#pestering ant-man

[dark-konohagakure2]

sephiroth forcing himself on a girlie thats too shy to talk to him?

tw: noncon, power imbalance, size difference, humiliation, degradation, semi-public sex, misogyny, victim blaming, verbal abuse

All characters depicted are 18+

Sephiroth is well aware of his little fanclub of swooning fangirls who are all head over heals in love with him, he doesn't hate it, but he certainly doesn't like it either, he treats their existence with the same passive indifference that one would treat ants on a sidewalk, uncaring if they are there or not, Sephiroth has about as many love confessions under his belt as he does inches of hair on his head, but none of these women interest him very much.

That is the case for a while until his keen senses pick up on someone following him, he initially assumes it's just Hojo coming to pester him again, or Zack coming to ask him more idiotic questions, but instead he catches a glimpse of a girl peeking at him from around the corner, only to quickly hide when he turns around. Being a trained SOLIDER from birth, Sephiroth immediately assumes hostile intent from her, what other reason would she have to follow him whilst concealing her presence?

He'll almost immediately confront her, although not in a brutish manner, no, a man like Sephiroth is one to use cold intimidation over such savage tactics. He'll corner the little spy rather quickly, placing his gloved hand on the wall next to her head as he asks her what exactly she thinks she's doing. He'll watch as she flounders about like a fish on land, struggling to get a single word out as her face turns a bright red, that when Sephiroth will notice a very interesting looking note clutched to her chest.

Sephiroth will pluck the note from her hands the moment he sees it, holding it out of her reach with his superior height, ignoring her protests and pleas as he begins to read it, sneering at the flowery words and shoddy handwriting, it's pitiful how little effort she put into confessing her silly feelings to one as important as Sephiroth. He'll make it clear that her little crush is nothing but delusional wishful thinking, but that won't stop him from taking advantage of it, and of her.

"Oh... How cute. Did you really think a few scribbles on paper would be enough to win me over? How pathetic. But I suppose I can give you what you so clearly want..."

He'll pay no mind to her protests as he rips her shirt open right on the spot, Sephiroth doesn't see why she's protesting, she said she likes him, and now she doesn't? Are all woman this indecisive? Sephiroth has never really understood women, or men either for that matter, he's always had trouble understanding those beneath him, but none of that matters to him now, all that matters is giving this cute little stalker exactly what she deserves.

Sephiroth isn't gentle with her at all, it's just not in his nature to treat anyone with kindness, not even an innocent young woman who's only crime is having a crush. He'll cover her mouth with a large leather clad hand as his hips snap into her's from behind, fucking her just around the corner of the hallway and in the blind spot of the many security cameras in Shinra's hallways.

Despite forcing her to be silent, Sephiroth won't do the same, instead he'll whisper venomous insults into her ear, telling her that she's no different than his other admirers, that this is the most attention any man would deign to give her, and how this is what she wanted from him, so she should be grateful, he's practically a saint for humoring her pitifully misguided affection towards him, an affection that definitely won't replace after this encounter, instead being replaced with fear.

He'll be finished with her rather quickly, as if his body itself is in a hurry to be done with her, Sephiroth won't care if he cums directly inside her, even if he doesn't knock her up, she should be grateful for his attention and his seed, he doesn't give that to just anyone, only the shy little brats who don't know how to talk to people like a big girl.

"Hmpf, I have no more use for you. Now go back to your little hovel like a good girl, unless you want more of my attentions, that is..."

Sephiroth will watch her leave without another word, showing faint amusement at the sight of her limping away, her pussy leaking his semen as she does. He finds her very amusing, in fact he might even consider using his high standing in Shinra to get her alone again.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

"Do you Trust me?"

Rollo voice) no

I feel like Rollo’s going to become a puddle of angry goo (think like a freshly salted slug) by the end of this series of headcanons…

A Big Scarabia Welcome to Rollo!

Savanaclaw’s weather was already bad enough, but Scarabia is 100 times worse. When Rollo hikes his way to the entrance of the grand dormitory (just a short stroll from the mirror), he looks like he’s about to give way to heat stroke if he doesn’t drown in his own sweat first.

He’s graciously received and personally welcomed by Kalim’s open arms (Jamil at his side) and just about the biggest smile you’ve ever seen. Rollo doesn’t sense any immediate ill will behind it (unlike the majority of the despicable mages that infest NRC), but he’s unsettled all the same by Kalim’s intense friendliness. When the Scarabian dorm leader goes in for a hug, Rollo politely steps back and declines (citing his excessive dampness as an excuse).

“Oh, you’re right! You’re not used to this kind of weather back home, huh? Don’t worry, we’ll take care of you!! Come on in! You’re today’s guest of honor!” Kalim beams, cheerfully ushering Rollo inside. Jamil follows quietly, but is staring intently at Rollo all the while—this man still remembers everything Rollo did, and he’s harboring a deep-seated grudge.

Kalim starts off the visit with a big tour of Scarabia! He forgets a lot of the finer details, so Jamil has to fill him in on the architecture and history of the dorm as he supplies them with water. (Kalim pauses to call out to and greet mob students as they pass.)

At first, Rollo’s impressed by the spread of knowledge provided—but the more he sees of Scarabia, the more disgusted he grows of its gross opulence. All the gold and jewels in the storage room could feed the entire City of Flowers for a lifetime and then some!!

The flippant way Kalim talks about his lifestyle also grates on Rollo. Who in the world places orders 100 coconuts for themselves, then buys diamonds for his entire dorm as souveinirs? Why does Scarabia have such frequent banquets and parties? How can one man live in such excess and not feel once ounce of remorse for it?! It boggles the mind.

“Hey, you must be hungry from your trip! Let’s put some food in you!!” Kalim summons a feast with the wave of his hand (Jamil had been up all night and all that morning preparing it). “Thank you, but just a nibble is enough for…” Rollo is interrupted by Kalim shoving some grapes into his mouth. “Ooh, you have to try this! Oh, and this too! And this cheese…!”

At one point, Kalim offers an apple slice with an ant on it, which causes Jamil to lock up. He screeches in disgust when Rollo casually kills the ant by squishing it under his thumb, then proceeds to take out a few others lying in wait. (“You touched bugs with your bare hands!!” Jamil cries, looking like he’s going to be sick any moment now. To this, Rollo retorts, “I should like to see you come up with a better solution!”)

After (force) feeding Rollo, Kalim tells him he has “a surprise” in store, which makes Rollo’s stomach sink. The dorm leader runs off, telling Rollo not to move from the spot. Left alone with Jamil, he warily eyes the man (who has been strangely standoffish the whole time). Jamil meets his gaze coolly. “… I didn’t tell him,” he says simply.

“To shield his poor little heart from breaking?” (Jamil shakes his head. “No, this isn’t about his feelings. I could care less about them. Kalim would only be sobbing and pestering me about my safety. I already have enough to deal with on my plate, I don’t need the extra stress. He’s kept ignorant out of convenience.”)

As expected, a self-serving reason. Rollo’s disgust does not abate. Still, a part of him wonders if Kalim would still be kind if he knew the truth of what happened in the City of Flowers, if some darker side of him would emerge as a result. No mage, no matter how upbeat, is entirely free of sin.

Kalim's taking longer than expected to get back, so Jamil and Rollo end up awkwardly playing some board games while they wait. Though Rollo tries his best, he's no match for Jamil, who takes delight in letting loose (he usually can't when he plays against Kalim) and smoking him in every match.

The ground shakes, rattling the stones in their mancala board. With each passing moment, the vibrations grow in increasing intensity—and suddenly, the doors kick open, revealing a parade of animals!! A tiger, 75 camels, 53 purple peacocks, 95 white monkeys, llamas, bears, lions, and even a flurry of birds!? Kalim arrives riding on an elephant and laughing to the slack-jawed Rollo. (Jamil groans. “You’d better get used to this, or you won’t make it through the day,” he warns flatly.)

The animals swarm Rollo, all of them kicking up a cacophony and demanding attention from him. He’s backed into a corner, trying to keep them at bag by poking them with his staff. Alas, to no avail!! The animals smother him in a pile of fur and feathers, and Rollo lets out strangled cry from between them.

“I think they’re getting along!!” Kalim notes from atop his elephant steed. (“Yes, I’m so happy for him.” Off to the side, Jamil snickers with some kind of sick, twisted joy.Finally, it’s someone else suffering for once instead of him.)

One thorough cuddling session later, Kalim flies to Rollo upon his magic carpet (it had been stashed away with him on the elephant) and offers a hand. He yanks his guest up with a grin and plops Rollo down beside him. “Next up: a magic carpet ride!” (“W-Wait, I don’t think my constitution can handle this much excitement…!!)

“Come now, where is your sense of adventure?” Jamil says as he kneels beside them on the carpet. His words are kept in an even enough of a tone, but there’s no mistaking the smirk on his mouth. (Rollo quietly fumes about it.)

Off they go into the Scarabian desert! Rollo wishes he could call it a peaceful ride, but it isn’t. Kalim keeps telling the magic carpet to show Rollo the tricks it knows, which means they’re not only soaring, but also tumbling and freewheeling through the sky. Below, the sands shine and shimmer splendidly.

Rollo’s eyes are clenched shut as he bends over the side of the carpet, trying hard to keep the contents of his lunch down. “Don’t you dare close your eyes,” Jamil whispers. “And hold your breath, it gets better.” (By ‘better’, he means ‘worse’, Rollo suspects.)

They speed up, bursting through the clouds, before dropping back down with collective shrieks. Rollo has to clutch onto his hat to keep it from flying off, forcing a scream back down as he hangs on for dear life, praying to be anywhere else. His eyes are wide with alarm, the fear inside of him clawing to escape.

The wild ride comes to a stop at a single spot of green and blue in the expanse of sand: an oasis encircled by broad-leafed trees. Rollo can’t scramble off that infernal carpet fast enough. (“Wow, he must have been really looking forward to this!!” Kalim chirps.)

