well-known in their field of work

A/N: I swear this was supposed to be a drabble or short fic...

It was getting late. The bulk of the guests had already excused themselves to their other nightly duties and that's exactly what you were thinking of doing right now. You wanted to get out of here and get something more substantial to eat than the small appetizers that were becoming more and more scarce.

You knew that this event would drag on late, the company hosting it was notorious for their "after parties" and late gatherings. Honestly, you probably would've gone home by now if it weren't for the man catching your eye from across the floor.

The dim light might've made it hard to see but you knew that silhouette anywhere. The big broad shoulders, the tall frame, even down to the suit that was perfectly tailored to him. Kim Mingyu, oh how wonderful it was to be able to call him your husband.

You were posted up near the bar, nursing a cocktail that tasted more like candy than alcohol. The number you had on was a dress handpicked by Mingyu weeks before your flight over here. He had praised you so much for just putting it on that you practically felt like royalty in it. There was very little that compared to the love he held for you, that's something you were never afraid to admit.

You fight back the urge to bite your lip as you begin to walk towards him but you're stopped in your tracks when you see a woman approach him first. She's beautiful and you can't even deny it. What was there to deny when she was the main event of the fashion show that happened hours prior.

Her gait was nothing if not seductive and she wore a beautiful gown that was only accentuated by the heavy jewels that adorned her body. You couldn't make out what their conversation entailed but you could tell she at least had an eye on Mingyu. The way she would casually touch his arm in a small fit of laughter; Surely whatever he said couldn't be that funny. You raised an eyebrow in amusement and fascination at their antics, striding towards them once again to make a show out of your relationship.

"Y/n, right?" Once again you are stopped, at least this time it's from something/someone tangible.

You turn and put on your practiced business-ready professional smile, the one that lured people in but kept them distant enough to fend off unwanted advances of any kind, business-related or otherwise. Greeting you was a rather handsome man, the type that would have people thank his parents for their generous donation to the world and its beauty. Oddly enough you'd become used to people like this while beside Mingyu.

The conversation went on with the usual, something about how great your work has been, how they've heard so much about you from their colleagues, and, of course, ending with the staple "We should get a drink sometime.". A routine you knew all too well in your line of work. As you bid farewell to the stranger of a man you turn your attention back towards Mingyu - Mingyu who, with a smug smile, waltzes your way and places himself where the other man once stood.

Now the real fun began.

"You come here often?" Ha, you just had to scoff, was this really the way he wanted to start this tonight?

"Come here? Like this event? I think this is the first time they've held this event actually." He knew that sly little smirk on your lips, so you wanted to play it smart tonight and tease him a little for his setup? Bring it on.

"Right, forgive me. I meant the bar-"

"The bar? Do I frequent this bar or bars in general? Either way, it seems you have the wrong idea about me, sir." You were playing hard to get and he was all for it. He would never admit it but he liked a bit of the chase and back and forth, more than that he knew that you loved it - And how could he deprive the love of his life of something they enjoy?

He had to divert and fast! Or else you would overpower him and it's much too early for that. "That man you were speaking with, you two seemed to get along quite well. Someone, you know?"

"Not at all. Just met in fact. But yeah, maybe there was some connection between us... plus he was easy on the eyes." Oh, now you were just doing him dirty. Hard to get is one thing but jealousy? You were going to be the death of him. But you're plan was working. It was a steady rollercoaster of riling him up just to bring him back down and into your arms.

"Hmm, I see... I don't think your husband would be too fond of you speaking that way." He taps at the ring on your finger, putting emphasis on his own ring, the one that mirrors yours. You can tell he's getting annoyed by the way his brows furrow and he's almost pouting, he stays composed but you're hedging your bets that he caves in less than 5 minutes this time.

"What about your wife? Was that her you were talking to over there? Or were you just casually flirting with a beautiful woman for fun behind her back?" Now it was your turn to act annoyed, all was fair when it came to this little game.

"Oh, my wife?" He plays with the band on his ring finger, making sure that it's in your line of sight, "No, that wasn't her. She's much more beautiful and much less willing to give in to me, I love that about her." A small blush falls on your face at his words but you remain calm, it's all about waiting him out. He thinks he's got you though, celebrating quietly in his head as he sees you get red. She'll be dropping the act any moment now...

