#welcome to cursed physics knowledge with me

[starstuffandalotofcoffee]

ah, the things your sibling texts you when you are a radiation safety officer.

The dose was elsewhere given in layperson's terms as "ten x-rays per hour" which, using the RADAR Medical Procedure rough estimate, and a high-dose procedure (lumbar spine), gives me something on the order of 7 mSv/hour (700 mrem/hour). This is, in fact, pretty bad; for reference, the NRC's goal for the general public is 5 mSv (500 mrem) per year, and as a radiation worker, if I were to get about half that dose (that is to say, the dose from being in close proximity with this capsule, unshielded, for an hour) this would trigger an investigation into what I was doing.

With all that said, dose limits are intentionally fairly conservative, and you would need to handle this for quite a long time continuously to get a fatal dose. The Guardian reports it as being 19 Bq (about 0.5 nCi), incidentally, which is a pretty standard Cs-137 test source. Like, if you know a nuclear medicine technologist, they probably handle a very similar source regularly, but for brief periods at a time.

Anyway, if you're in Western Australia, do pay attention to this and if you see a weird metal thing on the road, matching this description, don't touch it! Follow the instructions of authorities! But, that said, the good thing about radiation is that your dose drops off steeply if you keep a distance. Unless you are in close proximity for an extended period of time, you are not at risk.

(On the other hand, from that same safety officer standpoint, I am screaming into a pillow. No one checked this en route? No one ensured this was in a secure container? No one checked this on delivery? This is in violation of like 5 separate parts of HAZMAT training in the US, and probably in Australia too.)

[munsonburn3r]

Oh, Camellia, won't you take me away? - A Hanahaki!Eddie Munson story (sneak peek!)

eddie munson x fem!reader

summary: eddie munson had been a constant during your short time in hawkins, indiana, which made it that much harder when you had to leave. four years and a clinical trial later, you'd thought you'd conquered an otherwise fatal disease. what you weren't expecting, though, was the man that nearly killed you to walk back into your life, threatening to undo all of the progress you'd made towards healing - both physically and emotionally.

cw: hanahaki!au, angst, descriptions of light gore, childhood trauma, sexual themes and content

a/n: here is a snippet from the hanahaki eddie fic that has been bouncing around in my brain over the past week. feedback welcomed!

Water flowed out across the floor in a surge that mimicked crashing ocean waves. You cursed as you scrambled to right the plastic Procona and liquid sloshed awkwardly, lapping at your fingertips. It was a surprising amount from a relatively small bucket. 

“Everything alright out there?” called a gruff voice from the back office. 

You sighed. “Just fine, Bill! Minor spill. Nothing major.”

A muffled grumble could be heard from the owner’s space behind you, but you paid it no mind. It only took a few steps for you to grab the mop and start cleaning up the water all over the workspace floor, and to your relief, it really wasn’t as much as it seemed. 

The nearly four years you’d spent at Indiana Floral Company had seemed to fly by in a blink of an eye. You weren’t expecting an on the spot interview when you’d first stopped into the shop, but the owner Bill had been impressed at your willingness to learn and your natural eye for design and hired you immediately. Probationary, of course. 

So under Bill’s tutelage, your floral design skills blossomed. The basic knowledge of plants you’d brought from years of spending time gardening with your Grandma grew. You went from simply identifying lilies to knowing the difference between Asiatic and Oriental and their best growing seasons. You could identify roses based on subtle color differences and had learned how to take the most tightly closed bud and blow it open with a little humidity, a plastic bag, and very careful preening. And though you didn’t like to brag, you could match corsage ribbon to prom dresses better than anyone in town. 

As time wore on, Bill had shared that years of design had wrecked his body and that it was time to begin passing the torch. Since Indiana Floral Company was one of the top floral design studios in town, the responsibility embedded in passing said torch was sobering. But after a year and a half of earning your stripes, you landed a head designer role and began training to take over the small family business.

Humming a nondescript tune, you refilled the earlier bucket with water and flower food before chopping the ends off of a bunch of de-thorned roses with the guillotine-like stem cutter. A clunk thrummed out when you dropped the two dozen stems into the water. Each blossom peered at you with a center like a curled eye — delicate sandy cream — perfect for the event you were designing later this weekend. 

A ring of the bells on the front door broke your focus. You wiped your hands on the rag shoved haphazardly into your apron and turned at the sudden sound of Bill’s voice. 

“The 1:30 initial wedding consult must be early. You mind taking this one, kid?” His head peeked around the office door. “I started the file – it’s on the cash wrap.” He looked tired; the man should have retired two years ago. 

With a slight smile, you nodded. “Got it.”

It was impossible to see who had entered due to the amount of plants, gift items, and displays you’d designed around the small space (“customers shop with their eyes first, kid; you gotta draw them in before you let them see the price tag” Bill had said). But as soon as you rounded the front display, your stomach dropped clear out of your body and onto the floor. 

Maybe it was the habitual need to weave around the labyrinth of flora and gifts that had lowered your defenses. Or perhaps it was the fact that this was a typical boring Wednesday afternoon in April. Hell, it could have been the questionable sandwich you had for lunch that you found at the back of the minifridge. 

But one thing was clear: you hadn’t expected to see Eddie Munson and Chrissy Cunningham hand in hand looking around at the array of merchandise you’d set out in preparation for Mother’s Day. 

“Hi!” A saccharine voice matched the sickeningly sweet smile on the strawberry blonde in front of you. “We’re here for a wedding consultation at 1:30. Sorry we’re a bit early — we didn’t want to be late!”

Time stood still. Or maybe that was just you — frozen as you stared the couple down with a look of surprise plastered across your features. You didn’t think you could move (or even speak, for that matter).

However, for the first time in almost four years, you felt your chest tighten and a sharp prickling sensation snake up your windpipe. You licked your dry lips (hadn’t you just put on chapstick?) and attempted to swallow with no success. Instead, your throat constricted, and there it was: an involuntary, yet ever so familiar metallic cough.

image credit: pinterest dividers: @saradika-graphics

tagging some moots that might be interested: @chickpeadumpsterfire @voyeurmunson @joshlmbrt @mediocredreams @littlexdeaths @anamelessfool

[daytaker]

The Demon Brothers React to Watching a Horror Movie with You

CW: discussion of gore (Satan)

I didn’t include the dateables in this one but if people want that, y’know…let me know.

Lucifer

"You frighten yourself... intentionally? Interesting."

He fails to see the appeal, quite frankly.

Not only does he not find them scary, he doesn't understand why you watch them if you do.

He's too used to playing the babysitter to take you grabbing his hand as an excuse for physical contact. He interprets it as you tapping out, so he'll pause the movie and give you an out.

Of course, if you insist on finishing the movie regardless, that's an interesting choice in and of itself.

What an opportunity to observe a tortured human psyche at work.

If you insist on holding hands at this point, he won't fight it. He is a bit more dubious than before, though. Are you really doing this because you're scared? You wouldn't happen to have any ulterior motives, would you?

He will gladly reassure you after the movie is over that you are always welcome to come to him for comfort if you're afraid in the middle of the night. You know where his room is.

Mammon

"Just so we’re clear, I ain’t afraid of no horror movies. Not even a little! Not even a teensy-tiny bit, all right? Like, seriously."

He's lying.

This isn't even headcanon stuff, this is just common knowledge.

Also common knowledge: he will insist on proving how cool and brave he is by watching a horror movie with you and protecting you from the monsters and gore onscrEEAAAUUUUGH???!!!

He wasn't scared, he was just startled.

And he's only up here on the lights fixture because he remembered one bulb was flickering earlier. There. He fixed it. He's just being responsible.

Anyway, if you're nervous and want to hold his hand, he understands. Humans are fragile as hell.

In fact, you don't need to stop at hand-holding. You can just hug hiMYEEAAGH!!!!

He's hugging you instead. He's being a good demon and taking care of his human.

Yes, he's in your lap. He thought you'd feel more secure that way.

Stop laughing!

Leviathan

"So I read that the film set for this movie was cursed by a mangaka who never got credit as an influence for the story..."

Time for some J-horror, obviously.

He read up extensively on the production before asking you to watch it with him. He figures he'll be less terrified if he has plenty of background knowledge about the film as an artistic piece to remind him that the happenings onscreen aren't real.

Instead he found a bunch of rumors about how the movie was cursed. But he'd already poured so much of his valuable time into researching it. Sunk cost fallacy: activated! You're watching this damn movie.

He's scared. He's so embarrassed to be this scared but he's scared.

When he's by himself, he doesn't mind that he spooks easily. He likes it. That's the fun of horror games and movies.

But with you here, he feels the pressure to be your emotional rock during the harrowing film-viewing process.

You can hold his hand. You know, if you want to. He gets it if that idea grosses you out, but he did wash his hands right before you got here, so...

If he gets too scared, the demon form comes out, and suddenly you have a scaly tail wrapped around your waist and webbed fingers clutching you.

He's sorry, it's just... It just happens sometimes, okay? Laugh it up, normie!

Actually, it feels kind of nice when you stroke his scales like that. If you really want to, you don't have to stop.

He is no longer watching the movie.

Satan

"This is an extremely unrealistic depiction of decapitation with a hacksaw."

There is nothing less scary than watching a horror movie with Satan, because his smart ass can't stop telling you about everything wrong with it.

The movie is starting. Are you nervous? He'll hold your hand. He has enough basic sense to at least get that part of the process right.

...That's not even close to how it looks when you disembowel a deer.

There's a lot more blood spatter than you'd expect when head wounds are involved. Apparently the special effects crew on this movie didn't do their due diligence.

Hmm, that's actually a pretty convincing amputation scene. Credit where credit is due.

Sorry, but he thinks that calling this one a "psychological thriller" is giving it a little too much credit.

Asmodeus

"Nooo! Ahhh, I can't take it, it's so scaryyy!"

He's not scared. Not even a little.

He's not even grossed out.

But he thinks that seeming terrified is cuter than seeming mildly amused and a little bored.

So before you start watching, he makes sure to lay down some ground rules.

If he's scared, he gets to hold your hand. If you're scared, you get to hold his hand.

If he's scared, he gets to hug you. If you're scared, you get to hug him.

If nothing scary is happening for more than five minutes, he's allowed to request a kiss. Just to keep you both from getting bored.

Why are sex scenes in slashers so awful? Even before the stabbing starts. They're just so... blah. It's disappointing every time.

Ahhh! There's the killer! He's so scared! He's going to hide his face in your neck and cling to you for dear life!

Beelzebub

"What's wrong? Why do you look so sick?"

Bro will eat nonchalantly through the most brutal and gut-wrenching scenes of gore, entirely unaffected.

And he will.

He will do that, right in front of you, and not even have the decency to understand why you have to go vomit.

He doesn't really get most horror films. But occasionally something will resonate strongly with him and he will become very quiet and potentially fairly upset for awhile.

If something reminds him too much of Lilith or her death, for example.

But even if that happens, he won't stop eating.

Belphegor

"Wake me up if something interesting starts happening."

Another one who is entirely unaffected by horror.

Nothing is more horrifying than living as himself in this fucked up world.

He's very annoyed whenever Mammon or Levi watches anything horror-related because their screaming makes it hard to sleep.

He doesn't mind if you scream though.

He can fall asleep to the sound of you screaming.

Take that however you wish.

[joelalorian]

Petals of Affection - Part I

A floral mystery in three parts featuring Jackson!Joel x f!reader

Summary: A secret admirer gifts you a different flower and a riddle ten times before you put the clues together and discover that he's been right in front of your face the whole time.