With such crystalline waters available to them, Kalim thinks its only natural to take a dip! (Jamil has his sunscreen, towel, and swimming trunks on standby.) Rollo hurriedly backs away, trying to opt out—but he loses his foot in the shifting sands, and…

SPLOOSH!!! He’s drenched, the water weighing down his big hat and robes. Rollo looks less human and more like an angry wet cat (so much so that neutral-faced Jamil has to stop a smirk from overtaking him). Kalim, for his part, is super apologetic and offers Rollo his towel.

And so, Rollo sits in the shade of a tree while swathed in Kalim's towel, glaring at the Scarabia duo as they paddle around in the oasis. He hates that he can't just walk out on them, for he'd surely perish in the desert.

Rollo feels something at his feet--and when he looks down, he finds the magic carpet curled up there, emitting a sound akin to a dog panting. It seems... oddly excited to spend some time with him? Rollo frowns and makes a shooing motion, trying to banish the accursed thing--but, much to his dismay, it refuses to leave him alone and instead lingers at his side until the evening sets in ("Hmph, intrepid creature, aren't you?").

Thankfully, the trip back is uneventful (the magic carpet seems to have expended most of its energy on the showboating trip to the oasis). Rollo never thought he'd be so glad to see the garish interior of Scarabia again, but here he is. Jamil suggests that he prepare for bed (an idea which sounds surprisingly... normal, and thus earns a suspicious look from Rollo). "Oh? Do you doubt me? I would never try to deceive a beloved guest of Kalim's."

"Don't worry! Jamil's super trustworthy!!" Kalim adds. "Plus, we have to go get ready for the... Mmmmpfgh!" (Jamil quickly covers his mouth and gives a curt smile. "... As I was saying, you should wash up before bed.")

In spite of his doubts, Rollo relents with the suggestion to unwind for the night (he's had much too adrenaline for his liking today). He's escorted to a larger-than-life bathhouse and supplied with expensive-looking shampoos, conditioners, soaps, loofahs, a fluffy towel. and silk pajamas. "A bit much, don't you think?" he asks of Jamil. ("We don't do anything half-heartedly here," Jamil replies mysteriously.)

Being alone has never felt so good. Rollo has always preferred to be by himself, but after a day as hectic as this one he feels so relieved to not have Kalim and Jamil (or pesky pets!) with him as he sinks into pleasantly sweet-smelling waters.

He slips into the silk pajamas and steps out of the bathing area in slippers. Jamil bows to him and waves a hand. (Rollo's suspicions heighten.) "Right this way to your room for the night."

The inside of Scarabia is so big that it takes Rollo a while to realize that Jamil is actually leading him away from where the student rooms are—and how odd for such a noisy dorm to suddenly be dead quiet!! Just as Rollo begins to voice his apprehension, Jamil leads him right into Scarabia’s open-air lounge.

POP, POP, POP!! Party crackers go off, showering confetti onto Rollo’s freshly washed hair. He blinks several times to confirm that he is not, in fact, dreaming. No, it feels like more of a nightmare than a dream.

The lounge is infested with mob students, the air filled with loud music and the delicious smells of a sumptuous feast. Kalim emerges from the crowd and spreads his arms. “SURPRISE!! We’re throwing a banquet in your name! To our new friend!!”

Rollo feels so faint, his legs give out and Jamil had to catch him. “M-My handkerchief,” he sputters out weakly—alas, his coping mechanism won’t be able to help him now (he had foolishly tucked it away with his NBC uniform to dry overnight). “You have a party to tend to,” Jamil tells him.

The subtly evil sparkle in his dark eyes implies that Jamil knew this was coming all along… and had let it happen. He had been the one to lead Rollo here, the one to silence Kalim when he started to over speak. Anger rises in Rollo, and he struggles to contain it. “You scheming little weasel…!”

He’s not allowed to finish his statement, as Kalim has hooked one arm in his. Jamil waves good-bye to Rollo as Kalim yanks him around the room, introducing mob student after mob student to their honored guest. None of the names or faces stick in Rollo’s head, but the nausea from the earlier magic carpet ride is returning.

Speaking of the magic carpet, it trails after him and Kalim for most of the night! It weaves itself between Rollo’s legs and seems to stare at him eagerly, as if wanting head pats or compliments. (Rollo makes a face, but that doesn’t deter it.)

For the most part, Rollo keeps his mouth shut to avoid instigation (the last thing he wants is to lose it in such a public space) and downs as much grape juice as he can to quell his annoyance.

When all are full on food and drink, they’ve got to shake off all that energy!! Many take to the floor to dance, Kalim and Jamil included! They’re like birds in motion, free and flowing. Kalim just does what feels best to him, wheres Jamil mixes street dancing with his own expressive style. Rollo stands firmly at the sidelines, arms folded disapprovingly.

“Look at that disgusting display,” he grouses. The mob students around him cheer and hoot for their dorm leader and vice, their support rising about his disdain.

Now Kalim’s spinning wildly, his laugh reverberating like a bell’s echo. His arms extend as he twirls, reaching out to grasp Rollo by the arms. “Come on, dance with us!!” Kalim invites with sparkling eyes.

“No, I couldn’t…” Rollo protests, looking down stubbornly. Kalim misinterprets the motion as genuine bashfulness. (“It’s okay to be shy! That’s charming too.”)

There’s another tug—this time, Jamil. (“That’s right.” A smirk. “What’s so wrong with being a little bad once in a while?”

Rollo is dragged onto the dance floor against his will, set into the same twisted rhythm as the music. Those around him must get a sick thrill from the beats, each and every one of them a thrall to their own hedonistic desires. He wonders how they can live like this, free of care and worry—but as he dances among them, he, just for those moments, is left as feathery and as lightheaded.

How long do they dance for? He loses track of the time. There’s no clock to chime midnight to banish the magical spell placed upon him, only the burning in his feet as he dances the night away, intent on outdoing Kalim and Jamil.

Rollo basically blacks out in his bed that evening 💀 Man’s so tired and so done with this, he just wants OUT already!

… His body’s aching in the morning. (Nobody make an “he’s an old man!” joke, Rollo will smite you right where you stand.) He literally groans out loud as he hauls himself out of bed and prepares for the day. At the very least, his uniform has completely dried off from the unceremonious dunk in the oasis!

Kalim tries offload some extravagant parting gifts onto Rollo before his departure (from piles of gold and jewels to exotic new pets) to which Rollo stubbornly refuses. This leads into a back-and-forth about what would be a suitable souvenir to bring back with him from Scarabia. (Rollo won’t have any of it!!)

Jamil mediates, eventually convincing Kalim that his “invaluable friendship” and “the fun memories they made together” is treasure enough for Rollo. (Both he and Rollo gag internally at the idea, but Kalim seems super satisfied with it.)

"Yes, this won't be an experience I forget anytime soon," Rollo says dubiously. Kalim doesn't catch the malice in his flat tone, but Jamil definitely does.

[shamefulzombie]

Hiiii Zombie, it's me again in your inbox... I was just wondering if you could tell us any more facts about Heartman, or like his daily life, or idk... If He's single- wha who said that? Must've been the wind, anyway... I'm Just genuinely curious about him and would love to know more! You don't have to answer if you can't or don't want to, no pressure! Hope you have a great day!! (also I hope me thirsting for your Ocs isn't too annoying, I can stop if it bothers you 💦

HII, I don't mind you or other ppl going crazy for my ocs lmfao i love them sm unhinged ones are my favs. You guys can sometimes pester me about my ocs i'd love to answer them, I've always wanted em 💖SO, lots of wordss

Heartfaced Man/ Heartman Facts:

*Comes from space. *Very obvious, he love reading a lot. Its his hobby, and he used to work as a teacher before getting fired without a reason.

*He is an Introvert, he's chill with humans but it's hard to befriend him and hard get to know him at first.

*His design is inspired by ENA and one of those Moon side face things but as a heart.

*Yes, he is single all his life. Knows a lot of romance tho

*When you stand near him, you'll feel a gravitational pull, its not too strong fortunately. This shows he has gravity powers, just does not use it often.

*He lives in a big mansion alone, doesn't bother having maids or butlers in fear of them leaking info (you know why💥), he stays at home a lot but he loves walking at a park.

*Has a adoration for birds and cats, he love to have some as a pet someday. Also fascinated by ants.

*Can resize himself to fit as human size.

*His head is actually floating, he just rests it down a lot. And no it can't get far from his body-

*The Blue side on his face wakes up when he is surprised, annoyed, sad and angry. Both sides goes full red when stressed or too angry.

*Is a foodie, but... you'll rarely see him eat face to face.

*Often hangs out in a cafe he loves before going to his library. He loves black coffee. (and Strawberry Milkshake, he is not ashamed.) He goes to take care of the library on Wednesdays to Sunday.

*His library is in a alleyway, which is hidden behind a wall where you see in those movies, press the right brick and boom say hi to Heartman if he's there, its a big library and has every single book. Its protected by a barrier when he's not there. Criminals usually stumble upon this by accident, somehow they behave nicely in there. He meets up with his students here who turned to crime. (Heartman is rapidly approaching my location for expos-)

Here's what i imagine what his library would look like😌:

[senka-mesecine]

I feel like rhah is the type of guy to have the gnarliest double standards, he says over and over again that he’s disenchanted with women and that he’s fighting for his soul, and that women are jezebels and harlots out to get him, but at the same time when it comes to falling in love he’s as hopeless as a middle school boy with his first crush 😂

I’d kill to see that brought to life potentially with a nurse who treats him nicely for a SECOND and all of a sudden she has rhah bringing her little gifts and constantly showing up to pester her like a cat

The One Time Rhah Vermucci Fell in Love (And Everyone Had to Endure it).

Rhah Vermucci x Reader.

---

-"Bah! They're the gateway to hell!"-

He throws his head back, exasperated and holding court.

-"Been since the time Eve bit into the apple."-

Continuing, Rhah wags his finger, figuring these snot-nosed kids needed to hear this from someone who knew his elbow from his prick; needed to take it to heart, so if they ever rotated back to the world they wouldn't end up wrapped around the finger of the first malicious, insidious skirt that came walking by and batting her lashes at them, looking to collect those sweet vet benefits. They're all gathered around him and his makeshift throne made of filled sandbags, listening to the sermon. If anything, in another life, Rhah imagines himself being a preacher. Father Vermucci.