"You know what I like about my husband?" You pause and see that he's at the edge of his seat waiting to be praised. "He does whatever I tell him to do. Actually, he's waiting in the car for me right now." Huh? You had Mingyu thoroughly confused with the directions this time. The look on his face conveyed something much more than confusion though, he was putty in your hands the moment you finished your last sentence.

The game was done, he'd broken before you did. Mingyu however was still unaware of that fact. At the moment, he's just trying to decipher your words and you have to smile and scrunch your nose at the cute face he makes as he's deep in thought.

Did you want him to go to the car? But then he couldn't walk you out; He began to pout at the thought. Was he supposed to stay in character? But then why would you bring up the car? Aghhh, you had his brain fried.

With a swish of your dress, you turn so your back's against the counter, holding your drink in your hand you take a small sip. "Mingyu baby, go wait in the car for me? I want to finish my drink real quick.", you drop your character and fish the car keys from your clutch, dropping them on the counter between you two.

"W-Why'd you make your husband wait in the car for you? Got somewhere to be this late?" You turned to face him quizzically. Is he still in this? By the look on his face and the way he picks up the keys without question, he knows he's cracked but he's still fishing for answers. With a smile you turn once again to lean your upper body over the counter, a pose that you knew would make him flustered. If he was trying to work for it, then how could you not oblige?

"Well..." You start with a small huff. "You see, I know my husband very well. Well enough that I know that he's still hungry after scarfing down a ton of appetizers tonight." You poke at his belly only to feel his abs, immediately you tear your hand away in fear of what you might do if you kept it there too long. (You had the strength of the gods for being able to pull away, honestly.) "I told him that if waited patiently outside while I finished my drink that I'd get him a hamburger, maybe a few if he was really nice to me tonight."

Oh ho ho ho, you had his interest peaked! People often compared him to a puppy but that side of him really shined through at times like this. He's smart enough to be able to get what he wants regardless of who he's talking to but he'd never even think of being so mischievous with you. He actually really enjoyed you ordering him around sometimes, as strange as that was at the beginning of your relationship.

The whole facade he was trying to keep up crumbled into pieces as he crouched eye level with you and nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck. You patted at the back of his head as he ravaged your neck with hard pecking kisses, his own brand of thankfulness towards you. Grabbing your shoulder he made you look at him straight on, a determined look on his face.

"Your husband sounds like a very nice and well-mannered man. I'm sure that he'll appreciate anything you'd get him." He got back into character immediately, rushing the last of his words, and lasting a mere few seconds before melting into your touch as you cupped his face with your open hand. He pressed a small kiss to your palm before quickly sandwiching your head between his hands and covering his lips with yours. You giggle into the sudden kiss, he was always so hasty when it came down to it.

With that, he twirled the keys on his fingers and walked out of the event, completely satisfied and content.

It took a few minutes to finish up your drink. In the meantime you scoped out the rest of the scene, it was practically deserted at this point. It's times like this where you're both glad and annoyed that you have Mingyu. On one hand, he's a total social butterfly and it's really helped you get out of your shell... On the other, he always stayed out late when it came to parties and events, he could drink people under the table with ease, and everyone ate up whatever time he was willing to give.

Walking out you spot your car. Of course, it was much closer to the entrance than where you left it. He was trying extra hard to earn brownie points tonight.

Getting in, you let the warmth envelope you. It felt so nice to be in a familiar space after socializing all night. Just as you were getting comfortable you felt a small poke on your thigh. Slowly you turn your head and you practically glow with a smile at the sight.

Mingyu's making puppy eyes, his infamous ones that make people swoon and sigh over him. That coupled with an anticipatory pout, how couldn't your heart melt over him? His hand is resting on the middle console, you pick it up in yours and interlace your fingers, giving a small kiss to the back of his hand.

He looks at you expectantly, "Baby?", his voice couldn't have been softer.

Sigh... "Yes, Mingyu. We're still getting food." You say in an exasperated tone. You laugh when you see him break out in a small happy dance, dumbly acknowledging your words through movement. "Are you actually gonna let me pay this time?" You posture the infamous question of the night.

He pretends to be deep in though, stroking an imaginary beard like a scholar. "Not this time..." He moves his mouth side to side like he's thinking of what to say next, "But I will let you hand them my card."