Written for @morallyinept's Flora & Fauna challenge. Please check out all the wonderful works created in Jett's honor!

I know enough about flowers to fill a thimble. Really, all I know is how to kill them, accidentally or otherwise. Everything to do with the flowers in this story is courtesy of Google, so please suspend disbelief at how some of these could exist in Wyoming, yada yada. I just picked ones that fit the narrative.

Word count: 4,284

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, humor, cursing, gratuitous use of poor floral descriptions, scheming, clueless reader, fluff, eventual smut, alcohol, food, coffee, terms of endearment. POV flops around like a fish outta water. Reader has no physical description aside from having hair that gets frizzy with humidity and often dirt-covered hands, because greenhouses, ya know? No use of y/n, none whatsoever.

Dividers courtesy of the wonderful @saradika-graphics. Gif chosen because of the wonderful floral wallpaper ;)

Hope you enjoy!

Part II | Part III | Masterlist

An oasis in a world rife with death and devastation, you clung to the life the reinforced walls of Jackson offered. After years of struggling to survive each new day, you felt like you could finally take a deep breath. Everyone was no nice and welcoming, some more than others, and you slipped right into the fabric of the small community.

Within a month of your arrival, Maria assigned you to the greenhouses, having picked up on your knowledge and love of plants – particularly flowers. You must have bored her to death one too many times regaling the language of flowers over a bottle or two of aged wine while seated together on her couch. The two of you became fast friends, the kind that felt like you’ve known each other forever. It was exactly what you needed, longed for even, after long bouts of solitude.

Being close to Maria meant you visited their house often. And equally often, you would find Joel Miller there, deep in conversation with his brother about one matter or another. His eyes always flashed when you entered the house, and he’d stop mid-sentence to greet you with an effortless, “Howdy darlin’” as you followed Maria to the kitchen.

Soon enough, the soft greetings turned into more substantial conversation as the four of you dined together or gathered at Maria and Tommy’s for game night, playing whatever new board game the men found while on patrol. Laughter and friendly arguments filled the air on those nights, making it easier than ever to forget about the carnage and desolation beyond the walls.

Tonight, the four of you played Scrabble – it took Tommy finding three sets of the game to get all the letter tiles required to actually play – and your belly hurt from how hard you laughed whenever Maria challenged Joel on a word. He was better at the game than you would have thought – his reserved nature and southern twang not giving away how well-read he was.

“Denied! Fartlek is not a word, Joel. There’s no way!” Maria insisted, not willing to give into Joel’s apparent triple word score on the word that would have him take the lead in total score.

“Is to a word,” Joel returned stubbornly, refusing to remove the letters from the board. “Look it up if ya don’t believe me. It’s in the fuckin’ Oxford dictionary.”

“Oh, it is, is it? Is it in the Cambridge one, too? What does it mean then?” Maria wasn’t backing down, ripping a battered dictionary right out of Tommy’s hands to see for herself.

“Hey! I was looking it up,” Tommy yelped, shooting a wink at you as you both watched the drama unfold.

Ignoring his brother, Joel rattled off something about the word being related to running. At least, that’s what you thought he said, you were too busy fighting back tears from laughing too hard. Sure enough, he was right.

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Maria grumbled, flopping back into the couch cushions. “It’s a training technique for running. Screw you, Miller.”

Unsurprisingly, the game ended shortly thereafter with Joel the victor by a healthy margin. After helping to clean up, you offered appreciation and hugs to Maria and Tommy for a delightful evening. “Next time, let’s play something less…”

“Cerebral?” Maria supplied with a frown.

“Annoying?” Tommy interjected with a grin.

Joel stayed quiet, a half-smile gracing his lips as he waited for you to finish your sentence.

“Just something that doesn’t require a dictionary or cause so much arguing,” you laughed. Waving between Joel and Maria, you added, “You two can never agree on anything! See you all tomorrow.”

“I’ll walk you home, darlin’,” Joel said, rushing to put his jacket and boots on and catch up with you. When you opened your mouth to let him know you’d be fine on your own, he added, “Gotta check in on Ellie anyway.”

Maria and Tommy shared a look as Joel opened the door to usher you through. You caught them and frowned, feeling like you weren’t in on a joke or something.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the last remnants of winter’s snowy wrath crunching beneath your boots the only sound. You looked up at the night sky as you walked, gasping at the flash of colors in the otherwise darkened sky. Joel stopped, following your gaze upwards as you both stood mouths agape.

“That’s the northern lights, right? I’ve never seen it before.”

“Mmhmm. Aurora borealis. Pretty amazin’.”

“Beautiful,” you sighed, breath a cloud billowing in the crisp air, eyes soaking in every bit of the cosmic phenomenon.

You didn’t realize it staring up at the sky as you were, but Joel’s umber eyes were fixed on you when he replied, “Sure is.”

You stayed like, shoulders gently bumping as you both enjoyed nature’s show, until the temperature dropped further and you shivered. An awed smile remained plastered on your face the rest of the walk to your house, one Joel would never forget.

The dichotomy of the humid, warm air within the greenhouses and the chilled breeze outside confused your body, but you loved it. Sure, the humidity did nothing good for your hair, leaving it a frizzy mass around your head sometimes, but the dewy feeling on your skin always reminded you of childhood summers spent at the beach.

Tending to the various fruit and vegetable plants all morning, in what you deemed Greenhouse 1, you saved your favorite duties – the ones associated with flowers – for the afternoon. While you enjoyed caring for all the plants, you loved tending to the flowers, humming as you pruned and replanted clippings, expanding your every growing collection. If the patrol teams kept bringing you seeds and specimen back, you’d need yet another greenhouse. The council would just love that.

The creak of the door to Greenhouse Two drew your attention shortly after you switched gears and you stood, brushing the dirt from your jeans before glancing up. Your face shifted into a soft smile at the sight of Joel standing hesitantly just inside the door.

“Hey Joel, what did you bring me today?” You knew he had patrol duty and likely found some interesting plant during his travels. “Better not be western baneberry again. You know how poisonous those berries are!”

Stepping forward, Joel chuckled as you teased him. “I know now! It was one time and you’ll never let me live it down, will ya?” Thrusting his hand toward you, he dropped a small pile of seeds onto your dirt-covered palm. “Not sure what these are, but we found down by the ol’ mill. Might be something cool.”

“Might be,” you hummed, poking the seeds a little. Hopefully the cold didn’t get to them. You grabbed the nearest pot, quickly filled it with soil and sprinkled the seeds in as you tilled the top few inches. “We’ll find out soon enough what kind of treasure these are.”

Leaning back against a messy tabletop, hands on hips, Joel watched you tend to the new addition before finding the perfect place for the pot, nestled on a table amongst other seedlings. “Do you –”

Joel’s mouth snapped shut as the greenhouse door banged open next to him, a boisterous voice carrying into the warm space before its body did.

“Tangerine! Check out what I found today,” Alex, another member of the patrol team, called as he strolled right past Joel without acknowledgement. Younger and not as broad as Joel, the man held a growing affection for you, which irked the older man.

“Alex,” you sighed playfully. He was cute in a youthful, untrained puppy kind of way and had an annoying habit of calling you nicknames that made no sense. “I told you to stop calling me that. We don’t even have tangerines here.”

Snickering under his breath, Joel observed the younger man falling all over himself to impress you. Why you indulged the idiot, he would never understand.

Alex waved you off. “You love it, and you know it. Lookit here,” he said, thrusting his hand toward you. Slight though he was, Alex had large hands, and in his right one were three clusters of small, bell-shaped blooms with a purple hue.

“Prairie bluebell! Where did you find these?” Your face lit up as you took the blooms in a gentle grasp, admiring them for a moment before setting to work on replanting.

Alex prattled on boastfully about finding them just off a rocky path down near the river while Joel focused on watching you work. When Alex finally paused for breath, you chimed in with some flower lore.

“Did you know that bluebells are often called fairy flowers? It is said that the bluebells are rung to summon fairies to a meeting. But, since fairies aren’t always good, the flowers could be enchanted leaving anyone who wanders into a ring of bluebells lost in fairy woods.”

Joel snorted at the idea of Alex becoming lost in fairy woods, never to be found again. If only they could be so lucky, he thought. He knew there was more you could share about the symbolism of the delicate flowers, but it would be lost on someone like Alex.

Rolling his eyes, Joel was about to take his leave when Alex blurted, “Would you join me for dinner tonight? I heard they just got in some fresh venison.”

Absorbed in your work, you hardly heard him, and Alex repeated himself, a hint of annoyance in his tone. Joel froze, holding his breath in anticipation of your answer. Please say no, he thought. You could do so much better than this moron.

Brow furrowed, you stared at Alex, considering your response. “Like a date?”

The younger man nodded eagerly, a broad smile spreading across his lips. You glanced at Joel, not certain what you were hoping to see, and found him staring back, stone faced, arms crossed in front of his chest tightly. Giving you nothing to work with, your shoulders slumped, resigned. “Sure, I guess.”

Not the most enthusiastic answer, but you couldn’t remember the last time you went on a date and Alex was the only one asking.

You didn’t even realize Joel moved until the door closed heavily behind his retreating form.

The breeze carried a sense of change as you strolled home from your shift in the greenhouse. The weather was finally warming, ever so slightly, as Mother Nature loosened her grip on winter, letting spring slowly creep in.

Mixed emotions tumbled through your mind as your feet carried you through the streets of Jackson by muscle memory alone. Alex asking you to dinner caught you off guard – you had a feeling he was interested, but he never made any sort of bold move. The fact he finally did while Joel was standing right there threw you off balance.

Did you even like this guy?

Sure, Alex was attractive, with blonde hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin. But his personality made him seem more like a golden retriever, goofy and too eager to impress, than someone you could fall for. It made you wonder if there was any substance lurking under the surface.

In the absence of any other offers, did it even matter?

No, you guessed it really didn’t.

These thoughts carried you right to your front steps and you stopped, taken by the presence of something unusual waiting in front of your door.

A solitary stalk with a gorgeous jasmine bloom, a slip of paper wrapped around the stem held in place by nondescript string.

Picking it up, you held the flower to your nose, breathing in the rich, sensual aroma. The scent brightened your mood, and you slipped the scrap of paper from beneath the string. You whispered the words printed in a block scrawl you didn’t recognize.

Joyful moments shared; the answer lies in the air.

What did it mean?

Glancing around, you searched the street and neighboring homes for a sign of who might have left the flower and note for you. The only people in sight were your elderly neighbors, married couples, and the kids from a few houses down. None of them would have left you such a gift.

Who in the world left this for you?

Would Alex do something romantic like this? You doubted it, but what else did you have to go on?

Once inside, you trimmed the stem and put the flower in a container on the counter, placing the scrap of paper in front of it.

You gazed at the flower, mulling over the riddle before you. The note indicated that you’ve shared moments with whomever left the flower. Jasmine itself symbolized love and romance. You made friends with a lot of people since you came to town – too many shared experiences and moments to choose from.

Twenty minutes and too much thinking in circles, you were no closer to understanding the clues and teetering on the verge of being late for your date. You needed more data before hazarding any reasonable guesses.

“Why do you torture yourself like this?” Tommy questioned. Sitting at the bar watching his brother pining over you was not his idea of a fun Friday night. “You should just bite the bullet and ask her out already.”