-"Because think about it! Open your collective third eye!"-

He taps the side of his head for special emphasis, eyes scanning everyone surrounding him, from Taylor, Big Harold, Crawford and an openly amused looking King. Well, he could be smug as he liked but it didn't make his words any less correct. -"They get together with assholes and produce even more assholes. Bring evil into the world! Spread it like a disease!"- He starts talking with his hands, smacking all of his five fingers against his thigh, the contact practically snapping. Taylor nearly jumps at the sound. Good, good. He needed to be jumpy. Means the lesson was settling into his bones, right where it belonged too. -"It's like a primordial black flame they protect and perpetuate. Half of the reason why we're in the mess we're in."- When Rhah really thought about it well enough, the war here was to be blamed on women in the first place; if they didn't go around giving birth to a bunch of demons from both sides, none of this would've happened. When he catches the boys sharing knowing, wordless glances like they were being quietly speculative, he decides to up the ante and give a concrete example; one close to home base. One they were all familiar with. -"I mean, someone had to go ahead and give birth to a Barnes. Ever think about that? No! Of course you don't! That's a scarlet woman's bit of handiwork right there."- He hisses, drawing in his breath sharply, lounging forward, until his spine was bent forward towards the pale faced mugs that seemed like they've just heard the scariest ghost story ever told; someone had to give birth to a Bunny. To a O'Neill. To a Wolfe. Someone gave birth to Victor Charlie as well. Someone brought that forth into the world. Someone did everyone that particular disservice.

And who was it?

Oh, yeah, right, a broad.

The usual suspect.

-"She got laid up with the horned one and Barnes is the end result! That's why he can't be killed! He's the devil's brood! Antichrist!"-

He keeps his voice deliberately low and hushed.

In the off chance the walls of the Underworld grew a pair of ears.

King rolls his eyes, chuckling, arms crossed over his chest.

Sure, laugh. Vermucci would see who gets the last laugh.

He'd see who gets the last laugh when it turns out that woman King's been writing the whole time, that Sarah or whatever her goddamn name was, turns out to have been porking someone else the entire time.

-"Rhah, bro, you're whack, man."-

His royal highness King shakes his head from the wooden poll he was leaning against.

The rest of the boys looked the way bugs look when you lift up a rock.

-"Maybe so."-

Rhah stands up, shaking his whole hand at King, index finger extended, deciding to stand his ground no matter how much he was mocked. Every prophet was initially considered insane in his own home village. John the Baptist even lost his head to a whore like Salome.

-"But, I'm also right."-

He stands face to face with King, throwing his whole chin out.

The man just laughs, his golden tooth reflecting the light of the surrounding candles.

Unexpectedly, Taylor. Taylor of all people speaks up.

-"Funny coming from a guy with an altar to Aphrodite next to where he sleeps."-

The kid half-grins causing King to burst out laughing with such a gusto his whole body bends forward with his hands grasping his knees for support, Rhah's mouth falling agape and his head whipping back to face the kid, travelling back and forth between the woman's statue surrounded by melted candles erected next to his bunk; he feels the accursed heat of the blood running into his cheeks overtaking his zeal.

-"Atta, Chris."-

King wheezes, congratulatory of this subversion and mutiny and fine, fine.

That's how it was then, huh?

Rhah's words of wisdom were totally lost on this crowd.

Let them all be deceived and lose their soul to the first pair of legs that walks by then.

None of his business. Ain't gonna fight anyone's battles for them.

He had his own soul to save.

But nobody can say he didn't warn them.

―

Two weeks later a stray bullet grazes his leg and Rhah finds he felt no pain.

In fact, laid up in the infirmary bed surrounded by a pack of groaning and moaning sinners complaining about every aching bone, limb and extremity, he was grinning like a man possessed the entire time. -"Twenty stitches, but it'll heal."- You explain softly and he was tempted to act like his condition was even worse than it actually was only for you to take a bigger interest in him. He was in deep. He was in deep. He was in deep. He nestles the back of his head comfortably into his pillow, adjusting himself there to get the best possible view of you and the stack of paperwork pressed against your chest. -"After a while, the scarring while fade and you won't even see where it was."- You reassure, like he wanted the scarring to disappear in the first place. Like he wouldn't have prefered to keep it forever as a memento. He unfurls his mouth even wide until he feels all of his teeth on display; you ascribed this as him being in shock and yeah, he was in shock. Sure, these broads all tended to be pretty because it was their natural predatorial tool meant to ensnare the gullible but you were more than just pretty. Was it just him or did you have a white aura around your head, hovering around you like a shimmering halo? -"Now, rest, please."- You instruct, briefly touching his shoulder with your fingers and he has to grab hold of them lightly, bringing them up to his lips. If this warranted him being up for Section 8. then so be it.

-"Madam."-

He's all breath and a raspy voice, fascinated, pressing a kiss to your knuckle.

His other free hand coiling into a fist, slamming his own chest.

Your wonderful, supple, graceful mouth falls agape.

The rose petals of Venus herself!

-"Right here! Right here is where they should've shot me."-

He whispers adamantly, thumb pointing at his own heart like someone hellbent on giving a vow, his throat still feeling raspy and guttural. Coming through hoarse, strained by his recovery --- all the dehydrating medication and pills he was pumped with when all the cure and healing ointment he needed was right in front of him; he supposed he understood that cherry Gardner right this very instant, rest his soul, going around showing his wallet and his girl in it to everyone. Momentarily, your shock fades as you stop trying to pull your fingers out of his grip and he spots the shadow of a half-smile as you turn your head, slightly flustered. Heavenly trumpets, rejoice! She smiles. He places your hand atop of his torso, covering it with his own, squeezing it steady there. They all could've been Jezebels, whores, harridans, gorgons, sorceresses, hussies and fallen women but every once in a while, like a diamond in a rough, a man could run into a true Archon --- you were sweet enough with him to be considered a saint, after all. He throws his chin out, facing you, staring at you head on, so you'd understand how much and how badly he meant this. Really meant this. -"The bullet should've ran deep, deeper, so it never fades."- Rhah assess firmly and you meet his eyes, the tension in your held hand relaxing along with your shoulders. You were allowing him to knead your sweet fingers, fully receptive.

He was in love.

―

-"Look at her! My angel, flung out of heaven!"-

The whole Underworld practically shakes with the sound of his voice and while admittedly, the first thing he went about doing was getting as high as a kite and showing off the photograph of yourself you've given him, it wasn't just the influence of quality Ganja that got him so euphoric; it's like the whole got painted over with new colors. Hell, Rhah didn't even mind that Taylor was merely feet away from him, talking about him. So!? Let him talk! Let them all talk. -"What's going on?"- He hears the kid ask, leaning over to King, all conspiratorial, ear to ear and cheek to cheek like the men who stabbed Julius Caesar. -"It's Rhah and some pretty lil' nurse. He's in deep. Been running his mouth about her for two hours and we all had to sit around and listen."- In equal measure, he hears precisely what King answers back, his mouth askew in a half-smile, scrutinizing him. Nah, he had to interject and correct that one, plating a hefty kiss to the surface of your picture. -"The most beautiful nurse alive and don't you forget it!"- If they had to, they'd listen to him rant about you for the remainder of their collective service tour out here or he wouldn't be called Rhah Vermucci. -"Don't know what chemicals they put in the water back at the hospital or if they did something to the grey matter in his brain but, fuck, brother returned a changed man."- This time around, King raises his voice, not maliciously, joviality and the casualness of a jokey aura surrounding him like a warm hue, but nonetheless, all Rhah could do is scoff and shake his head. They really didn't get it, did they? They won't laugh so much when it's their turn to be struck by Cupid's arrow. 'Specially Taylor. That one would get hit by the madness real hard and Rhah could tell just by looking at him.

-"Ain' no signs of him stopping yet either."-

Crawford obnoxiously cuts in from the other side of the bunker, snorting.

-"I thought he didn't like them very much? Women, I mean."-

Chris comments, clearly teasing.

Rhah was exasperated. Running his hand through his slick back.

When did college boy get so mouthy?

Was 'Fuck with Vermucci' a holiday all of a sudden?

-"The duality of man, Taylor, the duality of man."-

King clicks his tongue, entertained, giving him the stare.

They're all circling him like wild animals.

-"He's been hit by that thunderbolt."- He adds, all 'ooh's' and 'aah's'.

-"He's in love, brothers, and we'll have to endure it."-

King puts special emphasis on the word love them, dragging it out like stale chewing gum until it is undeniable that a taunt's a taunt, followed by a playful nudge in the shoulder; Rhah flinches back, rolling his eyes, sensing his own jaw locked up tight, tucking away your picture into the front pocket of his fatigues, right next to his heart, where you belonged. The candles surrounding his altar were all lit tonight, illuminating the Underworld, giving it a warm, golden hue. His soul feels lifted. Light. Like he was sent an angel to make it all right. Regardless, his words come up spiteful, goddamn nearly spitting. -"When your turn comes"- He addresses them all collectively, gruffly, pushing his jaw out, his ire fading momentarily even as he points an extended, threatening finger at each and every one of these mugs. -"you'll sing and shout it from the rooftops too! Yeah! That's right! Until then, you ain't know shit!"-

[jedineedlove]

Monkey Man:

I watched this new movie trailer Monkey Man and with it Hanuman, the Hindu monkey god.

Usually, I talk about JTTW and Sun Wukong but this new movie trailer inspired me to take a look into this monkey god. Hanuman is the most celebrated and worshipped figure in Indian religion. And said to be the inspiration for Sun Wukong.

(What I wrote I just right what I learned from some research please don't hesitate to commoner below if I got anything wrong or missed anything Thank you. :) )

 There are several stories told to explain Hanuman's origins.:

One interpretation Shiva and Parvati decided to transform themselves into monkeys in the forest.  As a result, Parvati becomes pregnant.  Shiva directs the wind god Vayu to carry the offspring from Parvati's womb to that of Anjana - an Apsara with the form of a monkey who has prayed to be granted a boy.