"You never let me pay for anything, Gyu. The least I could do is buy you some food... You did offer to be designated driver tonight-"

"Hey! I jumped at the opportunity! My life, you never drink. You can't begin to understand how excited I was to see you let loose... Even if it was only a few drinks." He snickers as he whispers the last bit and you gently smack his face in retaliation for his slight towards you.

"Yeah yeah whatever, just wake me up once we're at the drive-through." You begin to recline your seat before jumping back up, "And don't you dare think of ordering for me or handing the person your card just because you think I look cute when I sleep." You let out a small huff as you mock words that he's said a thousand times over, "I've heard enough of your excuses throughout the years..."

You go back to reclining your seat and pass out within minutes.

While stuck at a red light Mingyu looks over to your figure. He pulls your dress down since it's ridden up quite a bit. Grabbing his jacket from the back seat he places it over your legs. His eyes go hazy with love as he gazes at you. He stretches himself enough to reach your forehead and give you a small kiss. You really were going to be the death of him, he knew it from the start.

A/N: Hahahaha I'm totally not procrastinating writing the Scoups angst fic... hahaha totally not 😓😖😨 (I'm a big fat liar who can't handle putting ideas to paper)

Please Reblog and Comment if you enjoyed ! (They act as power-ups for me)

Taglist (OPEN): @bemybabiibish @bath1lda @porridgesblog

[aevellewritessometimes]

Again and Again and Again and Again

Or, the reincarnation au fic that I hinted at in my other post, in which a semi-loveless aroace author attempts to write romace by projecting the way they perceive romantic love onto this BAMF demiromantic (hc) bitch who is Bad At Feelings. Additionally, while I was coming up with ideas for this, my brain just went "what if, in this au, MC is the scorned lover from the flower post?" and I kinda just ran with it. Also, I realized late into writing this that there is some great choose-your-own-ending potential here so if you liked this, keep an eye out!

Content Warnings: Gore (not too detailed), implied torture, mentions of captivity, Vere-typical implications of cannibalism, very brief and vague implications of cult activity, mentioned enslavement, death (repetitive in the reader/MC's case), brief allusion to suicidal thoughts (somewhat?) (brief description of being hung on a noose, but only in a metaphorical sense), mentioned starvation (both literal and metaphorical)

Other: Brief Undertale reference, brief Passerine (by ao3 author "blujamas") references (IFYKYK), author does not fully understand how semicolons work, probably improper use of italics, a little moment with "Oh. Oh." vibes Word Count: 3k

This work may be edited in the future if I discover any previously missed typos or content warnings. This work will not be cross-posted anywhere and I will make a direct announcement if that ever changes. Likes and reblogs are always appreciated! <3

Vere couldn't quite remember who you were the first time you met. But he didn't really care all that much, anyway. After all, whether you were a wanderer or a noble or even one of his worshipers, it didn't change the fact that the two of you crossed paths.

He didn't think much of you, at first. Just another mortal; just another meal. But for some reason---boredom, most likely---he chose to spare you a while longer, and was surprised to find your company to be even the slightest bit pleasant.

He was more surprised to find himself disappointed at your untimely death. And although he did plan on killing you at the start, it was not his hands that were stained with your blood. However, his footprints certainly were as he stepped through the puddle of your blood and over your mutilated corpse on his way to pay a visit to whoever---or whatever---did kill you.

Ultimately, your death had little impact on him. Decades passed and he barely even remembered the mildly entertaining mortal.

That is, until he encountered someone who strongly resembled you.

At first, he assumed they were just a distant relative. But as he got a closer look, he noticed something off about their soul. Something oddly familiar.

Imagine his surprise once he realized that it was yours.

For whatever reason, this person, who may or may not have been related to you, held your soul instead of having one of their own.

He was intrigued enough to linger near this familiar stranger. Without eating them, might he add.

There were several key differences between you and this... oddity, of course. Different backgrounds, different hobbies, different pet peeves... And yet, if he didn't know any better, he'd say that you two were exactly the same.

Almost as if someone had taken your corpse and hidden you away to bring you back to life. But that wouldn't make any sense at all, and he didn't bother to toy with the theory for longer than a moment.