Joel shook his head. He had no explanation for why he hadn’t made a move yet. For months now, he knew he liked you as more than friends, pined over you in silence, yet he never took the next step. Joel Miller was not a coward, but his fear of losing one of the few friends he had left in the world had him frozen in place, afraid to make any moves. He couldn’t take that chance. Finally putting words to the feelings roiling inside him, he told his brother as much.

“I get it, brother. I do,” Tommy replied, thumping Joel on the back in commiseration. “But can you really say you’re ok watchin’ her go on dates with asshats like Alex? ‘Cause that’s gonna keep happenin’ unless you do something about it. And I don’t mean killin’ the dude.”

Joel shook his head. Hunched over the bar, shooting surreptitious glances your way, he had to admit Tommy was right. He could think of few things worse than watching you go on a date with someone other than him, especially with dipshits like that guy.

“I ain’t killin’ anyone, but I do have a plan. Already put it in motion, in fact.” Picking at a scratch in the bar, Joel shifted his gaze from you to Tommy. “I might need your help with some of it. Maria’s too.”

“Oh yeah? Tell me all about this grand plan then.”

Unsurprisingly, the date was a dud.

Alex had the personality of a goldfish rather than a golden retriever, and the two of you had nothing in common. He also interrupted you mid-sentence no less than three times – once could be considered a mistake, but three times was an unforgiveable offense as far as you were concerned. You stopped making an effort about halfway through dinner and wished for a hole to open up beneath your seat and swallow you whole.

Worst of all, he acted like an entitled dickhead when you refused dessert, thanked him for the date, and let him know there wouldn’t be a second one. He’s lucky you didn’t knee him in the nuts before walking away from the table.

How unfortunate that dating sucked nearly as much now as it did before the fucking apocalypse. It was unfair, really. At what point did being a woman stop sucking?

Lamenting your lack of success in the relationship department, you trudged home. You wondered what Joel was up to – you caught a glimpse of him at the bar with Tommy earlier and he didn’t look happy, but you didn’t see him when you left. Part of you longed to visit him, maybe have a drink and sit on his porch gazing at the stars together like you’ve done before. But it was already late, and you didn’t want to bother him. Hell, he could have a woman over already, which would be mortifying if you interrupted. The thought sank unpleasantly in your mind until you got to your house and pushed it away.

A little gift waited for you on the porch, just like earlier. An orchid this time. Symbol of love, thoughtfulness, and charm. Your index finger traced the delicate petals with the gentlest touch as a smile slowly crept its way across your lips.

Another note was attached, and you plucked it from beneath the same kind of string, eyes devouring the words.

Overwhelmed by your grace, the answer hides in this place.

The flower wasn’t completely cold, so it had to have been left recently. Brow furrowed; you glanced around but there was no one in sight. You wracked your brain trying to figure out the identity of your secret admirer, but you were at a loss. Prior to dinner, you briefly thought Alex was the culprit, but now it was obvious he didn’t have a romantic bone in his lanky body.

You heart knew who it longed for it to be, but you refused to consider it. He didn’t want you that way, of that you were certain.

Giving the orchid the same treatment as the jasmine earlier, you tucked the stem into the same container and placed it on the coffee table so you could admire the blossoms while you fell asleep on the couch. After all, why bother with a big bed without someone to share it with?

Saturdays were your day off, but the sun shining through the curtains you forgot to close the night before ruined your plans of sleeping in. Grumbling at the unnecessary brightness, you stumbled into the kitchen desperate for coffee. The coffee tin felt light in your hand when you reached for it and, sure enough, you saw nothing but a tiny amount of powdery remains of coffee beans at the bottom.

God dammit. Barely eight o’clock in the morning and this day already had two strikes against it. It wasn’t looking good so far.

Not caring that you still wore the clothes from your date the night before, you quickly brushed your teeth and finger-combed your hair into submission before leaving the house. Pausing at the door for a moment, you debated whose house to go to. Joel always had coffee – it was his drug of choice – but Maria and Tommy were closer.

Not awake enough for decision-making, you let your feet carry you in whichever direction they wanted… which was exactly three feet onto the porch before they stopped. Another flower with a note sat waiting for you.

Your mood brightened considerably at the sight of the double-flowered, funnel-shaped Eustoma, petals a pale purple. The rose-like flowers weren’t native to Wyoming, but you got lucky months ago when someone found a seed packet. You were shocked the seeds were still viable. Did someone pluck it from the greenhouse? You gave away a few cuttings not that long ago, but unless they were replanted, there’s no way they’d last this long. It had to be from the greenhouse. Where the hell else would they get one?

The addiction-like need for coffee temporarily forgotten, you rubbed the Eustoma gently against your nose, confirming the lack of scent when you breathed in and wondered what the little note would say this time.

Endless thoughts of you, the answer is in the view.

Stepping back into the house, you added the flower with the others, mulling over the symbolism of the Eustoma. Whoever left it must be trying to tell you that they appreciate and admire you. But when you add it with the others, what did it all mean?

As good as you were with flowers, you were awful at solving mysteries. A detective you were not. Besides, it was still too early for this kind of puzzle.

The desire for coffee returned and you left the flower quandary behind as you made your way to Joel’s.

Joel didn’t expect to see you today, his day looking up when he opened the door to find you on his doorstep. His heart immediately sank when he noticed you wearing the same clothes from the night before, hair mussed.

“Your date must have gone well,” he said, eyes roving over your clothing, knowing his tone was less friendly than you were used to from him. “What are you doin’ here this early?”

You were clearly thrown off kilter by his remark, frowning as he stepped back to let you in.

“Wha—” you started to question him but shook your head. “I just came to see if you had any spare coffee. I ran out without realizing it.”

“Didn’t have any to offer Alex this morning? That’s a damn shame.” Joel felt the heat of your confused gaze on his back as you followed him into the kitchen.

“What are you talking about?” You sighed, staring at him with furrowed brows.

Avoiding your searching gaze, Joel poured a cup of coffee, adding the perfect amount of sugar you liked, and glowered at the cup as he handed it over. “You’re wearing the same clothes as last night. I assume you did the walk of shame this morning only to find you didn’t have any coffee.”

“It’s too early for your judgmental shit, Joel. You can be a real ass sometimes, you know that?” You turned to leave, mind trying to wrap itself around why this day was turning out so oddly. Mercury was in retrograde again, it had to be. You and Joel never spoke to each other like this. As you reached the door, not caring that you basically stole his coffee cup, you called over your shoulder, “And the date wasn’t even like that, for the record.”

“You’re welcome for the coffee,” Joel muttered as you let yourself out of his house.

“You didn’t have to be such a dick, you know.” Ellie appeared around the corner; arms crossed over her chest.

“I know. I couldn’t help it. The thought of her with that jackass just…” he sighed. “I got a little carried away, but it’s fine. The plan is still in play. Did you take care of what I asked you to?”

“You come up with some strange plans, old man. Yeah, I got it done.”

Fed up with the day and everyone in town before noon, you hid away in your house for the rest of the day. The interaction with Joel weighed on you the entire afternoon and well into the night. What was up with him? Were you being too sensitive, taking his comments personally?

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was jealous you went on a date with Alex.

Unsurprisingly, you slept poorly and woke up groggy and unfocused Sunday morning. It was going to be a long day in the greenhouse if you didn’t find some coffee to power you up. Getting ready earlier than normal, you planned to stop at Maria and Tommy’s to see if they had coffee – there was no way you were going back to Joel’s after yesterday.

Opening the door to another brisk, early spring morning, the glint of sunlight on the porch drew your eyes to yet another flower waiting for you. Four in a row now, how long would this carry on for?

One of your favorites, you picked up the stalk with six lavender blossoms, violet in hue, and breathed in the fresh, light scent, savoring the sweet undertones. Fingers caressed the downy leaves, making you feel calmer, mellower, which was exactly what you needed.

You kept sniffing the floral scent as you read the accompanying note, finding it fitting.

 Lost in your scent, the answer is present.

“Tell me you have a secret admirer!”

Startled, you gasped, gaze shooting to Maria as she approached your house, two mugs of coffee in hand. You face shifted into a smile at the sight.

“I’m… um, I guess. I’m not sure?” You shrugged accepting the mug Maria held out toward you. “Thanks for this, I ran out.”

“I heard,” she replied. “Joel’s on the hunt for more, don’t worry.”

“Of course he is,” you rolled your eyes.

“Soooo…” Maria gestured to the flowers and note in your hand, seeking an explanation. “I feel like there’s a story here.”

“There is, I just don’t know what it is yet,” you admitted. Inhaling the calming scent of the lavender once again, you added, “This is the fourth one I’ve received. Each one has its own riddle. Let me show you.”

Leading the way into your house – you still had an hour before your shift started – you showed Maria the flowers and each note that accompanied them. In small print, you added what each flower symbolized to the corresponding note and numbered them in the order you received them, hoping every little detail would help you sort out the puzzle.

Maria looked over everything, smiling softly at each note. “Whoever this mystery man is, he’s quite romantic.”

“Right?”

“What do today’s flowers mean?”

“In the context of the rest of the flowers so far, love and devotion,” you replied, heat warming your cheeks.

Maria whistled softly. “Someone is down bad for you, girl. Any ideas who it could be?”

Shrugging defeatedly, you admitted, “Not a clue. The one person I’d want it to be would never do something like this.”

Maria hid a smile behind her mug as she sipped her coffee. “How can you be sure?”

tbc

[liliannadelaphinehartifelt]

Hi there,

Saw your post about Cajun/cowboy Alastor and OMG! I don’t have many ideas other then maybe he plays poker for souls or something like that and maybe a reader comes into town and is just as good at poker as he is. And he cannot seem to win, leading him to become mildly obsessed over winning their soul.

Thats all I have as I don’t know much about cajun/cowboy stuff.

I’ll let you know if I have any other ideas!

Thank you!

Alastor - [ ACE OF HEARTS ]

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A/N: Omg, I love your take on cowboy Al! It got me thinking about it for days. I have never played poker, so I had to watch multiple YouTube videos to understand the game while writing this. Hopefully, it came out accurate enough! Also, this is a very, VERY traumatic/smut-heavy fic I'm working on, so please be aware and know I don't endorse anything I write.

WARNINGS: [ NSFW ] + [ MDNI ] + [ MATURE THEMES ] + [ FEM READER ] + [ GUN PLAY… ] + [ SLIGHT DUB CON….eventually.] + [ SLIGHT/IMPLIED AGE GAP ] + [ MENTIONS OF GORE/BLOOD/CANNABILISM ] + [ KIDNAPPING…sort of?.. ] + [ PARENTAL PHYSICAL AB*SE…eventually..] + [ ANGST/TRUAMA…]

xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxx xxxxxx xxxxx xxx

**Cowboy Alastor** is known for his record of killing, is a skilled bounty hunter, and is far from a decently moral one. Everyone assumes his motives, guessing who his next target is and if he’ll ever feel guilt for what he does to them.

He doesn't.

What kind of demon would he be if he did…

Besides, the people he kills owe him in one way or another, all in debt to the red demon by their stupidity and lust for life, so he feels nothing for them when the time comes for the price of their deals to be paid.

Alastor arrives for them in the dead of dry nights, taking their last breath with a single bullet to the head or a clean cut across the throat. Their pleas do little to affect his decision.

“A deal is a deal…”

He reminds them that escaping a bloody end is impossible, already solidified by their selfish desires, and no amount of begging will change his mind. They curse his name, glaring at the grin on his face as he draws nearer with deathly intent in his eyes, and it only grows as he derives pleasure from their refusal to cooperate.