According to Hindu legends, Hanuman was born to mother Anjana and father Kesari.

Hanuman is also called the son of the deity Vayu (Wind god) because of legends associated with Vayu's role in Hanuman's birth and is said to be the incarnation of Shiva (Destroyer god)

image above (Vayu)

Another tale of his birth is "when Anjana was worshiping Vayu, the King Dasharatha of Ayodhya was also performing the ritual of Putrakameshti yagna to have children. As a result, he received some sacred pudding (payasam) to be shared by his three wives, leading to the births of Rama, Lakshmana, Bharata, and Shatrughna. By divine ordinance, a kite snatched a fragment of that pudding and dropped it while flying over the forest where Anjana was engaged in worship. Vayu delivered the falling pudding to the outstretched hands of Anjana, who consumed it, leading to the birth of Hanuman".

The majority of the stories contain Vayu and Anjana.

Similar to Wukong Hanuman had a youth full of mischief (usually with the gods and sages) and some familiar powers.

"As a youth Hanuman often abused his powers to pester the saints and holy men living in a nearby forest, with tricks such as beard pulling and the dousing of sacred fires.  However, it is as an adult that the monkey god Hanuman comes into his own."

"Indra, the king of the gods, struck Hanuman with a thunderbolt on the jaw(hanu), thus inspiring the name. When Hanuman continued to misbehave, powerful sages cursed him to forget his magic powers, such as the ability to fly or to become infinitely large, until he was reminded of them."

"The god Indra grants Hanuman a wish that his body would be as strong as Indra's Vajra and that his Vajra can also not harm him. Along with Indra other gods have also granted him wishes: the God Agni granted Hanuman a wish that fire won't harm him; God Varuna granted a wish for Hanuman that water won't harm him; God Vayu granted a wish for Hanuman that he will be as fast as wind and the wind won't harm him. Brahma also granted Hanuman a wish that he could move to any place where he could not be stopped. Hence these wishes make Hanuman an immortal, who has unique powers and strength."

"He is said to have transformed into the size of mountain, and flew across the narrow channel to Lanka." "he shrinks down to the size of an ant and sneaks into the city." "Upon arriving, he discovered that there were many herbs along the mountainside, and did not want to take the wrong herb back. So instead, he grew to the size of a mountain, ripped the mountain from the Earth, and flew it back to the battle. "

How the two are not alike is Hanuman was a being who wanted nothing to do with immortality and wanted to serve the Rama. Nothing like the free spirit and immortally seeking Wukong.

"After blessing all those who aided him in the battle with gifts, Rama gave Hanuman his gift, who threw it away. Many court officials, perplexed, were angered by this act. Hanuman replied that rather than needing a gift to remember Rama, he would always be in his heart. Some court officials, still upset, asked him for proof, and Hanuman tore open his chest, which had an image of Rama and Sita on his heart.

Now proven as a true devotee, Rama cured him and blessed him with immortality, but Hanuman refused this and asked only for a place at Rama's feet to worship him. Touched, Rama blessed him with immortality anyway. Like Shesha Nag, Hanuman would live on after the kalpa (destruction of the universe)."

Fun Fact:

The namesake " One interpretation of "Hanuman" is "one having a disfigured jaw". It is due to that earlier tale of Indra striking him as a child in the jaw with a lightning bolt. Because child Hanuman mistook the sun for a fruit and tried to take a bite.

That then leads to the other gods and Indra giving him powers and wishes. There is another version the other is he was burned to ash and was brought back but had a bad jaw when he was restored.

"Though Hanuman is described to be celibate in the Ramayana and most of the Puranas, according to some regional sources, Hanuman married Suvarchala, the daughter of Surya (Sun-God). However, once Hanuman was flying above the seas to go to Lanka, a drop of his sweat fell into the mouth of a crocodile, which eventually turned into a baby. The monkey baby was delivered by the crocodile, who was soon retrieved by Ahiravana, and raised by him, named Makardhwaja, and made the guard of the gates of Patala, the former's kingdom. One day, Hanuman, when going to save Rama and Lakshmana from Ahiravana, faced Makardhwaja and defeated him in combat. Later, after knowing the reality and after saving both, he made his son, the king of Patala.o"

(Can't wait to see the movie Monkey Man when it comes out:))

[kotonoba]

ISYT (Jushiro/F!Reader) Ch. 48.5

Also in Jushiro's POV - "Imperfections of a Loving Husband"

--------------------------------------------------

“I remember you,” a voice cold as eyes, under the moonlit skies, chocolate brown eyes once warm turned ice cold. A temperature foreign to his lover who was always at the receiving end of endless affection. Just tonight, she didn’t recognize him, a man who was known to be a ball of positivity. Despite his sickly body, he was always smiling & trying to make others feel better. Just tonight, he was completely different.

She stood a few feet behind him because he requested that she lead him to the man who left ligature marks on her neck while he was away. If not for her clever & quick-witted personality, a Zanpakutou spirit who was overly protective of his master, who knows what would have happened? 

She peered from behind her husband, whose eyes were cold as ice, sharp as a dagger, his spiritual pressure; she did not feel it, though, it is safe to say that it must be suffocating. 

Before anything began, what surprised her was the sudden shift in her husband to turn his attention back to her; the cold air subsided as he saw her, now it was nothing but a warm summer breeze, “my love, can you wait for me back at home? I’ll be home soon, I don’t want you to see what I’m about to do, I don’t–” he trailed off, “I don’t–” he couldn’t say it. 

But instead of forcing her husband to say what he didn’t want to say, she responded with a warm smile, approaching him slowly, placing a hand to his cheek gently, “okay, you don’t have to force yourself.” She smiled; Jushiro was always grateful for his lover, but now more than ever. “Come home soon, okay? Don’t get hurt,” she smiled, he was easily seduced by her intoxicatingly sweet voice & hummed out an agreement to her statement. It seemed she liked that, enough to pull him into a gentle kiss, leaving him wanting more. But that was also cut short when she pulled away, bidding him farewell & returning back to their humble abode. 

Yearningly, he watched her leave, it was midnight. He should have been in bed with his wife, fast asleep, looking forward to the next day, but he’ll do that later. A quick pivot, the warmness quickly left his eyes, replacing with the same cold demeanor that didn’t suit the warm-hearted captain. 

“Where were we before I was sucked away in a dream?” Jushiro chuckled softly, but it wasn’t light-hearted, it was filled with rage, “ah! I remember. I remember you. A nobody. A nobody pestering my wife days before the battle over something so miniscule an ant could have solved the issue, yet, you had the audacity to take away her time,” eyes cold as ice, spiritual pressure as heavy as ten million wronged souls, his words & tone as venomous as a viper. He was enraged. This was the side he didn’t want to show his lover. He wanted her to live a sheltered, affectionate life, unaware of the world's harshness. Yet, she’s met every indecency of man. 

The man before him struggled to speak, but he had left the spiritual pressure bounds that his wife’s Zanpakutou tied him down in & a gag in place so he couldn’t scream. The man stopped struggling when he saw a shift in the captain’s voice & appearance, almost as if he became a different man, different from all the rumors of him being the most likable captain.

Chocolate-brown eyes filled with rage & jealousy; a chuckle left his lips, desperation painting his features; the once friendly captain became a depraved lover, “love is blind, they say; I never understood what that meant until today,” he pulled out a dagger laced with poison visible to the human eye, “I’m so glad it’s the dead of night, your screams, will not be heard, you will not be remembered,” he laughed gently, malice lingering in the air as he tossed his haori far off to the side so it wouldn’t be dirty, “I will not be caught.” 

The squirming of pain, muffled screams by a gag, & spiritual pressure spiking for help were all covered by the coldness of the captain’s spiritual pressure, motivated by pure revenge. A slice here, a slice there, a jab, a stab, watching the fresh red blood trickle from each wound until each wound began to bleed black. The poison was slow, but it was a common household thing. 

“How dare you,” Jushiro muttered, his rage had not subsided, “how dare you lay your hands on my wife,” a stab straight into the man’s thighs, reigniting his will to scream. Still, it was muffled again, “how dare you mark her delicate body with a strangle marking? Who, pray tell,” he whispered as he pulled the dagger out, pressing it up against the man’s neck. In this position, he used his spiritual pressure to pressure the soul reaper onto the ground. The eyes of an enraged man, a loving yet jealous husband, jealous that some stranger was near his loving wife while he fought to attend, “who do you think you are to be anywhere close to her?” He hated playing the noble card; he never believed in status, but he was willing to drop so low for his wife. 

The blade began to draw blood, & more & more black blood flowed out, “may you be cursed & find your way to a land in between life & death if you are ever to be reborn.” It was his way to bid the man farewell; as the man’s life slipped away, the last vision he had of the captain was the eyes of those who belittle others for being powerless, the blade in his hands disintegrated, “no one will know what happened tonight, but I.”  Jushiro dealt with the body swiftly; he left it in the Rukon districts & staged it as a wildfire, watching the body turn to ashes before scattering everywhere else, where it wouldn’t raise suspicion. “What a sinful thing love is,” he muttered to himself, returning to pick up his haori, & returning to their sweet home where his wife was waiting for him with a smile, but I don’t regret it. “I’m home.”

--------------------------------------------------

It might be a little out of character of him, but I believe if someone loves their significant other enough, they would have a side they wouldn't ever want to show their lover. Also, if he's willing to manipulate Ichigo by giving him the substitute shinigami badge in canon & intentionally tricked him saying it's a pass, I'm sure he'd have a devious side to him.

Aries' AO3

[newtonsheffield]

More Take A Deep Breath feels, featuring FitFrankie's handy work. I gotta think that occasionally, Anthony has to stop himself from fixating on where Frank's hands must have been during that tattoo session.

Look, I'm not gonna lie, it hasn't escaped Anthony's notice that his arch nemesis laid ink to skin on his fiancée before Anthony.

And more than that, Anthony hates that the work's actually well done. The lines are even, it's nicely balanced and he hates that this tattoo is so fucking sexy. God, he loves running his tongue over that spot. And he loves how she shivers under his tongue and her fingers knot in his hair and she tugs him further into the cradle of her hips and he was fucking made to live there.