Unfortunately, Vere didn't get to solve whatever mystery he seemed to have waltzed into. After all, one thing the two of you had shared was your mortality. This one at least spared him some time by succumbing to something more natural.

Vere left what was rest of that one behind, going on with his life. He was a bit disappointed and somewhat confused, but it still didn't affect his routine very much.

That is, until a few more decades later, when he happened upon yet another stranger with a familiar soul.

And then the cycle would repeat, over and over. Faces so different yet so strikingly similar. Personalities shaped differently by various upbringings that all shared the same color scheme. Each one being just curious and diverse enough to catch Vere's attention.

Eventually, Vere simply stopped trying to differentiate between your seemingly unending number of bodies. As far as he was concerned, as long as each one held your soul, it was still you.

Despite all else, it was still you.

And, as much as he loathed to admit it, he actually found you to be quite likeable. More than that, even.

Vere had long observed the relationships of countless mortals; the trust, the closeness, and even the way that their very souls almost seemed to weave themselves together whenever they formed a close friendship or fell in love.

He never thought he'd experience something like that. He never even thought he'd ever care if he did or didn't. He had faithful worshipers, and there was no end of pretty faces and bodies willing to spend a night with him. Why even bother with anything more?

But, once again, he was curious. Curious about why an emotion meant to be so peaceful could lead to just as many petty wars as rage did. Curious about why it was something so important to many of the most famous pieces of art. Curious about why being betrayed or heartbroken would always leave a soul marred with a particularly delectable form of suffering.

So, he tried to make you fall in love with him. It was much more difficult than he initially expected it to be. He's had countless people lust after him, sure, and he was well versed in fueling their desire. But that was something that could be lost overnight. Love, on the other hand, was not. Even when it results in you getting hurt, it takes time for the heart to lose love for someone.

He truly had no idea how to make you actually fall in love with him. On his first attempt, he only managed to become a frequent fling. But, fortunately for him, he had multiple chances.

Love. Such a small, simple word for something so incredibly confusing.

After your last death, he took some time to observe the couples he came across; watching their mannerisms and dates and conversations, scouring for an idea of how these people made things go past simple flings.

He was horrified to eventually find that one of the most important factors was vulnerability. As far as he was concerned, showing your stomach by bearing your weaknesses for someone to see was just begging to be betrayed.

By time he happened across the newest version of you, he was strongly second-guessing his sudden desire for you to fall in love with him. But something within him was practically aching for it. Something he didn't have the words to describe. The only thing he knew for certain was that he wanted it---wanted you.

And he always got what he wanted.

So, he tried again. This time, when he reintroduced himself to you, he decided to leave a faint hint at something he considered vulnerable hidden within all the flirting, innuendos, and thinly-veiled insults. Not enough to be considered consequential, but enough to entice curiosity.

It certainly wasn't something he was used to, and even just that was enough to make him feel a bit agitated. But by your second encounter, he could tell that something was different; all the usual lust-based attraction was there, but there was also a hint of something... new. Something more.

Whatever it was, it wasn't nearly enough to sate his increasingly inconvenient desires. Instead, it just seemed to add fuel to the fire.

And despite his hesitance, he repeated his actions. It was different each time: sometimes he noted a color he liked, other times a smell he disliked. Eventually, it led to him finding a few things you had in common. Other times, it led to petty, meaningless arguments.

He eventually managed to get some genuine smiles or laughs out of you. In return, you would sometimes manage to get a genuine chuckle out of him, along with a brief thrashing of his tail.

It wasn't always smooth sailing: maybe he'd take his teasing too far, or you'd just catch him on a shitty day. But soon enough, one of you would swallow your pride and apologize, and the two of you would go on as usual.

He could feel his seemingly unquenchable desire grow at a rate which scared even him, but he could tell that there was something similar growing within you, as well.

You were the first one to show true vulnerability. It caught him completely off guard: both the confession, and the way it made him feel.

Usually, Vere was the reason people needed comfort. He didn't have even half a clue of how to be comforting, or even if comfort was something you wanted or needed.

He settled on giving you some harshly-phrased but well-intended advice. And fortunately for him, it seemed to have worked.

But the way that you apparently trusted him enough to bear your stomach to him, even briefly... At first, he thought he was simply satisfied with the way his plan was coming along, but that explanation only covered a small part of it.