The riches, the riding, and the roughness he endures daily are nothing compared to the satisfaction he gets from killing. Others may deal in chasing oil, farming land, and cattle, but he stakes his fulfillment in the business of blood.

**Cowboy Alastor** dabbles in gambling when he's not off-striking deals with lowly souls or wreaking havoc on those he deems deserving.

Every city south of New Orleans with a bar or saloon welcomes his visits and not by choice.

Those who don't meet his standards or demands of hospitality drop from the face of the earth at his will, burning to a crisp full of the dead occupants who so lightly offended him, and never to be rebuilt out of fear he'd return to demolish it again.

He surely would, but no one has yet to test the theory in fear of a painful death by his hands.

Alastor leisurely travels the expanse of Louisiana's countryside, partial to riding wherever the wind blows, but he’ll always return to the rumbling city of New Orleans.

Whether for personal reasons or because his beloved mother wished to see him, it becomes second nature for the deer demon to reside there randomly. It was his hometown, after all, and he preferred the taste of whiskey from a familiar place over foreign alcohol in far-off dusty taverns he'd never visit again.

The saloon he fancies sits opposite the central townhouse, a tall building at the end of a main street that never seemed to rest.

Lafitte’s Blacksmith Bar

Summer nights brought out and drew in more people, filling the bar with patrons who knew of his deeds and those who’d only heard scarring stories about him through the ladder. The knowledge of a red reaper roaming the towns of Louisiana varied, but their fearful respect of him was abundant the moment Alastor stepped foot into the bustling bar.

He was there, in good spirits for the most part, but still an impossible threat they couldn't brush off.

**Cowboy Alastor** greets the silent patrons with a sly grin, tipping his hat to the fear-stricken owner who eyed him from behind the packed bar.

“Don't let me interrupt the fun, Cher. I'm not here to cause you trouble… that's if you're kind enough to indulge me.”Alastor chuckles, not waiting for a proper response from anyone as he stalks over to his usual spot in the smokey parlor.

A group of cattlemen stiffen in their seats as he walks by, all grabbing their drinks as swiftly as possible before leaping up from their table to avoid him, and their skittish actions cause Alastor to laugh as he settles into a particular backroom booth.

It was customary for people to keep their distance from him, some deterred by his striking appearance while others simply didn't want to risk involvement with a known killer. He saw nothing wrong with their aversion, glad that his reputation proceeded him, but there were those single few who saw him as a challenge rather than a threat.

Poor fools…

Mortal or not, he ran into them regularly, welcoming their duels like a bored child getting a new toy to destroy, and though he knew they'd fail to win against him, he'd never turn down a good game.

Ever…

**Cowboy Alastor** lets the saloon wind into chaos again, humming along to the melody of music and rowdy singing while getting comfortable in his secluded spot.

His hat rests low on his head, shielding most of his red gaze from those who look his way, only leaving the view of his Cheshire smile and effectively signaling his oddly calm demeanor. Alastor slipped his riding jacket off, tossing the tailored burgundy clothing across the back of the booth, his leather and suede black gloves following suit.

“What a day it's been…” he mumbled while flexing his long fingers, relaxing his posture while leaning back and rolling his neck until a soft ‘pop’ was heard.

Consequently, the tension tangled in his limber body from riding all day unraveled. Alastor sucked his teeth at the feeling, licking his lips as a satisfied groan left them, and just as he sat forward again, the owner hurried to his table with a bottle of alcohol and a tray of cigars.

“Your usual, Al,” he split out, setting the items in front of him with shakey hands, and Alastor clicks his tongue at the nervous tick. He'd come to this bar for years, and the old man still trembled in his boots around him. The poor fool wouldn't dare admit his fear either, rushing off as soon as he reached for the bottle, and though some might consider his retreat rude, Alastor found it amusing.

Flattering, even.

**Cowboy Alastor** drinks slowly, letting the whiskey burn his tongue and drowning the malt taste with languid drags from a cigar.

Eyes scan over him, women whisper about him lustfully under the rowdy music, and the men keep their senses about them with happy trigger fingers.

Because as they say: “Red Reaper, Red Reaper. The devil's solemn deal keeper. Beware him & the hell he seeks…”

Alastor imposes his intensity, grinning at those who stare too long, watching the women who drink him in with an equally sultry stare, and daring the men to throw a bullet his way with a knowing smirk. He invites trouble, waiting for it like a preying snake in tall, dry grass, but after some time, he assumes no one in the saloon will accept his invitation.

That is until you step in, looking lost among the worldly thrills of a bar but unafraid to venture further into it with an air of certainty surrounding you.

**Cowboy Alastor** makes no move to approach you, laid back as ever, as he observes the gentle way you speak to men who drunkenly approach you. They make offers to dance, almost crowding your more diminutive form as you trail to the bar.

“Sorry, boys, but I'm here on business, not pleasure. Now, run along..” you wave them away playfully, purposely flirtatious but avidly stern.

He expects them to continue bugging you; you're a doll, after all, prettier than most women he's seen. However, the men retreat politely, leaving you be as the owner approaches your side, and you immediately turn to hug him despite his apparent concerned expression.

Alastor observes the exchange closely, reading your lips perfectly while sipping at his drink, and it's all too easy for him to assess the situation.

The daughter of a businessman returns home after finishing school in the north, wanting to visit him at work as a pleasant surprise, but he's far from happy about a young lady like yourself being out late at night in a place like this.

You're too mannered to be seen around the patrons, it's dangerous for you to ride alone in the evening, and your father isn't pleased you intend to stay out to celebrate your school completion.

He tells you it's best to go home, that he'll come with you, but you insist on staying and remind him, “I'm not your little girl anymore, Daddy!..” The older man can't seem to rein you in, having to drop the lecture as a small brawl breaks out in the corner of the saloon, which draws his attention immediately, and this leaves you to wander the scene freely.

A perfect time for Alastor to reel you in close and personal…

**Cowboy Alastor** whistles when you walk past his area, catching your attention with a short, soulful melody, and you quickly notice him in the dim back room.

“Hi there, lil’ lady. Searchin' for somethin'?” He inquires playfully, tone bordering sensual, and his grin slipping into a closed smile as your gaze settles on him.

You’re curious, not scared of him like most are, and the moment he speaks to you, questions race through your head.

Who is he?

How have you never seen him here before?

Why, in God's name, is he sitting away from the masses?

Is he a rider, a hunter, or maybe a convict?

It was hard to tell from a distance, so without a second thought, you flashed him a gentle smile, gradually approaching where he sat, “Hello, and who might you be, sir?” You chirp a greeting, resisting the urge to bite your lip as he stares into your wandering gaze.

Alastor assumed you’d been away from the South too long to realize who he was, that your father's earlier warning didn’t sprout from overprotectiveness but rather fear of his presence.

You didn’t see him as a threat, nor a danger, but a new face in an old town.

He chuckles, putting out his cigar after taking a particularly long drag from it, blowing smoke past his lips with a coy hum. You blink as the convoluted air fans your face, unbothered by it and itching for a taste of tobacco yourself. It’d been a few years since you’d let loose, not allowed to frequent bars or act unladylike in the limelight of northern modesty.

“A loyal patron, but it’s been some time since I’ve paid this place a visit.” He answers you politely, an odd trait that most men only reserved for themselves but refreshing to experience.

“Oh, well, that’s nice to hear, but your name is what I would like to know.”

A tender smirk stretches your lips, a red hue dusting your cheeks as he tips his hate apologetically before uttering a response, “Alastor Hartifelt. A pleasure to meet you, Miss…” he pauses, quirking a brow at you expectantly, and you take a moment to analyze him further.

You've heard your father utter his name many times before your departure to the north. He'd described him brutally, having less than pleasant things to say about bounty hunters in general but especially about the man in front of you now. You'd heard people talk of his deeds, deals, and evil.

He was dubbed the ‘Red Reaper’ for a good reason, lurking around in the bitter nights and drawing blood from one poor soul or another in his travels.

Supposedly, he was a terrifying monster, but you'd always found beauty in the demented. It was one of the reasons your father had sent you away, but fortunately, the influence of the posh upper class did nothing to change your consciousness.

Besides, the rumors had failed to mention how attractive the red reaper was, let alone dashing. He seemed nice enough hadn't flashed his weapon, threatened, or catcalled you disrespectfully.

So, you found no harm in telling him your name, “Y/n L/n. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Hartifelt.” You blink slowly, drowning in his red eyes, unconsciously swaying where you stood, back to a wall that hid your presence near him from your father's eyes and the curious stares of others.

Alastor glanced at the space beside him, silently asking that you join him, but unlike most women, he rarely took an interest in, you didn't move until he asked you outright.

“Would you care to join me for a drink, Miss L/n? I'd like to have your company for a while..”

He doesn't speak any louder than needed, using every bit of charm he has to lure you in, and you let him believe he's succeeded with a sensual laugh and purring laugh.

“Why, I thought you'd never ask..”

**Cowboy Alastor** asks a lot of questions. Subtly gathering information about you that he has no use for.

You give him answers; some are lies, others are indiscriminate truths, but you can't bring yourself to be completely honest with a stranger known for his cunning. He keeps your glass full, pacing the liquor with you, reveling in your gentle laughter after every sip, and softening faster and faster the longer you conversed.

You kept your wits about you as best as possible, inviting his fleeting touches but never going further than whispering in his ear or tapping a finger under his sharp chin when he'd stare too long.

Alastor didn't mind your soft hands on him, nor your lingering gaze and confident provocations. He absentmindedly returned the gestures just as boldly.

Your fifth glass of whiskey was running low, and without a hint of hesitation, he refilled it alongside his own. You watched as the amber liquid filled each glass, utterly relaxed as he spoke to you tenderly, “You say your father sent you far up north. May I ask why?…”

He peers at you, sliding the transparent glass into your waiting hand, and you chuckle wryly while taking a sip. “Daddy says it was for my good. You see, my mother is a stickler about manners, and I didn't have much of any growing up. Ironic, seeing as I was raised well enough.” you paused, frowning at the memory of your strict but loving mother.

She was lovely to look at and kind most of the time, but her ambitions for you outweighed her patience. Alastor noted the haunting sadness in your eyes but said nothing as you continued, looking out into the crowd of patrons fussing about as you did.

“My mother died a few years back, leaving daddy to handle me, and when he realized he couldn't manage the business and a daughter, he sent me away. Couldn't blame him either; I was getting into trouble left and right and had some bad habits on the rise, too.”

His ears perked at the words ‘bad habits’ leaving your lips, naturally drawn to knowing a mortal's darkest secrets, so he pressed for clarification.

“Bad habits, you say? I couldn't imagine a sweet thing like you havin’ such things.”

You scoffed, glad your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol buzz to mask the blush his comment invoked, “Well…I did. Still do if I'm honest.” you admit in a hushed tone, knocking back the last of your drink before glancing his way.

“It's hard to resist doing things you're good at.”

Alastor leaned back into the seat, drink in one hand, the other fixing his hat so it sat back on his head. The adjustment gave you a peek at his fluffy red hair and the distinctive blood-marked x on his forehead. You thought to ask what the mark meant but saved the question for later, as he agreed with your statement.

“Very true, ma chere. Although I'm one for killin’, your passion may not be so grizzly and easier to alleviate.”