And Kate just rolls her eyes as he pesters her with questions

"Where did he keep his other hand?"

"Did he hit on you?"

"Did you think he was hot?"

"Was my touch lighter than his?"

"Whose work was better? Mine or Frankie's?"

And he rolls his eyes when FitFrankie comes over to him at the end of an expo, Kate standing by the front of his booth with Neddy on her hip, still a tiny baby as she chats with Ben, waving Neddy's hand at Anthony.

"So, has your girl finally let you tattoo her? Or have i ruined all other artists for her?"

Anthony spun around, "Actually she's got a trail of Ants wrapped around her ribcage and I did them, and the daisy chain around her wrist!"

Frankie scoffed, "Ants? is she a big fan of picnics getting ruined then?"

"I'm Ant, Cockhead!" Anthony hissed, "That's what she calls me! Like a pet name when people are in love!"

"It's a shortened version of your first name, man, she must be head over heels." Frankie chuckled, clapping him on the shoulder.

"We have a baby together, Edmund, he's the fucking best and we're engaged!" Anthony snapped.

"Mate, relax." He laughed, "I was just teasing. Your kid's beautiful, man. Congrats. I mean it, I made a pass at your girl when I inked her and she laughed in my face so..."

Anthony felt his chest swell with pride, "I um... thanks. I actually... I love being a Dad."

"I'm actually kind of jealous, I wanna fall in love, Man." Frankie ruffled his hair, "It looks nice as fuck, like comforting, and warm and like... someone just loves you for who you are?"

"It's actually... you know what it's pretty fucking great actually." Anthony agreed, smiling at his fiancée and their son, his chest feeling tight. "I just... love spending time with them. Even if we're just sitting at home doing tummy time: it's like the best time of my life."

my little sister just started seeing this girl, Edwina and she's falling in love she reckons and I just-"

Anthony's stomach dropped, his eyes narrowing, " Tell me she's not dating Edwina Sharma."

"I... think that's her name?"

And Anthony can't help but sigh, "Damnit Edwina!"

[aston1sh1ng]

𝐃𝐂 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐄.

In an attempt to stop some anonymous corporation's illegal inter-dimensional research, Scott infiltrates their base and attempts to rewire their system, causing a small-scale explosion to take place. The pros? He does stunt their research by a mile. The cons? He's the newest addition to the gothic, unforgiving world of Gotham City. The avengers, fantastic four, x-men and other such teams simply don't exist. No Captain America to find hope in and certainly no Tony Stark to pester. Scott has, for all intents and purposes, lost his entire world to the displacement. Eventually, he comes to join Arkham Asylum's security department, doubling as Ant-Man whenever possible.

** This verse is heavily influenced by @cranetm's mind-bogglingly incredible portrayal of Jonathan Crane ( who really puts Scott through it ).

There are THREE ARCS in this verse, elaborated on under the cut.

ARC 1. SETTLING IN.

Being in a new world sucks, but a silver lining is to be found in the fact that his criminal record doesn't exist here. Which means Scott can actually get a decent job. And, to some degree, he does in the form of a job at Arkham's security department, gradually reworking the system and ridding it of its many kinks and quirks. ( It's a work in progress, but he's doing his best. ) All whilst grappling with the fact that he might never return to his loved ones. He's hoping to cope via forming new connections here, one of which is in the form of Jonathan Crane, a somewhat mysterious psychiatrist at the asylum who, through that very mystery in his cadence, intrigues Scott. As Ant-Man, he opts for more friendly neighborhood work, avoiding the unfamiliarity of Gotham's villain and super-hero roster to the best of his ability until he can settle in. His identity is not much of a secret considering his loved ones don't exist here - he has nothing and no one to truly lose.

ARC 2. THE GOTHAM EFFECT.

In Gotham-like fashion, Scott Lang soon discovers ( in the harshest of ways ) that his ( apparently ) one-sided friend, Jonathan Crane, is the notoriously toxin-happy villain: Scarecrow. Yeah, not a great feeling. Especially not after being blasted with fear toxin and having to relive the death of his daughter in 4k. So one could understand, then, why Scott grows somewhat disillusioned with his new world, realizing that any hope of 'new beginnings' and brighter days wherein his ex-con status doesn't haunt him is... less than probable. He's still his optimistic self, just less so, and while he's actively made the decision not to be Scarecrow's foe, his hero work takes an incline. Gone are the days of friendly neighborhood work; he's back to full-on life-saving. He familiarizes himself with superhero and villain databases ( might have hacked into the police system for this purpose... might have snuck into the bat-cave a few times. All for a good cause, he'll tell you. ) and even makes the occasional visit to metropolis on longer holidays for a breather from Gotham's insanity. Mostly, however, he coops himself up into finessing Arkham's security system. He'd quit, but he's flaked out on so many jobs in his world and doesn't want to repeat the same mistakes. So, he toughs it out. Doesn't reveal Crane's identity but tries to sabotage him when possible. (Batman'll get him someday. He knows. ) Scott can't hate him - he can't hate anyone that he's seen as a friend prior, so long as they've never actually hurt Cassie... which Crane cannot - but the disdain is present. Powerfully enough to motivate sabotages, but no turning-ins. This doesn't apply to the rest of the villains, however, whom he does strive to bring to justice unless he forms a complex personal connection or allegiance with them or comes to understand their motivations as justified or worth further exploration.

ARC 3. BE IT AS IT MAY.

So Gotham sucks. So he's not doing so hot in the 'not having my daughter over here' department. So he's got some trust issues. Scott's decided he won't let that get him down anymore. He realizes, after perfecting the security system, that he needs to make a change - in his own life, in everyone's. And so an active decision is made: No grudges. No regrets. Be the light you wish to see in others. More so on a social scale than anything else. He still keeps up his hero work, but mostly returns to his optimistic social outlook, mingling with others to the best of his ability and striving to form connections once more at the heart of Gotham city and during his vacations at metropolis. He keeps his hero work up and, perhaps most notably, makes a habit of visiting convicts in prison. For company, for motivation to reform - he does it because when he was imprisoned, he longed for anyone - anyone at all - to talk to from the outside. Granted, sometimes, he just kind of sits there and chats to them about such mundane things as ice cream flavors or the newest issue of a magazine he kind of liked. Some are confused, some are pissed, but some seem to be positively affected by it - and that's what he does it for.

[epiolatrys]

a dove's sonnet.

𓆩 ♱ 𓆪 ; an ode to ruination.

❛ dead dove do not eat ; religious imagery / biblical references, gore, brief mentions of implied abuse & suicide, usage of possessive endearments.

lowercase intended, not proofread.

HEAVEN AND EARTH  are planes of existence that counteract each other—a place that lets itself be punctuated with a mark of one another's will. existences with a background that had sparked from nothingness, almost as if these entities played against a backdrop of darkness and rooted from a light that birthed within an indecipherable, abysmal paradigm ; sparkling as would a lone pearl in the moon's ocean of sorrowful black tears.

It was a play on some philosophical subject called life : an entirely neutral page of gray.

to some, it is a blessing. children sow for their mothers and fathers with a gratitude that ingrained itself from within, working a lifetime to repay the debt of giving such a precious soul a chance to live, to breathe, to love, and to die ; besides their long-gone ancestors.

god's blessed creations.

and there is the other side of the same coin. agony, suffering,  vice.

discarded ingrates. the ones god deemed a hopeless cause. people who had long abandoned the path of holiness, to sin and hurt, and to spread his name with antipathy.

these are mortals who bear a loathing towards the very land they were birthed on, or the people that write the earth as home.

usually, it would spark from a strike against flesh. an imprint that could become a cycle, opening the wounds again and again until a morose disposition is created from the hits and whips and the tantalizing drag of a knife against skin.

often times, an abhorrence plants itself deep within the hearts of destitute souls. taking the path of vengeance to enact a punishment befitting their tastes—or, pitiful hearts acting against god by taking a dagger and thrusting it into one's chest. these are those who bear the mark of a sinner.

beings who defile the remnants of their father from heaven—sacrilege in their veins, a murky spill of vexing pouring from their tainted lips ; malice taking root in the cavity that a heart should reside—demonic  you could call them, a sure reflection of a sinner's broken promises made in god's name.

though, they hadn't spawned from the depths of hell to wreak havoc among brethren and lamb : they were merely corrupted humans without the ability to shift the tides of divinity, a meagre colony of ants that pester.

lower forms that could not even compare to the omnipotence of this land's only father. their attempts bloom with futility, to act in defiance. vanity removing them from god's good graces—a joke to overthrow him. it was simply, and utterly  futile.

a hum timbres from fyodor's throat, the echo bouncing between ivory walls. with not a hint of merriment, he offers a sardonic smile—to which nikolai takes in silence. at this, his face distorts with a subtle twist of repugnance,  or is it amusement?

nothing could truly be deciphered from one's face alone ; especially with a man who revelled in solitude, and bit with cynicism.

the sinister gaze he held scrutinised nikolai like a fine specimen for experimentation, narrowing violaceous irises with an attunement to the gleam in the other's eyes. promptly, he turns his heels—chin affixed to just above where his hair stopped, leaning back to admire the interior of the church.

" do you not fear or—are you merely playing with this role of a guileful facade, and wearing your true face,  kolen'ka? " the sullen man inquires suddenly, the diminutive of nikolai's name rolling off his tongue like a decadent pour of bourbon and honey : sweetened and affectionate in it's spillage.

yet, the russian man's hardened gaze, a flicker between vehemence and a capacity for violence—it gives a pretense to his saccharine phrases. and the jester merely smiles at this.

the pronounced engravings of fyodor's words were always a pleasure to break apart—to study the complexity of his sinful hymns, and absorbing it into a repressed part of his soul.

it rooted from obsession, it grew to be an affection.

he always loved trying to decipher god's words, not to understand—but to satiate. to satiate what it meant to be a devout worshipper.

fingers worked to cracked and bloody lips, biting at nail and baring bone ; eyes crinkle, aggressiveness slowly rooting itself to his teeth and fangs. nikolai steps, waits, and  searched—only when fyodor's ministrations to his thumb ceased did the latter only stare. it was a silent permit.

the vehemence in each other's gaze blurred the background—it hadn't come to settle that the souls were merely a breadth of hair apart.

and again, nikolai pauses. in a leisurely pace, his mouth travels to where fyodor's right ear was. the heat of his breath, it encouraged the littering of bumps along fyodor's skin :  cold, almost lifeless in its expanse.