Your brief instance of trust made him feel like he was a starving man who had just been given a small morsel of food. It sated his hunger for a moment, but it wasn't enough to fill him. Soon enough, he was starving again.

He wondered if it was you who was starving him, or if he had simply been born hungry.

He wondered if you were starving, too; if he was the one starving you.

If the answer to that was yes, then there was a small part of him which wanted nothing more than to give you a feast, but that part of him was outweighed by the part that felt disgusted at the idea of someone having any kind of power over him.

But he knew that one of the other things he found made people fall in love was mutuality. If you were giving him food, he would have to feed you in return.

He resolved that it you tried anything, he'd just kill you.

He didn't reveal too much, but there wasn't enough vitriol in the world to accurately describe just how he felt about it. But you didn't do anything about it. You offered what he assumes was comfort or advice, but that was it.

You didn't mock him. You didn't try to use it as leverage or gain some kind of upper hand. You didn't do or say a single thing to make him feel any sort of betrayal.

It was just another hardly satisfying morsel for him.

This was the instance which made him finally question his desire for you; the bottomless pit of hunger; the endless longing; the exhilarating thought of you being able to trust him, and the terrifying thought that he could trust you.

The answer hit him like a knife to the gullet.

All this time, he was trying to get you to fall in love with him, and he didn't even consider for even a moment that he could've fallen in love with you, too---much less that he could've fallen first.

Love. Such a small, simple word for something that could inflict so much terror.

His first instinct was to run; leave the two of you starving for the sake of his own sanity. But Vere had seen and tasted the suffering that came from heartbreak and betrayal, and it pained him to imagine that burden and pain weighing on your soul.

That and, well. It would make him appear incredibly weak and cowardly to just run away like some teenager caught with a hookup. And he couldn't risk leaving such a humiliating impression on you, now, could he?

Time went on. Mutual vulnerability; slowly being less dreadful each time. No more morsels, just meals. No longer starving, just hungry.

All the questions he had about love were slowly starting to make more and more sense.

But all good things must come to an end; you were mortal, after all.

Death had never affected Vere much. At most, he was inconvenienced. But this, like everything else about you, made him feel something new.

Sure, he already knew---or was at least relatively certain---that your death wasn't permanent, that he could find you again.

Mourning, unfortunately for him, wasn't an emotion that gave a fuck about logic.

Love. Such a small, simple word for something with the potential to cause so much pain.

He didn't even question his lack of questions about going after you again. And again. And again and again and again.

The cycle was somewhat painful for him: having to wait for twenty or thirty years to pass; finding you again; trying to get you to trust him again whilst assessing if he can trust this new version of you; trying to get you to fall in love with him again while he was already smitten for you; staying with you as you died; repeat.

He couldn't tell which part of it was the worst. But as far as he was concerned, it was worth the pain every time.

Sometimes, he'd question why you: what about you made him fall so hard?

There wasn't a solid answer to that question. Or if there was, he couldn't find it. A part of him didn't care to.

It was almost funny; he was so terrified of you using him and his feelings to gain some sort of power over him. And yet, here you are, with the power to maneuver him like a puppet, yet no want or knowledge of it.

Sometimes it scares him, but he usually doesn't mind much these days.

It's a shame, then, that nothing ever lasts forever.

He tried not to recall the details of what happened that day; how he managed to lose to a group of pesky, mortal mages; their robes as white and bloodstained as the snow they stood in, towering over his limp form as they forced a collar around his neck and a harness on his chest like a broken stray.

He was dragged away and locked in a tower's dungeon. He tried to bite and snap at their prodding hands, growing more and more desperate with each attempt. And yet, he didn't even manage a nick or a flesh wound, thanks to the enchantment he soon realized coursed through the collar and harness.

It filled him with a brand new form of rage. Of fear.

Though he loathed to admit it, he felt completely and entirely helpless and paralyzed during those first few weeks.

He wondered if you worried about him. Of course you would care if he were in danger, but he was sure he had you convinced---or should he say fooled---that he was untouchable; that him being in any true danger simply wasn't possible. So, he wondered if you worried about him; about why he hadn't been home for weeks.

Did you think he was in danger? Or did you think he abandoned you?