“My father thinks gambling is just as bad as killing. It doesn't matter if he's addicted to it himself or not. If I do it…I'm the devil's daughter in his eyes..” You roll your eyes, an action that jolts a nerve Alastor hasn't felt in years and subconsciously doesn't ignore.

“Gambling? That's your unproper poison?” he narrows his gaze as you nod lazily, a few ringlets of your hair falling from its pinned-up style as you do, resting on the skin of your shoulders and neck.

Soft.

Your locks look soft and silky to the touch, tempting him to run his fingers through it, across your skin, and, god forbid, under your dress.

A heavy breath settled in his chest at the possibility, a familiar rush coursing through him as you moved your lips to speak, “Yes. I see a stack of playin’ cards, and I just can't help myself. I got rather good at playing too but when you beat everyone in town at it people start to be less kind about your reputation.”

You laugh, attempting to make a light-hearted joke but ultimately grimacing at the mention of lousy sportsmanship from others. You couldn't help winning a challenge in poker, and many saw the talent as disgraceful, which prompted I'll rumor about you.

“That's a shame, sugar. Everyone deserves a chance to play a good game of their choosing.” he feigns concern, meeting your curious eyes as you shift to face him, “Everyone except me if my father has anything to say about it. Still, I suppose it's best I let it go…” you sigh, grabbing the bottle of whiskey to pour another shot.

Suddenly, you freeze, feeling his body heat invade your space. Alastor tilts his head down close to yours, breathing in your scent discretely before pressing his lips to the lobe of your ear as he mutters into it, “Why don't you play a game with me, chere? One lil’ round for fun… right under your daddy's nose, hm?”

The burn of excitement seizes your body, a shakey breath leaving your lips as his voice settles in your mind, inviting you to indulge his offer. That same heat pooled in your core with every second he spent in your space, inhaling the scent of bourbon and sweet sugar cane grass he rode through radiating off him, words just as inviting and addictive.

For a horrifying, well-feared killer, he sure did entice a woman like any natural-born gentleman…

It was a deathly combination you knew he often used, killing or not, and though it'd be wise to avoid his idea, you didn't want to risk missing an opportunity for the thrill.

It'd been so long, too long, and what's the worst that could happen?

Losing to him?

You'd never lost to anyone before, and you were confident that fact wouldn't change -even going up against the Red Reaper himself.

**Cowboy Alastor** relishes when you utter a ‘yes’ to his offer. His grin widens menacingly for a split second as he sets his glass down next to your empty one, conjuring up a meticulously detailed deck of playing cards and placing them on the table.

“You can choose which game we play, sugar…”

Alastor shifts away from you, letting you regain your composure and watching as your delicate fingers reach for the top card of the deck.

“Poker. A favorite of mine..” You didn't think twice before answering him, admiring the red and black ace in your hand, wondering where he acquired such personalized playing cards.

“Poker it is then, chere,” he smirks wickedly, removing his hat entirely to set it on the table before gingerly plucking the card from your hold and sliding to sit opposite you while dishing out equal amounts of cards between you.

Your eyes light up under the oil lamp's golden hue, studying the flick of his hands as he worked, trying hard not to wander up to his piercing gaze. Afraid he'd immediately see your attraction to his nimble hands, well to him in general, and use it against you somehow, so your focus remains on the hand dealt and not him.

As you both plucked your respective set from the table, studying the cards intently, you asked the singular most crucial question every poker match was built on.

“What will the bets be,” Your innocent inquiry earns sultry laughter from him, filling the air, raising feverish chills on your skin as he stares at you through half-lidded eyes.

“I prefer bargains of the soul, my dear. The use and price of one's existence is always more valuable than money, don't you agree?”

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A/N: Don't be mad AT ME, GUYS, PLEASE. I HAD EXAMS LAST WEEK. I'm SORRY FOR DROPPING OFF THE FACE OF THE EARTH… sort of, but I'm back now (please do hate me :((( ). Uh, so I might merge “Down in the Dust” with this because both stories kinda originated in my brain at the same time. However, since this is a request, I wrote a two-part tangent smut as a sort of prequel to the other fic! Also, the phrase “Save a horse. Ride a cowboy” will be unironically used…I'm sorry (I'm not lol) ❤️

[ BONUS CONTENT + ] VOLUME WARNING!!! 🗣️

Fun fact: In the South, we have a rule that if you take a cowboy hat and end up wearing it, they catch you with it (preferably in the mutual interest of getting to know each other). That cowboy gets to fuck you (hopefully, but technically you're initiating a flirting game wearing their hat, lol). It's a cute concept and one any Cowboy Alastor enthusiast should think about. ❤️ credits to the creator.

[gleamingyu]

hits different.

part I of the midnights series. inspired by taylor swift’s midnights. part II

pairing: music-producer!seungcheol x lawyer!fem!reader [exes-to-lovers]

genre: romance. slight angst. drama.

warnings: she/her pronouns for reader (but no specific physical characteristics). mentions of a pretty rough breakup. slight angst. some light cursing. mentions of death (jokingly though). terrible knowledge of law stuff (thank my brief interest in htgawm). yearning. loads of miscommunication. slow burn. cheol & reader are both stubborn. mentions of drinking. alternating povs. lower caps intended [if there’s anything i missed, please let me know!]

word count: 4.7k

notes: this is the first part of a new series i thought of! this is also my first time writing (or more like, finishing writing) something, so please be kind! any comments, reblogs or likes are welcome. and thank you to whoever decides to give this a chance :)

summary: still recovering from a not-so-fresh breakup, seungcheol leans on his friends to get back on his feet. it turns out to be much easier said than done, especially when his record label recruits the help of a law firm to deal with a recent scandal, which just so happens to be the same firm his ex works at. just his luck.

if anyone could see the scene in front of mingyu, they’d be severely concerned, much like he is at this very moment.

seungcheol is quite literally buried under a pile of blankets on his bed, the only visible part of his body a tuft of his dark brown hair. the floor of his bedroom is covered in clothes and empty food containers, and the air feels so stale and hot, it’s taking everything in mingyu not to gag. there is no light coming into the room except from the lightbulb shining in the hallway where mingyu is standing, and… is that… phoebe bridgers he can hear playing from somewhere?

mingyu glances down at his feet where kkuma, seungcheol’s devoted dog – and only girl who’s ever truly loved him, according to him – is sitting staring right back at him, a look on her fluffy face that mingyu swears looks just as depressed as her dad.

“this is way worse than i thought,” mingyu sighs, finally stepping into the bedroom. “okay, enough of this!”

mingyu grabs the blankets on the bed and pulls them away, revealing a very aggravated seungcheol. “what the hell are you doing?!”

“i’m not sure yet, because this,” mingyu gestures around the room, “is a lot. but it starts with you getting your ass out of bed and into the shower. immediately. this place smells like there’s a corpse somewhere in here.”

“yeah, it’s me. i’m the corpse. or i wish i was, because that would mean i’ve finally died,” seungcheol groans, turning away from mingyu and effectively shoving his face into the bed.

mingyu sighs, turning around to start collecting some of the dirty clothes on the floor. he finds himself regretting not calling jeonghan or joshua to come with him, because seungcheol might have been more easily persuaded to stop moping with them around. the reality is, they all thought seungcheol was doing better; he was back on his grind at work, finishing several albums he had been producing for, he was making progress in his jiu-jitsu classes, and he even joined the rest of the guys on their trip to australia last month, with minimal persuasion from his friends.

looking at the shell of a man laying on the bed in front of him, mingyu realizes he should’ve asked. he should’ve asked his friend how he was really doing, what he was feeling, what he could actually do to help him move past this.

better late than never.

“listen,” mingyu starts, going to sit on the edge of seungcheol’s bed but reconsidering. who knows when he last changed these. “i’m sorry if we haven’t really been there for you. i know a thing or two about breakups and heartbreak, so i guess i should’ve figured you weren’t alright, not like you said you were. you don’t have to keep all you’re feeling locked up. you can talk to us.”

seungcheol’s head moves slightly to the side, peeking at mingyu from the corner of his eye. he sighs, and turns on his back. mingyu tries not to cringe at seungcheol’s sullen face, his eyes red and still wet, as if he was still crying when mingyu arrived at his apartment.

“don’t beat yourself up, gyu. believe it or not, i was actually doing better. but a few days ago, i … i was cleaning around the closet by the entrance and …” he pauses, and mingyu thinks he might burst into tears. seungcheol breathes in however, closes his eyes, and continues. “i found one of her old hats. you know, the yellow crochet bucket hat she always used to wear in the summer? i bought it for her birthday when we had just started dating and … i don’t know, i just broke down. it hit me again that we’re over. like really.”

you and seungcheol broke up … four, five months ago? seungcheol shakes his head, he feels like time hasn’t passed the same since. days pass him by where he just goes over and over your last conversation – which was more of a fight, really – and he always ends up regretting everything he said that day. regrets resenting you for always working late, for never asking him to accompany you to firm events… regrets accusing you of some unspeakable things.

looking back, he can’t believe how big of an idiot he was. no wonder you left and didn’t even bother to come back to get your things. you left everything behind, all your clothes that still smelled of the lavender detergent you used to buy, your makeup haphazardly thrown into one of the bathroom drawers, the cooking books you always bought “for inspiration” but never, ever actually opened… and the yellow bucket hat you got from seungcheol for the first birthday you spent together. seungcheol had left everything where it was, a tiny part of him hoping you two would work this out somehow. but weeks went by with no word from you, and when he had tried reaching you, he came to the grave conclusion that you had blocked him on all platforms, cut him off from your life like a dead limb. back then he thought he deserved it. he still does.

“i’m sorry, hyung. i really am,” mingyu shakes seungcheol from his reverie, reaching a hand to pet his shoulder. a beat passes between them. “have you tried… calling her again since?”

“no. i don’t know what good it would do,” seungcheol sighs. “even if she answered, i doubt all the apologies i could offer would fix anything. i said some pretty fucked up shit.”

“yeah, i know. if you remember, i was there the next day ripping you a new one,” mingyu teases, desperately trying to cheer up his friend somehow. he swears he can see seungcheol’s lips twitch a bit. “but who knows… now that you both had some time to yourselves, you might actually be able to overcome this calmly. and if… if it doesn’t work out in the end, at least you’ll both have some closure.”

closure. that’s a funny word, because seungcheol wants the furthest thing from closure. he wants you back in his bed and your arms around him, he wants your indie artists he’s never heard of playing around the apartment in the morning, he wants your laugh echoing in the halls. he wants you.

he knows that the only way this ending could even be a possibility would be if he actually took mingyu’s advice and called you up, but another part of him is terrified of the other possibility: the one where you pick up and tell him to go to hell and fuck himself and never call you again or show his face around you. so for now, seungcheol opts for a third option: emotional limbo, with a side of trying-to-move-on.

he gets up from the bed and asks mingyu if he could help him straighten out the place. mingyu, bless his sweet heart, of course says yes and gets to work after sending seungcheol to clean himself up. just as he’s about to close the bathroom door, he hears mingyu’s exasperated voice.