" what have you done to me. "

fyodor's lips pulled themselves together with fascination, a smile gracing the ends, and he replies with a breathless mockery of nikolai's statement, opting to lean until his shoulder was against his, emphasizing an eminence : and with a twisted parody of clemency, he whispered, " I've done things a many, dearest kolya—but you, you aren't one of them. "

he adored the way such a falsity hangs from his tongue in a way so sickly sweet.

nikolai briefly redraws from his position of entangling feet, stepping away as the piercing of hush damned his mouth ; until next time, he wished to whisper. but, he leaves with an abruptness—only hoping the snarl grotesquely twisting his features become unheeded by watchful eyes.

" nikolai. "

a flinch. fyodor notes of this, sound velvet as it unravels from a rot in his mouth, tongue slipping the verse out like silk gliding along marbled floors. consequently, nikolai pauses at the mere cite of his name, feet ceasing in motion without another thought—as if it were a sentence carved into the back of his skull, restraining the nerves of his body with a single call to him.

the utterance of the title he had grown and lived in, the ringing sounded like the resounding murmur of an orchestral euphony from his partner's lips ; divine and mollified with the cries of an angel—yet, it was blood stained and jagged in nature. it pierces into dermis, births another home for scar tissue to settle in, seeping into the blood flowing within the sorrowful branches of his veins.

" what is it, dos—kun~? " alteration arranges the flow of his voice to fit the facade he had placed upon himself, playing along with the mask he had carved onto the foundation of his facial bones, shedding off skin and slotting the face of deceit.

though, even with such grandeur trickery, fyodor had already seen through the falsities of man.

he strides to the jester's spot, even with his back turned, the sound of boots clicking against the floor prompted the rising of hair along the planes of nikolai's arm—gut twisting and turning like the skin above it had been torn apart, and the viscera had been hollowed out through the brutal maiming of flesh.

it felt almost like a sickening pit that comes when anxiety gnaws at the edge of his consciousness—like a sanctuary that appears to a destitute man, beckoning him with the taste of tranquillity—only to cruelly drag the piece of elysium away, whilst the acclimatized soul lets the sparks of hysteria lick up the bits of comprehension he carried, against the will of the promises he had yet to fulfill.

fortunate or unfortunate, he had learned to not give in to his humane instinct of contraction ; turning on his heel with an intention to cement his ground.

nikolai, to his dismay—the moment he had let the conduit of relief wash over him—he wavers, the shield he had put up shakes and rattles with the unexpected meeting of face.

though, this time, there was a certain glint in fyodor's eyes that made his own widen just a centimetre. it was a subtle augment of chagrin that adorned his countenance, but it had withered away just as quickly as it appeared.

being the perceptive man he is, the illicit man smirks at the tiny bubble of surprise that twisted the taller figure's face—and leans in ever so closely ; breath fanning across the features that complimented each other so perfectly as deep set lids smouldered with a cluster of charred lavender, punctuating his heedful gaze through narrowing his eyes.

pretty thing—would be what would presumably appear along the lucidity of crime and punishment's cranium, the edges of the jester's lips only drawing themselves up as he reciprocated by cutting more space between them.

at this proximity, the two could practically  taste  the sweet seething of desire betwixt their persons—choosing to restrain as would a chain to beast : a constriction that barely held the profuse spilling of ambrosia that coaxed an incarnate of eve in their heads—the fruit of sin luring them deep into vice.

though, a voice speaks amidst the chiming of quietude.

I was already a sinner.

one reasoned, and another agreed. depravity wasn't a name that rang foreign to either—and  god,  did nikolai want to have a taste of death's lips—a tongue that cradled the words of holy err.

a mouth of gospel.

and it burned—nikolai's skin—it burned of an ire, an ardent searing of desire ; and fyodor was morphine.

a gentle pour of water along his wounds, the hubris of a man—holy, he laps it up and kisses at his knuckles, to the pads of his fingers—savoring the taste of god's righteous hand ; the arch of his lips tracing a sinner's name along the side of the angel of death's ribs, with a tender aching to his bite that claimed.

a long, ivory finger tilts nikolai's chin—with a beguiling simper, fyodor breaks the silence of tension.

" My  little dove. "

@deadromanticism ; do not reproduce, translate, nor copy my works.

[scribhneoirtuirseach]

(A very brief look into the end of a life.)

a solo regarding Cap's death (also on AO3)

featuring: Captain, Pat Butcher, Mary, Humphrey Bone, Fanny Button, Thomas Thorne

wordcount: 530

my other BBC Ghosts fics!

"There truly isn't much to say," the Captain sighs when Pat finally manages to gently pester him one too many times about his story. "I lived well and the circumstances of my death have nothing of note, Patrick."

"But you have to understand, and I say this will all of the love in my heart, Cap— When you say nothing at all, when you avoid it, it seems like a lot did happen." He swallows. "Sir."

"It was as unremarkable as falling asleep, because that's simply what happened, Patrick. Now, if you'll excuse me…" Clicking his heels together, the soldier clears his throat before marching off to whatever his next order of business is; The ants outside, most likely.

He knows it isn't right to go sneaking about to find information… But he knows the older ghosts must have seen something.

"I were there when he passed, yes." Mary admits, fingers stressing her apron as she recalls the event. "All I saw was him sat in his chair before he were shouting at us, claiming us to be intruders."

Robin grunts faintly from where he's sat in front of Fanny, having his hair brushed. "Was here first. Everyone else intruder…"

"The Captain's nothing if not consistent." Stubborn is what Pat means, in the most affectionate way possible. He knows what the man's like at this point. "So, he's being honest, nothing at all actually happened…?"

"Nothing at all," Humphrey agrees from somewhere in the corner. "Had tea with his right hand man, then he was gone."

Fanny clears her throat, somehow seeming to focus even more on the messy mans in front of her.

Pat raises a brow, slowly stepping over. "Fanny?" There's that slightly higher pitch, always comes out when he realises someone else knows something. "Sharing's caring…"

"From, not with." She corrects sharply, though with no real malice towards Humphrey. "He brought it for him. There's a reason soldiers don't let anyone else touch their brew, Patrick, you must know…" The only respectful way to say what happened is without saying it at all.

The Scout Leader takes a while to consider this, eyes slowly widening. "Cap was—" Fanny's quick to cover his mouth, Humphrey's head bumbling rather uselessly into the next room; All to the confusion of the Captain as he enters the room.

"I was what?"

"Look at… butterflies?" Robin chances, scratching behind his ear as he diverts his gaze.

"No butterflies out today, I'm afraid." The Captain chirps, fixing Pat and Fanny with a puzzled look before continuing on his way out. "As you were!"

The room remains silent for a solid before they collectively decide it's safe enough to speak.

"He can't not know—"

"He doesn't, and he won't!" Fanny whisper-hisses, dusting herself off. "Don't you suppose he has enough to deal with?"

"Far too many fennels on that man's plate." Mary pipes up in agreement.

Thomas's head pokes through the door. "Who has fennels now?"

"The Captain."

"Lord, I needn't know about that." Aaand that's him quickly disinterested, the group of ghosts breaking off and Pat silently how to, or rather if he should even, attempt to approach the man with this knowledge.

[drpeppertummy]

6, 7, 9, and 13 for Meriwether!! I absolutely adore the buggo!

auuaua thank youuu i fucken forgor about him jghfdsnmk hes my friend

Are they picky about who touches their belly? Do they prefer to restrict it to close friends? Partners? Anybody? Nobody? - hes a grumpy old man & he generally prefers not to be touched but if he had somebody who was Really close to him like a significant other he would be ok with it. i dont think he does tho😔

Are they shy about showing their exposed belly? Do they ever show it in public? In private? - he prefers Not to show off his belly but sometimes he has no choice if hes really full bc his sweater wont cover it. SAD

Are they the type to lean back and rub their belly after a big meal, or would they rather hide how full they are? - only if hes alone, which he usually is

How do they feel about their belly? In terms of appearance, function, etc - he doesnt like being a honeypot ill tell u that much. doesnt like being blown up like a balloon, doesnt like other ants pestering him about it, etc

[saby-chan]

So it happens that I am somewhat of a writer too and I’ve been thinking about something lately... Would you guys be interested in reading a Chichiya centric fanfic focusing on his life in the Borderlands before The Beach and the events of the manga/show (aka ante-Arisu timeline)? Cause I have this story I write for myself as a personal hobby of mine (I picked writing back up as a means to cope easier with stress during my mid-term exams this year and this fanfic turned into a project I am currently very dedicated to) and since I managed to complete the Prologue and up to chapter 5, I guess I could post it online if anyone would like to read it.

As a whole it would be like a spin-off of ‘What if AiB’s main character was Chishiya instead, the cynical man with no purpose in life?’, as he wanders these waste lands trying to find a way out, while he’s being pestered by the presence of another human being, whom Chishiya made the ‘mistake’ of saving their life in an extremely rare unusual moment of pity. Personality wise, I tried to combine TV-show!Chishiya with manga!Chishiya (with an additional touch of my own personal style of writing him that adds a little bit of spice) so I think he could come off as entertaining to the reader (Chishiya is my favorite part to write, ngl, trying to get into this man’s train of thought is a real experience).

For the sidekick part, it’s OC-based tho, so it won’t have reader insert, but the character I built specifically with Chishiya in mind to be complementary to his personality, meant to accompany him on his journey, could be relatable enough for the reader, for them to actually come to enjoy her (she’s not an idiot and if I were to compare her to a canon character, imagine a combination of Ippei’s pure hearted optimism and compassion towards humanity and selflessness and Urumi’s cunning skills of manipulation, although a bit toned down to fit a kinder person). She fits most criteria in this post, so for the people looking for something like this, I guess I got your back.