He tried not to think of you too much. He had an escape to plan, after all. He'd just have to figure out the best way to clarify things once he made it back.

At some point, the mages began ordering him around. Nothing he wanted to do, but was forced to do so by the collar. It wasn't much: just pacing back and forth in his cell. Degrading, sure, but something he could bear if it meant gaining a chance at freedom.

Once they were satisfied,his cell door was opened. His first instinct was to lunge out, but their apparent leader---a woman wearing a mask---ordered him into docility.

Pity. He'd have to wait a while longer, then.

The masked woman hooked a leash through the loop on his collar---as if being beaten, collared, and caged like some mangy mutt wasn't humiliating enough---and ordered him to follow.

The only thing keeping his pride from falling into ruin was how the mages escorting him were still on edge, despite all their precautions.

Initially, he just tried to focus on the twists and turns and doors he was led through, attempting to make a mental map of his prison.

That is, until he was being led down a cramped, dank corridor.

The hall itself wasn't special. The thing that caught his attention was the faint scent that haunted it. The faint scent that sent a new wave a dread through him.

Your scent.

Just why, exactly, did this hallway smell of you? And why was it getting stronger as they approached a door at the end of it?

He already suspected---no. He knew the answer before one of the mages even removed the key from their pocket. He just didn't want to admit it. He so badly wanted to be wrong.

There you were, shackled to the far wall of the cramped, dimly lit cell.

Your clothing was torn in a few places. Their were bruises pretty much wherever your skin was exposed. Dried blood caked your hands and fingernails. You were trembling, both from the cold and from fear. It hadn't looked like you had anything to eat. There were heavy bags under your eyes.

If Vere didn't want every bastard in that tower to die painful deaths already, he certainly wanted that now.

The masked woman barely spared you a glance. Instead, she unhooked the leash, stepped away from the door, and uttered two words:

"Kill them."

It all happened so slowly.

The collar forced him to move before he could fully process the order. You glanced up at him, barely even having a moment to recognize him before he was on you. His claws tore through your flesh. Bones snapped. Your screams pierced the air. Your blood stained his hands. No matter how much he wanted to stop, he couldn't.

"Enough."

At last, he was able to stop. At last, he was able to see the carnage he wrought.

Somehow, you were still alive, though there would be no chance of saving you. You lied there in a puddle of your own blood, twitching and writhing in pain. You choked on whatever blood was left in your body. Tears brimmed your eyes as you looked up at him.

He could clearly see the emotions clouding your eyes---your soul. The betrayal. The heartbreak. The pain.

If you were anyone else, he would've taken great pleasure at the sight: some poor, naive fool who fell for his charms and was betrayed by his hand; soon to be a meal, body and soul.

If you were anyone else, he'd revel at the feeling of being covered in blood after a satisfying hunt and would later be annoyed by the inconvenient process of having to clean it off.

But you weren't anyone else. No matter how many lives you've gone through, you were you. You were always you.

It brought up a new feeling for him: heavy feeling of... emptiness.

He didn't bother to pay attention to the chattering of the mages as he was leashed and escorted back to his cell. He could only think of you. Of your limp soon-to-be corpse. Of your eyes. Of your soul as its shape began to change shape right in front of his eyes. Of your blood, staining his footsteps and marking his unwilling path. Of you.

The emptiness soon turned to something else. Something too cold to call rage.

The name of this new feeling didn't matter to him. All that did matter was that he was going to make sure anyone else who dared breathe in this godsforsaken tower would feel twice the anguish you had felt in the final moments of your life.

Soon.

The word repeated in his head like a prayer.

It didn't matter how much time had passed: years.

Decades.

He still held onto it when the better part of a few centuries had passed.

The cold feeling almost made him feel as if he were going insane, some days. Whenever that happened, he would indulge in someone else in order to distract himself. He usually killed his flings by the next morning, with there being a few, very rare exceptions.

There was one other thing he felt during his years of enslavement, nestled alongside the hollow, cold feeling: hope.

There were many interpretations of the concept of hope found in many different stories and poems. Some viewed it as an ethereal thing. Some viewed at as a skill.

To Vere, it was a noose hanging over a pit. It would strangle him for as long as it remained around his neck, but it would drop him to his death the moment it was cut off.