“oh, for the love of god, where is that god-awful music coming from?!”

seungcheol can’t remember the last time he laughed so heartily.

the bar you find yourself in is bustling with people, laughter and cheerful conversations filling the space. you’re only half listening to whatever topic your two best friends, yunjin and chaeyoung, are discussing – something about “that bitch” in yunjin’s department at work that’s been giving her a hard time – instead reveling in the pleasant buzz of the champagne you’re nursing.

it had been a while since you were able to enjoy a nice evening with your girls. the past few months had been filled with endless meetings, client-induced headaches and sleepless nights, but thankfully, today you had managed to finally strike a deal for one of the firm’s most important clients (to be read as filthy rich), which you had been working towards all these months. naturally, upon hearing the news, chaeyoung and yunjin had begged you to join them at a bar in the city, “to celebrate your newfound freedom.”

you splurged on a bottle of champagne for the three of you and decided that tonight, you were going to have fun. you were going to relax, enjoy some drink, and catch up with your friends who you hadn’t seen in weeks.

and you will not, under any circumstances, bring up seungcheol.

you like to believe that in the last two months you had gotten better at shutting out any thought of your ex-boyfriend. in the days – more like weeks, if you were to ask chaeyoung and yunjin – following the ugly breakup, you were quite the literal mess. finding yourself alone and with nowhere to go, considering you had left the apartment you shared with seungcheol with nothing but your work stuff (how on-brand for you), it wasn’t surprising that your mental and emotional health had taken a massive hit. thankfully, at the insistence of yunjin, you agreed to crash at her place while you put yourself back together and took time off from work – something you had never done before.

to the surprise of your friends, it only took you two weeks to go back to work and start looking for your own place. two weeks after that, you were moving into a new apartment and claimed that you were feeling much better since the breakup. or at least starting to. chaeyoung and yunjin didn’t want to argue with you on this – even thought they 100% believed the front you were putting up was a load of crap – but in the end, they didn’t even have to, because the first time you went out with them again since the breakup, you had your first meltdown.

but was it really your fault that the man sitting two seats down the bar from you had ordered whiskey neat, just like seungcheol always used to? and was it really your fault that he was wearing a maroon leather jacket similar to the one seungcheol always used to wear in the fall, which you absolutely adored?

could they really blame you for bursting into tears right then and there and wailing about how much of a jerk seungcheol was for never understanding your dedication to your work? how much of a hypocrite he was for expecting you to just dip from the office when he suddenly had some free time, when he had never done so for you?

that night, chaeyoung and yunjin quite literally dragged you back to chaeyoung’s place and held you while you cried yourself to sleep, and in the morning, when you had embarrassingly admitted that “no, you weren’t really doing fine,” they held you again and offered soft-spoken words of support, opting to keep the classic we told you so in their thoughts.

four months passed since that incident and now, you could confidently say that you were truly feeling better. you weren’t quite over seungcheol per se; there were nights when you still thought about the smell of vanilla that filled the room whenever he was fresh out of a shower, the way he always got so giggly when you brought home a tray of cherries… yeah, you still found yourself missing him terribly sometimes. but the more time passed, you realized that seungcheol hadn’t tried reaching you at all in the months since the breakup, and so you thought he might be moving on as well.

it is true you had blocked him on all social platforms for weeks after you stormed out of your place. but on a particularly bad day, when all you did was cry and cry and cry after him, the thought of calling him up and asking him to go back to how things were crossed your mind, and you unblocked his number. unfortunately, your pride had set itself in your way, convincing you that it was seungcheol that needed to make the first step, considering he was the one who quite literally cornered you into a fight. so you didn’t call and instead prayed to whatever forces exist in the universe, that seungcheol would try your number again.

he never did.

“soooo, cheers to the lady of the hour! finally free from the clutches of corporate law!” yunjin cheered, clinking her glass against yours and knocking you out of your reverie.

damn it, seungcheol, i said i would not think of you tonight!

“yes, cheers!” chaeyoung joined in. “how do you feel? are you going to get a big ass bonus for the amount of time you put into this asshole?”

chaeyoung was probably right, you probably did deserve a huge ass bonus for the deal you pulled for the client you were handling. when you were in law school, you had never imagined yourself working for sleazy, corporate pigs who behaved like none of their actions would bite them in the ass eventually, and expecting others – like yourself – to clean up after them. but, as your boss grimly explained to you the day you had complained about your client, everybody has to start somewhere. “and junior partners don’t get to choose cases, sweetheart.”

life at the firm wasn’t always terrible. you were lucky enough to be part of an amazing team, and the firm worked with plenty of influential and big personalities, so you almost never had to worry about your income. but sometimes, some of the people you were asked to represent brought you to the brink of just quitting your job altogether.

“i just feel relieved,” you say. “if i had to hear the incessant whining and nagging of that idiot for one more day, i might have gone insane!”

“well, thank god you’re a stellar lawyer and managed to get rid of him,” yunjin teases, taking a sip of her drink. “do you already have anything else lined up?”

“god, no! i have a few days off just to take care of paperwork, maybe help out some of my colleagues around the office… but nothing big for now, thankfully.”

“oh, that’s amazing! which reminds me, this means you can actually join us on that weekend spa trip we were talking about last week,” chaeyoung happily suggests, as she’s already pulling up the website of the spa retreat.

“i guess a spa day would be nice,” you say, looking over at chaeyoung’s phone. you feel your body already going lax at the thought of a hot stone massage.

“oh, that would be so nice!” yunjin pouts. “we haven’t gone on a girls trip in so long! i miss going away, just the three of us… do you guys remember that trip we took to croatia two years ago? that was the best one we ever did, i swear!”

while chaeyoung joins yunjin in reminiscing about all the trips the three of you took over the years, you feel your phone buzzing in the pocket of your dress paints. pulling it out, you see an email notification…

“oh, no…” your voice trails off, reading over the email you had just received.

“what? what’s the matter?” yunjin asks, her conversation with chaeyoung coming to a halt.

“my boss just emailed me. he wants me in the office tomorrow morning. some big case that just came in,” you explain, already feeling a headache coming in.

“but tomorrow’s saturday,” chaeyoung frowns.

“i know… i know.”

when monday rolls around, seungcheol really wished that he had died before mingyu had found him the week before.

the day started normal enough. he woke up at 5 a.m. and took kkuma for a walk in the park near his apartment building, just like every morning. by 8 a.m., he was already set up in his studio inside the PLEDIS building, ready to work on the tracks he was supposed to finish mixing by the end of the week. seungcheol liked the buzz of the label, people from all different departments running around trying to stay on their schedules; it motivated him to also do his part diligently, and reminded him that he was extremely lucky to be doing one of the things he loves most: music.

seungcheol should’ve guessed something was up today the moment the clock struck 11 and jihoon, the other in-house producer of PLEDIS, and one of his oldest friends, hadn’t come by his studio. he and jihoon had known each other since their college days, having met in an audio engineering class they apparently shared, and had been friends for 8 years now. during their last year of college, they were recruited by a record label that was just starting out (which became the PLEDIS of today), and despite all warnings from their families, they decided to take a leap of faith together and join the company. it all worked out for the better, it turned out, as PLEDIS only grew and soon became a household name in the music industry.

as the only producers that have stuck around PLEDIS since the beginning, they developed several… traditions, or rituals over the years, one of which was jihoon’s 11 a.m. coffee run, which they’d spend sharing ideas and notes over each other’s work, and, if jihoon was in a particularly good mood, engage in some office gossip (not that either of them would ever admit it). today, however, jihoon is a no-show and seungcheol can’t help but wonder what his friend is up to.

when he shoots jihoon a quick text, asking if he’s alright, his friend only replies with a “just busy,” and tells seungcheol not to wait up for him at lunch, as he’ll probably be stuck in the studio all day. this doesn’t surprise him that much, seeing as jihoon might be an even bigger workaholic than he is, but he still can’t shake the feeling that something must be up with his friend. he decides that instead of going out for lunch, he’s gonna pick up some takeout and join jihoon in his studio. he wouldn’t be able to rest easy knowing his friend will go a day without eating anything.

once lunch hours begin, seungcheol takes a quick walk two blocks down the street to the restaurant mingyu works in, who’s already waiting for him with the food seungcheol had requested for him and jihoon. on his way back to PLEDIS, he texts jihoon again, just to make sure he’s still in the studio, but there’s no answer, and now seungcheol is seriously starting to get worried. he jogs the rest of the way until he’s back inside the building, and takes the elevator to the 6th floor where jihoon’s studio is stationed.

walking up to the door that reads UNIVERSE FACTORY, he stops in his tracks when he hears more than one voice from the other side of the door. he easily recognizes jihoon’s voice, but the other voices – two other men and a woman – are harder to make out. except… except the woman’s voice is eerily familiar, and without a second thought, seungcheol grips the handle and swings the door open, four pairs of eyes whipping in his direction.

his eyes land on jihoon, who looks like he wishes he was anywhere else in that moment, and then scan the rest of room, recognizing mr. han, their CEO, and… you. it’s you.

seungcheol feels like he’s going to faint. mr. han does not look the least bit happy about seungcheol’s intrusion, and he really wishes the man would slap him just so he can know for sure if he’s dreaming. if you’re surprised to see seungcheol, your face shows no sign of it, and seungcheol can’t help but stare at you. you look so beautiful, so put together; your make-up is soft, almost unnoticeable, your hair pushed behind your ears, and you’re wearing a dark green suit… oh, how he loved you in green.

you were the picture of grace and professionalism and he was… not. he really wishes he hadn’t come to the studio in sweatpants right now.

“mr. choi, what a… surprise,” mr. han exclaims, standing up from his seat, you and the other man – who seungcheol has no idea who he is, but he knows he doesn’t like the way he’s standing so close to you – following suit. “i didn’t know mr. lee was expecting you,” mr. han continues, glancing towards jihoon, who turned red as a tomato.

“i wasn’t, actually,” jihoon squeaks, avoiding both seungcheol and mr. han’s gazes.

“i apologize, i was… i was just bringing jihoon some lunch. i didn’t know there was… a meeting happening,” seungcheol says, looking towards you, and he’s almost thrown back by the way you’re just… staring directly at him.

mr. han sighs, but remembering the situation, he quickly puts on a polite smile as he turns towards you and the other man. “mr. choi is one of our other in-house producers. mr. choi, this is mr. jeon and miss L/N. they’re helping us with some… legal matters.”

so that’s why you were here. and who the other guy was. but what legal matters? and why was jihoon involved? and why didn’t he tell seungcheol?!

before seungcheol can ask more questions, mr. han gestures towards the door he came through and says “now, if you don’t mind, you can come back in a few minutes, mr. choi. we’ll be done soon.”

soon. soon, his ass!

seungcheol had been pacing the hallway outside jihoon’s studio for the past 20 minutes (he checked, he wasn’t exaggerating!), trying very hard not to eavesdrop through the door, and thinking of every possible reason why jihoon would need legal help and why you would be here.

jihoon was definitely in some kind of trouble. for the CEO to be involved as well, it for sure must be something that could affect the whole label. seungcheol just can’t understand why jihoon wouldn’t tell him if he had any kind of problem. they were colleagues, but most importantly, they were friends. he would’ve dropped everything to come to his aid.

now, when it comes to you… seungcheol knows you’re a lawyer, obviously he does. he met you when you were halfway through law school, and he was there for every failed and aced exam, for your graduation (he was so proud of you that day, it was the first time you’d ever seen him cry), for every measly job you had before finally securing the one you currently held at one of the top firms in the city. he also knows you’re a damn good lawyer, seeing how hard you work and how dedicated you are. he supposes it’s not surprising you were chosen to represent jihoon in whatever mess he got himself in.

he feels bad now that he remembers how he held these things above your head during your last fight. how you were working late so often, how you never asked him to join you at office parties, despite how eager you always were to go out with your coworkers for drinks, how you always asked him to wait for you outside the office building, as if you didn’t want people to know you had a partner...

he knows that both of you were to blame for how things went down between you, but since he started the argument in the first place, he thinks he could’ve brought all this up in a better way, at a better time.

his thoughts are interrupted when the door to jihoon’s studio opens again, and he finds himself regretting waiting in the hallway because now he has to face you again and he’s not ready and he doesn’t know what to say and he still looks like a hobo and –

“mr. choi!”

he looks up to see who he imagines is your colleague – mr. jeon – step towards him, as you and mr. han step out after him, discussing something. you glance once towards seungcheol before turning back to the conversation, and seungcheol feels his heart clench.