Genre wise there’ll be romance (coz I am a sucker for love stories and fluff and Chishiya needs a little bit of company in his life), but it’s very slow-burn (just to give ya’ll a mental image of what I mean, kissing won’t happen until like after page 180 or so), I also tried to add some action by creating my own games for them to partake in and, of course, there’ll also be comedy and fanservice too (a bit of everything I guess, but don’t expect much gore or detailed horror scenes).

So yeah, if anyone’s actually interested to read this thing, just let me know. This might not be the best way to describe and present the story concept to the public, since I suck at self-promoting my stuff, but I tried to add and summarize the general ideas. I’m still not sure if I should post it or not (hence this random post), but if there’s enough interest from others, I’ll post the prologue and chapter 1 as a test run, since I am open to feedback and opinions on the story. For anyone wanting to know any other details, my asks are a friendly open space for any and all questions (except hate, please don’t send any forms of hate).

Thanks for taking the time to read this post and let’s see what happens.

Yours, Saby

[motownfiction]

cocoa

Lucy didn’t tell anyone where she was going this afternoon.

OK, so Emma knew from the beginning. And she told Will. But that was only because he pestered her into giving up her secrets, and he’s the only person who can get classified information out of her. She’s also not sure she can do anything without telling Will. It’s a miracle he doesn’t know everything he’s getting for Christmas.

But other than Will, Lucy didn’t tell anyone where she was going this afternoon.

What Lucy is doing now is very Sadie-ish behavior, and she wouldn’t have done it if Emma hadn’t asked. Thinking you can talk someone into doing the right thing, or at least thinking you can understand someone else’s point of view. You can try, but people love to edit themselves. It’s a good thing Lucy’s a better editor than most.

Paul Donnelly walks through the coffee shop’s front door. Lucy tries not to laugh. Emma’s type is so predictable. Skinny white boy in a peacoat with an honest-to-God opinion about scarves. Boys like that have been her type since she was sixteen and got rejected by the class valedictorian. Will likes to joke that if he’d never been born, Lucy would have lived the same life as Emma. She’d have fallen in love with a geek like Nick Crosby (their class valedictorian, after Lucy got pregnant and lost the top spot), and his arrogance wouldn’t have allowed him to give her the time of day. Lucy always laughs, not sure how to remind Will that he has a small waist and no fewer than three peacoats himself.

She also feels like Emma might be living her life, anyway.

Did she accidentally make it a requirement? For the women in her family to get pregnant out of wedlock? And why did Elenore and Emma feel like they had to up the ante on that one? Back in 1983, Lucy got knocked up by her high school sweetheart, her next door neighbor, her childhood friend. Elenore had a baby with Charlie, who cut ninth-grade algebra to visit her in the hospital on the day she was born. And now, Emma. Twenty-seven years old, doctoral candidate, and pregnant by her boyfriend’s best friend. She might take the cake.

Paul gives Lucy a grim little smile. He sits across from her at the table in the corner.

“Hi, Dr. Callaghan,” he says.

“Paul,” Lucy says. “You’ve never had to call me Dr. Callaghan.”

“I know. Just … felt right. Given the circumstances.”

Lucy sighs. They’re playing “The Man with the Bag.” A little too cheerful. Paul nods toward the cup in Lucy’s grasp.

“I didn’t know you drank coffee,” he says. “I thought that was your claim to fame.”

“I don’t,” Lucy says. “It’s hot cocoa.”

“I didn’t know you drank that, either.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

Paul sighs. He removes his scarf like he thinks he’ll be here for a long time. Honestly, he’s probably right. Ever since she met him, he’s reminded her of somebody else she could talk to for hours and hours … about the things they loved, listened to, watched, all of it. More than anyone else she’d met in those twenty years, including sweet baby Judy Armstrong, Paul was the most like a ghost.

“Are you mad at me?” Paul asks.

Lucy sighs. He sounds like such a little baby.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I was mad at you. Breaking Emma’s heart.”

“I wasn’t thinking straight. I almost died. You don’t think straight when you almost die.”

“Well, I guess I wouldn’t know. Got pretty lucky in planes. Trains. Automobiles. Didn’t have many complications either time I gave birth. But a man goes into the mountains with his sisters, and suddenly, he’s almost dead.”

Making you much more like Sam than you already were, she thinks.

“Lucy, I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Paul says.

“I know you don’t,” she says. “I called you here to tell you what I think you should do.”

“I mean, what would even make sense? I know … I know I was wrong to break up with Emma after my accident. I wasn’t even … I could speak, I could walk, and I should have been thrilled that the universe wasn’t done with me yet. I should have been thrilled that it said, ‘You need more time with Emma O’Connor.’”

“You should have been.”

Sam didn’t have more time to spend with Steph, Lucy thinks.

“But my thoughts were scrambled, and you’ve gotta admit, I picked them back up pretty fast. But in the eleven days it took me to realize I’d fucked up, Emma had already hooked up with my best friend. And now she’s pregnant? We’ve been together for years, and she’s never gotten pregnant. Mack gets her one time, and now, he’s gonna be a dad. To what should have …”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. It would be OK if he did, but Lucy won’t tell him that. She does prefer watching boys squirm, even if the boy is thirty-five.

“I just don’t know how I’m supposed to be with someone who’d immediately hook up with my best friend,” Paul says. “I mean, what if Will had hooked up with Sadie?”

“Wouldn’t have happened,” Lucy says. “They have zero romantic chemistry. You should pay attention to it sometime. It’s actually a little weird.”

There’s a world where I could have married Sam, she thinks.

“I didn’t think Emma and Mack had chemistry, either.”

“Then you weren’t paying attention.”

Paul turns whiter than the ghost he’s always resembled. He looks down at his hands–the ones Emma raved about when they first met because she loved the way his reddish hair looked on his wrist. Lucy remembers that. It’s always fun to hear your daughters rave about their crushes, and even more fun when those crushes become love.

Emma talked a little too much about Mack’s smile. Especially when he wore his glasses.

“I didn’t think she liked him back,” Paul says.

“She liked him,” Lucy says. “But she didn’t love him. She still doesn’t love him.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. She told me she doesn’t love him. She told me she loves you. And she must have told me fifteen times. Emma knows I’m here, Paul. I wouldn’t have done something like this behind her back.”

“I’m surprised you’re doing it at all. You don’t usually get involved like this.”

Lucy shrugs.

“Well, Emma asked me to do it,” she says. “And, when I think about it, I must have wanted to. Otherwise, I would have said no. Even to my own kid.”

“Why did you want to?”

Lucy sighs.

“Because I also love you, sweetie,” she says. “I don’t want you and Emma to lose each other, and I don’t want the rest of us to lose you, either. You’re good in this family. Why would any of us want that to happen?”

Paul takes a deep breath.

“I don’t want it to happen,” he says.

“Good. So … what are you going to do?”

He hits his pockets for his phone.

“I’m gonna call her.”

[jumpspoken]

The Answer is Choice Lord

You've heart in her voice afore can or can't you leave her blessed.

Truve art thin the noise her pore tan nor want due bereave the sacred.

Her art will ever be more your words, I beg thee find me gracious.

The depart stills never free score dure dirt's, why leg be kind be cautious.

Her child may read these words and weep, I will ever try but never be Yours...still words should be enouf.

Perm wild spray, bleed ease, herds land, keep, by still sever nigh cut fever tea, dure, will her heards wood free bluff?

Shepherds delight and rum trifle to welcome the morning is all I can praywish Death scarfs and wonder exclaim it is lesser.

Deserts ignite bland gum stifle due undone her borning his call by man, stayfish meth dwarfs hand blunder sexcame fit this pester.

And I know this sounds like a confess it is not it is a plea and my love in deed, hear not words for today.

Stand by glow his round spike her songbless, knit his rot, spit this her ante sand, by dove wing greed, fear cot yerts score, more prey.

For it is you, you are the one true voice and her echo is your love, share the dove her wish.

More fit Spis dues, two scars her shun few rejoice, stand the gecko his cure glove, fair her, LOVE, the dish.

And know is one true destiny want tomorrow give any back.

Bland glow his tongue litany chants sparrow grift mani spack.

But never test the formalities a chew of beetle serum.

Cut clever lest her fatalities her brew love seedle venom.

Her dancers his voice alourd,

The answer is Choice Lord.

[senka-mesecine]

Asking for your opinion on how you think the reader would get together with the platoon cast members/get into a relationship with them? Like how would the confession/realization stage work between them hypothetically, do they have some sort of dramatic sunset kiss scene where they confess their love or do they just mutually decide “yeah, you’re stuck with me now”

-

― Chris Taylor strikes me as the king of pining. The admire from afar type. The 'I'd rather write about you and vax poetic than actually talk to you' guy. The bottle up my feelings inside type. Something significant, groundbreaking and almost triggering would need to happen to him for him to actually muster up the courage to figuratively bite the bullet and initiate and act upon all the emotions he had internally all along because you probably lived in this guy's letters and say, journal more than he's ever actually did anything in regards of his bubbling affections; and when this landmark event happens --- this something that pushes him into action, he is capable of going from a passive admirer or a quaint friend to entirely hands on overinvolved, dramatic sunset or no sunset, meaning that he probably realized he loved you all along, he just didn't do anything about it because he might've been slightly cynical about relationships as a whole, seeing it as the type of thing his parents would've tried to push him into numerous times before and to actually care for someone now on his own accord almost feels like a betrayal of principles, making the confession only just seem sudden when it isn't actually --- was boiling in him below the surface. Something just shook up Taylor from his slumber and he did what he should've done all along.