Even if living as a particularly useful pet was a special kind of pain, he could not let it kill him. While his original captors were long gone by now, the ones who took their places were hellbent on carrying the legacy. And so, his oath of vengeance applied to them in the place of the originals.

The only problem was: how to get the collar off of his neck so he could act on that oath?

Ais, the one person in the city he was willing to consider tolerable (and vice-versa), could certainly take on a few pesky little mages. And despite what others probably assumed of him, he would probably be smart enough to figure out how to work with the enchantments on the collar. Unfortunately, Vere would most likely be forced to kill him before the two of them could get very far.

Kuras might have been powerful enough to manage it, but he hated Vere as much as he hated the Senobium, and wouldn't mind seeing Vere rot away under their command; seeing as it would mean that he was dead and the Senobium was without one of their greatest assets.

Mhin was desperate to get into the damned place, sure, but there's no way they would ever agree to helping him. Not yet, at least. Maybe if he waited a while longer and they grew a bit more desperate, then he may have a chance. Although, the reluctance was very much reciprocated; perhaps he'd have to wait for himself to grow a bit more desperate as well.

And don't even get him started on that damned, flea-ridden mutt.

He was mulling over his regrettably limited options while waiting for whichever cleric had the displeasure of dealing with him that day when he spotted an outsider, looking lost as they cautiously stumbled through his alleyway.

A stranger. A very familiar stranger.

Part Two >

[coyle-and-co]

Do you have any headcanons about Franco?

i wrote a whole thing and tumblr shit the bed and didn’t save them omg

second times the charm! but yes i do have some franco headcanons i never stop thinking about him ever

HATES the taste of anything sour/bitter, can’t stand food that isn’t sweet. Trying to get him to eat anything with vegetables in it is a down hill battle at best, if you blend them up and into food he’ll still find away to pick them out

Medical time! Franco’s probably got bilateral exophthalmos which is why both his eyes wig out of his skull like that, and why he has a misalignment in his left eye, however that’ll probably also be because of the shotgun recoil he took to the face when he was 10

He has Hydrocephalus, which causes his head to be so large! how he’s up right i have no idea, but he’s also got pretty chronic headaches and eye strain because of it

Intelligent, yeah it’s fun to think he’s a bit stupid, but he’s probably amazing with numbers due to being a drug lord

As we know he can speak Italian, but he’s probably also fluent in French (growing up in new orleans), and Spanish due to being “stationed” in Cuba for a while, he probably uses this to piss off Coyle

Speaking of Coyle, Franco obviously dislikes him for being a cop, but he probably sees some of Salvatore in Coyle, since he’s a disciplinary figure who’s a big macho man. Everything Franco isn’t at his core

Even if people think his baby thing is weird, he’s well respected for how lethal his aim with Lupara is, if Franco sees you better say your prayers because you’re gonna meet whoever you believe in soon!

Despite this, i do think he’s probably got mild vision and hearing issues, that’s why he is so quick to shoot, kill first ask questions later

Strong as hell, this guy can one tap barricades down and swing grown men over his arm like they’re a stuff animal, even without Lupara he’s probably good with hand to hand combat and could rip a dudes jaw off if he really wanted to

His Hydrocephalus also causes pretty bad mood swings, which is why his attitude is so flippant (thank you @wendigoruble for this factoid!)

Sometimes you can genuinely have a completely normal conversation with him, like no mobster related shit and no baby talk, and oddly it’s eerie as hell because he’s not supposed to do that 😭

Short, i don’t care if the wiki says he’s 5’9-5’10, he’s at MAX maybe 5’5, personally my version is 5ft on a good day

Rejection sensitive as hell, if you tell him no he’ll loose his mind completely and throw the biggest tantrum, even over small things

Can’t handle certain textures because of his teeth rotting, and can’t have metal cutlery because it hurts, mainly eats with plastic utensils except for a metal knife for cutting things

Collection of the same suit all in different colors, with matching bow ties and pacifiers

He would wear jewelry in my mind, gold rings and chains, but never anything too flashy because he thinks it’s gaudy. He might be dramatic but he’s got some class

Closeted bisexual disaster, i speak no further on this

That’s pretty much all i have!!! there are nsfw ones but since this was asked on main they’d have to wait, HAHA

but hope these suffice! <3