“mr. jeon, i’m sorry once again for interrupting your meeting,” seungcheol says, extending his hand to shake mr. jeon’s.

“don’t worry, no harm done at all. i’m actually glad you stuck around, because i had something to ask you. seeing as you and mr. lee are close, would you be available for a short talk with us, sometime in the next days? we’ll have to build a strong case for mr. lee and, well, some insight from his colleagues would be very helpful,” mr. jeon explains, fixing the thin-rimmed glasses perched on his nose.

seungcheol is taken aback by the man’s soft tone. his sharp eyes and cold look on his face made him look pretty intimidating, but his voice is the complete opposite, putting seungcheol weirdly at ease.

“o-of course, anything for jihoon,” seungcheol quickly replies. “can i ask, though, what exactly does he need help with?”

“plagiarism.”

“PLAGIARISM?!”

“you’re being sued. for plagiarism.”

“yes.”

“and you just found out last friday.”

“yes.”

“last friday when we all went out for barbeque and you didn’t even think to mention it? not even once?!”

“will you stop pacing and sit down? you’re making me even more nervous than i already am,” jihoon sighs, dropping his head in his hands.

seungcheol sighs as well, muttering a sorry, and sits down on the couch opposite jihoon’s chair.

jihoon continues. “i didn’t mention anything because i didn’t want to piss on everyone’s good mood. it was joshua’s birthday… besides, i didn’t know all the details of the situation at that point. i thought it was another baseless accusation, you know? but they’re serious about it. they wanna take me to court.”

“what? that’s insane,” seungcheol says. “i feel weird even asking, but did you even plagiarize?”

“no! of course not! i don’t even know the people!” jihoon exclaims, flopping down on the couch next to seungcheol. he lets out a long groan. “this is just what i needed.”

seungcheol pats his friend’s back, thinking of some encouraging words. jihoon was the most talented and creative guy he knew. to think that someone would accuse him of using somebody else’s work was a concept seungcheol couldn’t even entertain.

“don’t worry. that jeon guy looks like he’s already got a game plan.”

“and Y/N,” jihoon says.

silence falls around the two of them, until jihoon stirs from the couch, sitting up to look at seungcheol.

“are we just not going to acknowledge her or what?”

“no! that’s not what i…” seungcheol sighs, hanging his head. “i just wasn’t expecting to see her. i don’t know how to feel.”

“that’s understandable. you guys haven’t seen each other in a while, right?”

seungcheol shakes his head. “did she… did she say anything to you?”

“oh, no. she was super professional, went straight to business. but…” jihoon trails off, debating whether he should say what he was thinking.

“but? but what?!” seungcheol grabs jihoon’s shoulders, shaking him a little.

“but i think she was just as rattled to see you as you were. her hand kept shaking while she was writing, after you left. i guess she was just better at hiding her surprise,” jihoon continues. “now let go of me, you animal!”

seungcheol sighs. could it be that you were just as much of a mess inside as he was? the hopeful part of him thinks you might have thought of him all these months, just as he thought of you. the other part of him thinks your hand might as well just have been shaking from anger.

“you know, this might be a good thing,” jihoon says, getting up and sitting back in front of his computer.

“what, you getting sued and her being around?”

“yeah. maybe this way you’ll finally grow some balls, put your pride aside, and actually fix things,” jihoon deadpans, and seungcheol knows the conversation is over.

yeah. easier said than done.

[antheshewro]

Levi Ackerman headcanon — (My) analysis on his intimacy

Each time I wander around Tumblr and I read about how AOT fans picture Levi in a sexual context, I see a lot of fanfictions of him being a dom and a master of sex—very dominant, rough, knows every single position in bed. Given that I respect people's personal headcanons when it comes to characters since those aren't absolutely hurtful to anyone, I felt like sharing my own headcanons on his sexuality.

If we read the manga and analyze Levi's background, there's nothing that tells us that he's a virgin or not. Unless Isayama would say he is (I don't think he specified it, correct me if I'm wrong), there's a big question mark on that matter. What I do believe is that Levi knows about sex. He is, to me, like Sheldon Cooper from The Big bang theory: he knows the basics. The media shows him as a bookworm, which leads me to think that some of his knowledge on that subject came from books that he read during his life. I do picture him as one that he began to read to fight against the picture he had about himself, as an Underground resident; later in life, he began to read because he enjoyed it and it relaxed him.

That being said, just like Sheldon Cooper approached the topic of sex, flirting and dating, Levi knows how men and women would flirt and the purpose behind it for example. He mostly sees it from his comrades and the people in the Underground, but even though he recognizes a certain flirty comment or attitude, it's just that. It's like he would talk about it like he's reading from a manual. That doesn't mean he lacks affection, he's one that always showed that he cares in his own way.

Here it comes the topic of sex. I previously stated that we don't know if Levi is a virgin or not unless Isayama makes it canon. In my honest opinion, he is. During all his life and since he was a kid living and growing up in the Underground, he mostly focused on surviving, filling his stomach and not getting physically abused (just like in the Bad Boy chapter). An important detail, however, is that his mother Kuchel was a prostitute. Now, houses in the Underground were surely cramped and small; think about when Kenny found little Levi, that house was surely small. Or even the scene in Bad Boy where he makes tea; that house most likely had a bedroom, kitchen and living room altogether. If it had other rooms, those were as small as ever. A kitchen that if two people fit inside would get stuck, or a bathroom that was a stall.

When Kuchel had her clients inside her house, I firmly believe she tried to protect her son by letting him hide somewhere. Little Levi learned to recognize the moments where his mother had to work, hiding in a spot where the men she "welcomed" there wouldn't see him or else, they'd leave and that meant no money. No lunch nor dinner. Or worse, some sick men would try to have his way with him (remember in Bad Boy when those men talked about him having the same "skills" as his mother and wanted to sell him? Also, he didn't seem to be unaware about what they were talking about. That means Levi knew about what his mom's job was).

Kuchel would teach little Levi to hide, cover his ears and wait until she was done. But sometimes, as we know, men are brutal with prostitutes. She got some violent ones, and as much as she tried to keep quiet, Levi would hear her. And when he would see how those men were doing to poor Kuchel, he got traumatized. He heard their lewd words, their slurs and curses, and that got Levi permanently traumatized. From that moment on, he would see sex as violence, pain, something hurtful. No matter if he would educate himself on the matter, the wounds would always be fresh. He got so sick of that scenery, that it was like something switched in him. With him joining the Scouts and everything he went through while being a soldier, he – of course – focused on his job and the people he unfortunately lost up until the final battle.

In terms of approach to his own sexual desires, I see him being conflicted. He's a man, a human being; he got aroused at least once, to me. But that would be it. He knows what his body is trying to tell him, but indulging in self pleasure would be just because he feels too overwhelmed by it. As if he feels itchy and needs to scratch.

He surely had women flirting and throwing themselves at him. Just like he said to Zeke, he had a few successes with ladies. But that didn't mean he slept with them; again, he could recognize he was popular and some shamelessly drooled after him. He knows what dates are (he said, somewhere in the manga, "hot titan date" which if we want to be obnoxiously meticulous, that means he knows what a date is. Oh well).

This is just a little rant and random headcanon I wanted to share after quite a long time of pondering if it was a good idea or not. Once more: that's just my personal headcanon on Levi. Feel free to agree, disagree or share your own if you want 🩵

[utilitycaster]

Level 10!

You may or may not know the drill:

Corrections about actually wrong items or major omissions are welcome. "Um, actually"-ing because I did not list every single spell or feat available or speculate the exact same things you did is not.

Because the cast usually does a brief video shortly before the episode for level-ups now (as they did today!), rather than announcing it at the end of an episode, this includes speculation and a bit of editorializing on my thoughts for the next few levels. This isn't necessarily meant to be accurate to what the cast will do, so don't quote me on it - it's just my thoughts on what I think might make sense or will be interesting. Those thoughts may very well change significantly as the story continues.

Anyway, level 10: it's a subclass-centric level for most of the players.

Chetney: His rogue level means he's blood hunter 9, which means Grim Psychometry, the coolest ability, which grants advantage on knowledge checks surrounding tragic or dark histories, with the potential for the DM to grant visions. Looking forward: assuming Chet keeps moving forward with blood hunter, L10 is a big one for him, as his speed increases by 5 feet, he gets another blood curse, and he gains a +3 (INT modifier) to all physical saves.

Laudna: She took a level in sorcerer, so she gets another sorcery point and another spell, this time up to 4th level; I drafted this post a while back and forgot to check the spell list for sorcerer so you're invited go nuts on your spell thoughts in the notes! Looking forward: Look. I've covered my mechanical concerns about this multiclass. Personally, had I been playing a character with this build from level 3 in a party with another sorcerer, I'd have stopped at 3 sorcerer levels and leveled exclusively in warlock. However, she's now 7 levels into sorcerer and so stopping that to go warlock will probably hamstring her mechanically, especially since the 6th level Undead feature is not terribly impressive. I think one last warlock level might be good for the ASI and the known spell, since warlocks have a more interesting spell list, and it makes narrative sense at this point now that Delilah is reawakened, but then I'd probably continue to take the rest in sorcerer. I AM very interested in how Laudna will deal with Delilah since I don't see her getting another undead patron to replace her, but that's so speculative that I'll hold off until something changes.

FCG: FCG gets a new cantrip, a new 5th level spell slot, and the ability to roll for divine intervention, which promises to be a fucking trip (complimentary). Looking forward: 6th level cleric spells, which he'll get at level 11, have a lot of bangers, but I am personally most invested in FCG's Heroes' Feast.

Fearne: with a 9th level in druid she gets access to 5th level spells, and her circle spells are Mass Cure Wounds and Flame Strike, both of which are excellent. As always for druid levels, Little Mister's HP goes up by 5. Looking forward: I'm assuming Fearne's continuing with druid levels, and if so, the level 10 feature of Cauterizing Flames allows her to use the death of a creature (enemy, ally, or bystander) to create a spectral flame that can either heal or harm others who enter that space. This is amazing and I'm excited.

Imogen: At level 10, she gains another cantrip and another metamagic option. I personally think subtle spell is the best one (and given the Vanguard's tendency to collar mages they dislike, could be huge if they come into conflict), but quickened, which Laudna has, can also be clutch. Looking forward: Chain Lightning does seem like an apt spell for her to take, but personally I'd love True Seeing as more interesting and higher utility while still thematic.

Orym: At level 10, he learns two more maneuvers, and his superiority dice become d10s. There are a ton of maneuvers and I will freely admit I don't know them all, but I do like the idea of Commander's Strike (let Ashton and Chet do more damage), Distracting Strike, or Maneuvering attack. Looking forward: Level 11 grants Orym three attacks per turn, which is really the most fun fighter feature.

Ashton: Level 10 is a path feature level, and we don't know the details of their subclass, so it's up in the air! I'm excited to see what it is. Looking forward: level 11 grants relentless rage; if he drops to 0 HP while raging (for the record Ashton has only gone out 3 times; two were during the Otohan fight and one in the Ratanish fight) he can make a con save to remain conscious.