― For O'Neill? Man, the realization stage happens immediately. What realization stage? There's none of that. He sees you and his jaw drops. Zap. Love at first sight. Brain fried, no thoughts. The cigarette probably plops out of his mouth too. He's immediately in stuttering flirtation mode, pestering you, annoying you, negging you one moment and then simping the other and he makes no effort to conceal the fact that he's hot for you because why would anyone even conceal that? And even if he could, he's too nervy to actually pull off such a feat of discipline; he'd just twitch to irk and vex you one way or another like it's an itch he just has to scratch. Whatever the case, Red's on your ass like a red ant since day one and it's pointless to actually confess anything because due to how vocally irritating he gets in regards of you; everyone and their grandma just about concluded entirely on their own that this guy's down bad seeing as how if there was a list of top ten ramblings he most frequently indulges in you rank very high up there, meaning that he's invested and in this whole thing much sooner than you probably are. He already acts like he's in a relationship. Better yet; like a spouse that's been married twenty years to you and you're yet to wisen up to the fact you're part of the O'Neill clan.

― Bunny's like...Bunny. Sees the object and subject of his affections, decides he likes and wants the object and subject of his affections, does an act of service that would otherwise be considered harrowing by any normal standards five minutes after meeting them. Hey, here's a tattoo in the shape of a heart I pierced with a needle raw just now, never mind the fact it's freshly bleeding. Y'like it? That's...literally introductions. He is very well capable of doing that before you even know his name or are properly introduced to him seeing as how he operates on pure shock factor and in fact, shocking you is the goal. It's funny to him in a way only he understands. He skips the courtship. Skips the confessions. Skips all the commonplace landmarks of love. Jumps right into the fray. You my girl. So, we doin' this or not? It's literally that easy for him. He declares and decides on a thing and outcome and he'll pursue it until he gets it, plan being to pretty much pester you into a relationship and he doesn't care either ways if he never gets a clear closure or answer on your thoughts about this; in his mind, you're like, a thing. So good luck ever actually shaking him off seeing as how he very acutely embodies the whole 'you're stuck with me now' description of events. You knew him for a scandalously short amount of time and he's already latched on like a leech, refusing to un-latch.

― Wolfe, uh...hovers. You know, he just hovers? He's vaguely nice and he's around. Perpetually. Somewhere in the background. Somewhere nearby. Somewhere at hand. Doesn't get involved but he is involved, if you catch my meaning. Even when you overlook him and he fails at a great many things, he's...kinda always there. Peripheral. At arm's length. That's the definition of him in love and how he effectively 'initiates' a relationship. If he sticks around long enough it'll eventually happen because if he's always there one of these days he'll simultaneously be there at the right moment, at the right minute, second and hour and things will align and click just right and you'll somehow go from being barely an acquittance to being engaged to being married in the span of barely an eye's blink; so fast, in fact, it might even shock you as it happens to you. It's all about timing with him. His confession is deeply tied to timing too. Wolfe's the type to not necessarily personally take part in a brawl but he'll sure as hell tactically show up to 'break it up' once it's already over. He hovers, hovers and hovers you into a relationship and he's either operating on unassuming cunning or he's slightly sleazy. Maybe both. Hard to tell. But, you get won over and you're not even sure how or when it happened. The early bird catches the worm.

― Yeah, alright, for dramatic scenes? Rhah's your guy because he'll have a whole elaborate tirade speech after stewing in his feelings for god knows how long and when he does have his speech you'll almost feel you're being accused of something extremely dire seeing as how intense and impassioned he comes off as in his monologuing; but that's just the byproduct of all his feelings coming out big and theatrical as he holds nothing back, dumping it all on you at once. He'll just about openly tell you he loves you to your face, looking you in the eyes, invading your personal space but making his confession sound like they're fighting words. He could tussle with you just about now as well as make out with you. He's as passionate as he is deeply cynical. He might think of you as a Jezebel that's out to trick him in some shape, way or form and that what he feels is bad news and he knows this because he had plenty of time to germinate on the idea and realize the fact that he's in deep; that you could technically have him at your mercy because his damn heart's gone and been compromised bigtime. He treats all of this almost like it's an infection and that you're the one who's made him sick, but it's not as bleak as it seems because Vermucci's soliloquy is also simultaneously a confession he wants this, albeit in a very eccentric fashion. Might as well lose his soul to something good. He just as easily jumps from apparent hate to love within a second.

― King is loveably uncomplicated and never made a secret out of any of this --- any of his feelings --- in fact, his friendliness and open nature might've made it apparently clear, in a gradually moving sense, that he was your friend, that he liked you and then finally, that he cared; like, the development was all there over a period of time and obvious from the get go and even the most gullible person wouldn't be able to miss it, making King the opposite of someone like, say, Chris Taylor who's all about the secret, introspective longings. The angst. See, King's not like that all and he might think the whole pining thing --- it's rich people stuff, because only rich people have the luxury of wasting time like that instead of taking action and investing in a good something coming out of what was initially nothing. With him, entering a relationship is just the next logical step after a barrage of him being joined at the hip with you because he's consistently been nice to you and you consistently had reason to reciprocate, the same way he's consistently flirted with you, amped up the charm, giving you plenty well-threaded terrain to do the same, making the decision less of a mutual agreement with strictly drawn out lines and regulations but more something that just falls into place naturally because it feels natural, baby. King just gets under the skin like that to the point being together is a given.

― Elias could be the only one out of the bunch to actually have a dramatic sunset in his confession of love; as in, taking you to some quiet, secluded, beautiful place to have a face to face conversation on the matter and talk to you directly about the way he feels. And he does. He explains all of it to you in a very upfront, transparent, sincere way and for all intents and purposes his could be considered the most traditionally acceptable (and healthy) way to approach love and initiating things seeing as how he'll actually sit down and have an immersive talk to you about it that could very well last the whole night as you both pour your respective perspectives along with your hearts out. It's one of those once in a lifetime conversations that literally change you. Like, there's no denial what you are to each other after this one-on-one ends. He knows and now you know too. Elias almost treats this whole thing like something you righteously deserve to know and that keeping it from you would somehow be dishonest or unfair towards you, respecting you too much to have you hanging or in the dark, and he leaves much of where this all goes up to you because for all his kindness, he is somewhat jaded and he doesn't want to burden you with something you might not necessarily want and even when you profess that you do want it, he'll still ask and inquire if you're sure.

― Barnes is never going to confess. Not in the classical sense, no. He's executive like that. There probably will never be a time when he outright does so. He's just going to go about his day and do his quiet acts of service in relation to you until it becomes a norm that Barnes is the giver and you're the receiver and that by extension this ritual is so well and frequently observed in an unbroken chain, you're together due to it. Because, you see, people do things for him. Not the other way around. Anything from offering him cigarettes to lighting said cigarettes. Man had the audacity of ordering Taylor to bring him a medic even though he tried to murder him the night before. He calls the shots. Period. So for him to do something for someone else? Real quietly? Making no fuss about it? That's his love language. He effectively confesses every time he patches up your wounds even though he doesn't have to, every time he flicks a leech off of your skin and keeps on moving, every time he kills a snake at your feet, prevents you from walking into booby traps or does anything for you that that could be considered in service of you instead the other way around. He claims you through the stuff he does for you, through the noiseless devotion of it all, the notion he'd kill and die for you if push came to shove, not through words but even if he does say it vocally he's going to say it only once and make it count. His logic is that if anything ever changes, oh, you'll know immediately. Like, when Barnes ceases loving you one can tell.

[daughter-of-inklings]

Inktober Day 5: "Silent Oracle" word count: 671

We knew everything they had left us to find. Whether by intention, or error. We knew the god behind their folly. That there were thousands of them- more. Infiltrated throughout the kingdom, beneath it, around it— annoying, pestering like an infestation of ants. They’d fallen to the habit of culling sacrifices from the outer reaches of our land, the farms they thought were unattended. We knew the name of the man at their helm— the new name he’d chosen for himself after his ascension. Only his god and I knew the one he’d been given at birth.

We knew, too, that these cultists had been ordered to target temples worshiping the Magician. Several of the missing foxes had been found across buildings beyond our borders, once used as temples but abandoned after the war. Bound and bled dry on the altars by a single cut from one side of the neck to the other, their faces arranged to look on at the Magician’s statues in death; a simple message, but an effective one. The first temple was to the north, several miles past the King’s Sword. A woman- a mother, in her early 300s, who left behind two children between the ages of 13 and 67. The second temple was directly opposed, south. A younger woman- barely 200. The third and fourth seemed to have happened simultaneously, the temples less than a breadth from each other. Twins. Aged 458 on the day they died. 

All women. All born in the time of my absence. Faces I knew now only in their deaths, whose prayers fell to the wayside by my negligence. Each life taken a personal letter to my failures as their goddess. And if I did not guess the manner of their madness and see where they’d strike next, my son would join them. 

Before me lay a map of every temple my husband and his family had ever commissioned and built in my name. More than anyone had need for, and more than we could reasonably house with priests. The other temples were marked in red, but formed no pattern or arrangement of note. Just haphazardly chosen locations, not pointing towards anywhere.I felt for his magick and found nothing- no tail or ends of it anywhere, as if the earth had swallowed my son whole. I sighed and leaned back in the chair, rubbing my eyes until I saw stars. 

Stars…. 

If I couldn’t see as I was, my brothers and sisters might lend me their eyes. I shuffled the cards, the weight of them a small comfort in a dire situation. We didn’t speak often, but I doubted they’d turn me away now. I held them to my heart, posing my question. Simply asking for a clue- a note, a sound, a sign- anything to lead me in the right direction. But none of them spoke— they held no more answers than I did. 

It was when I set them aside that Death slipped into view. The chimera’s eyes bearing into mine, demanding to be picked up. There was no malice in their voice, but a warning. A plea. Not about my son, no— something else. Someone else. Curious. Death never concerned themselves with anything or anyone outside of those they claimed. 

The vision they offered in kind chilled my blood as much as it angered me. Another kidnapped woman laid out at my altar. Choking on her own blood- clawing at her throat, her hands, her chest. Clawing at figures shrouded in darkness, dealing to them what they’d done to her. Yelling at them in the hell’s tongue, tearing them to pieces at the base of the marble. A break in the pattern; this wasn’t a fox.This one was chained and dressed in tatters, with pointed horns like a devil and white streaks in her hair. This one belonged to Death. Brought it with her into the halls of my temple. 

She’s waiting for you, sister. 

My heart stopped as I understood where she’s kept.