[ichore]

CHAPTER 2: CHOUKA

synopsis: your investigation leads you to suguru geto and his followers, and they welcome you with open arms. have you found a new family or are you going to be a butterfly caught in a spiderweb?

pairing: suguru geto x fem!reader (read warnings)

wc: est 3.5

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warnings: MINORS & BLANKS DNI, DEAD DOVE. description of a murder scene of young children at the end, mentions of suicide, appearance of postpartum depression curse, pairing is strangers to teacher and student vibes (non-romantic and non-sexual, but suggestive) relationship, reader's pseudonym is chouka. reader gets high from the agarwood incense.

2015, Tokyo

November 27

The enormous metal gates close with a baleful thud behind you. The walls are white, the windows are high with freshly coated wooden borders and the vibrant lilac of the rug reaches across each hallway - all too pompous for an association that's barely known. Manami Suda's high heels click against the vitrified floor, each step taken with elegance and swaying hips as her honeyed voice is painting the picture of your possible future.

“Geto-sama was so delighted to hear about you, I'm sure you'll feel like you're part of the family very soon. Don't you worry your pretty head over those inferior species anymore.” The disgust in her tone contradicts her fragile appearance; the bile of words towards non-sorcerers mix into the suffocating cloud of her expensive perfume and the remains of her blueberry scented lotion that she got on your palm when she shook your hand. Which reminds you to stop the anxious fidgeting of your fingers.

Perhaps coming here was a mistake, you think to yourself as you're shown to your room and you place your suitcase on the bed. And maybe coming here alone was just outright inept, which was already confirmed by the chief on the call you had with him while you were walking to the Association. 

“The old lady who found the victim? Not interviewed. Your interview with the first responder? Terrible work. The lab found nothing. The press is sitting on my ear for new information. Your only lead is a thief who has no records of any previous violence, and the trails show you the way to a shady religious group. And you do what? Go to Tokyo without asking for permission, without backup. Are you stupid or what? I didn't raise you like this.” You could only imagine how red Machida's face was with wrath, how the office was standing still and his bellowing roared through his door to the cubicles of your colleagues.

“So, like I said, the reports are gonna be late,” you say, unfazed. “And give me two weeks before sending anyone, don't wanna have my cover blown, you know. And no worries, I can take care of myself, you trained me like that. See ya.” 

There is a strange, gaping hole inside where you should feel remorse or anger. Machida spent the last twenty years of his life looking over you, after all, and you were mere inches away from the finish line of becoming the next best investigator in Kyoto. All the extra classes after work, the nights spent with physical training that left your body aching in blue and lilac bruises, all the petty chases of junkies and mischievous younglings, all the onigiri and donuts you brought to the office to win over your coworkers and superiors. All for nothing, because Machida is a liar. Most detectives are, that's a common knowledge in the law enforcement, but you wanted to believe they only use it on suspects and the victims’ family members. All your keen-edged senses for falsehood were blinded by love. You can recall myriad memories now where he was acting suspicious; telling you that the throbbing fear on people's shoulders were not really there, how many times he found you in the garden in the middle of the night as you stood still and soaked in the moonlight, and how your sensitivity to artificial light is completely normal. There's nothing normal about you, or him, for that matter. Your throbbing headache reminds you of that as you take in an aspirin and swallow it without water before deciding to turn off all lamps in your room. 

As you begin to unpack your clothes, bubbles of laughter pass by your door before it fades away, urging you to undo your luggage faster. Your phone lays in one of the trash cans on the street, your laptop, gun and badge were left in your hotel room. The usual clothes of beige trench coat, suit, white shirt and polished shoes are now changed to converse, jeans and long-sleeved Henley - you feel bare and exposed, an easy target, like a naked slug in the middle of the road that can get crushed anytime. The fact Manami let you know your interview was canceled right at the entrance door, and they were ready to take you in right away did not help your nerves. Was there a possibility they were trying to lure you here? The ritual for the Harvest Moon and your sensitivity to moonlight are far too much of a coincidence, but how would a sorcerer in Tokyo know that you would be assigned to the case? Why you? And where is Uehara Hachiro?

Your feet carry you across the hallways in silence towards the room of beige walls, placards of unknown enchantments and thick cumulus of sweet-balsamic incense. A deep inhale, you relax your shoulders before you make the final turn - even if this is all a trap specifically for you, this is a path you don't want to stray away from. For Fuji, for yourself, for truth.

“Everyone, this is Chouka-chan. Geto-sama wants everyone to give her a very warm welcome,” Manami says cheerfully, her voice like a small bird's song on an early spring morning while she smoothes her palm against your shoulder. The bulk of the odor of incense, the remaining heat of myriad followers and the overwhelming dose of cursed energy makes your eyes water and your throat itch between the introductions and the hand shakes. Every last one of them has the same sliver of smile on their mouth like Manami, calculated and forced, their eyes screaming a certain type of wariness. It makes you fetch a clean glass and pour some bourbon for yourself at the first given opportunity.

The calmness of the afternoon is suddenly broken by the sparkling laughter of two young girls, neither of them looking more than thirteen, as they're riding a one and a half meter tall curse in between the members. They jump off with precision, their hands connect and they swing the knot of fingers in between each other as they make their way to you. 

“Chouka-chan, was it?” the bright caramel haired asks, but she doesn't wait for an answer. “Have you ever killed a curse?”

The question registers in your brain five seconds too late. Just yesterday, you didn't even know that these types of cursed spirits existed and now here's an enormous one, and it's being treated like a pony. By two children. In the building where a potential cult is residing. The intensity of the adult members makes your skin prickle, your fingers tighten around your empty glass and your throat begins to itch again. “Only one” Barely.

“Cool,” says the brown haired girl, and you feel another hard question coming. Suddenly, the interview cancellation makes perfect sense. “I can barely see your energy. Is this part of your cursed technique?”

“I'm sorry, didn't quite catch your name there,” you hold a hand to your ear as you tilt your head to the side. The alcohol already begins to bloom with warmth in your stomach, and the aspirin snaps your headache into a buzzing torpidity, relaxing your nerves just enough to make an attempt at taking control of the conversation. Yet, reminding the girls of their manners seems to hit a nerve as rosy pink blooms on their full cheeks and tears begin to glimmer at the edges of their bulbous eyes. Someone lets out a chuckle in the distance.

“The name is Nanako and she's Mimiko,” says the bright haired one as she motions towards her sister. “Didn't mean to offend you. Geto-sama told us you're a special one. We're just curious is all.”

“Girls, what did I tell you about pestering new recruits?” a man's voice comes from behind you. You didn't sense his approach, his closeness startles you into quickly turning around with widened eyes and bated breath. The glass slips from your hand, and the man and you catch it both at the same time before it reaches the floor. His skin feels like silk against your shaky fingers, his breath smells like soap seeping through his knowing smile. “Impressive reflexes” he whispers, and takes the glass away from you to put it onto the table before hiding his arms in the sleeves of his yukata robe, and turns to face his people who are already on their knees with their foreheads against the ground.

“I understand your suspicion about Chouka-chan. It's not common for us to immediately welcome someone so soon, especially someone so new to jujutsu, but I put my trust in her and I want you to do the same. Treating her poorly is equivalent to mistreating me, understand?” 

“Yes, Geto-sama,” they all mumble and nod in unison before they're ordered to leave the room to you and Geto. The one named Miguel offers you an apologetic smile when he catches your eye as he's leaving. The other named Larue doesn't even bother to look your way, it's as if he's deep in a dreamy thought ever since his Master appeared. Mimiko and Nanako's faces stiffen after Geto ruffles each of their hairs, slightly whining about the man messing up their hairdo and they're all too busy fixing that while they're leaving. 

You can barely even remember your early teenage years, you realize. The point where you started caring about your looks, your growing body, a healthy nature of selfishness, the boys and the girls you might want to kiss. Normal teenage things, and you can't recall any of it. You remember learning how to carry a gun, though.

“You may sit next to me,” a large palm on the small of your back jolts you out of reverie as it leads you across the empty space. The lines of Suguru Geto begin to wash away ahead of your eyes, his fingertips keep tapping against your skin in a rhythm you can't recognize while his all-knowing smile never falters. You're high; your blurred vision, clouded mind and labored breathing makes your body feel heavy as Geto helps you sit down next to his armrest. Was it the combo of aspirin and alcohol? You wonder to yourself while the man moves across the room with the lightness of a feather in the wind to turn off all the lamps and set candles aflame, swapping away the buzzing ache from the back of your head. Oh, this man knows exactly who you are.

“So let's start again,” The room is cast in a warm, flickering glow from the dancing flames of the candles. Geto leans in close as he places himself next to you, his piercing eyes fixating on yours, their intense gaze making your heart race. You can feel the weight of his presence as he invades your personal space, his body almost touching yours as he seems to see through your defenses, searching for any hint of emotion or reaction. The air is charged with an unspoken tension, and you find yourself feeling helpless under his scrutinizing gaze. His smile makes the fuzz on your nape stand high. “Who are you?”

“I have a feeling you already know that,” maybe even better than I do, you want to add, but his chuckle cuts you off. In the dim light and your mind above the clouds, you continue to stare at him with a deluged affection that people tend to feel towards anything beautiful. You're trapped in a strange mixture of dread and intimacy as he puts the weight of his palm on your shoulder.

“I didn't expect you to come here so soon, Detective. You didn't get much sleep, did you?” His voice is low with a fatherly genteel. It makes you want to hug him, but the rational part of your mind continues to scream danger. Your lips begin to tremble and tears burn your eyes as he pats and caresses your skin, like a parent consoling his child after yelling at them for doing something mischievous.

“What's the meaning of all this? What's happening to me?” it amuses him how quickly you break. A trembling, sobbing mess under his touch against your cheek as he leads your head against his thigh.

“You shouldn't have drunk that shot of whiskey,” he lies. “Just lay down and relax. Your cursed energy is overwhelming you, and I'm here to help if you let me,” every word spilling out of his mouth is like a honeyed string of duplicity. Yet you can't help, but feel at ease as he strokes your hair and hushes your sobbing while your tears are soaking the black material of his yukata on his thigh. “Will you let me?”

“Yes,” you say. How strange it is to feel more loved by a cult leader, a potential murder suspect than you ever felt with your own father. The pain in your heart feels physical, making you gasp for air as your weeping flows again and you hold onto Suguru's knee for support. 

“Breathe,” he commands, his fingers brushing your hair out of the wetness on your face as his other hand gingerly forces you by the cheek to look at his face. “Focus on the outline of my cursed energy.”

When your teary gaze meets with his, you're faced with the faintest tug of smile hiding at the corners of his lips. Your brows furrow in suspicion, your chest falling and rising to fight for air until you notice the crimson color enveloping the two of you. His thumb strokes your cheek, wordlessly reminding you to focus on his energy which is a pale blue beating around him in a steady rhythm. The last of your tears wet his finger when you finally lose yourself in the dance of his aura. A salty taste remains in the back of your throat, but your inhales gradually become deeper. The red shadow of your energy is soon soothed; it shrinks into the same size as Suguru's, matching its balanced pulsating. Calmness washes over you, the vehemence of your heart beating ebbs away and the sudden clarity of your mind makes you recognize pride behind Suguru's simper. 

“You'll make a fine sorceress, Detective. I hope to have you on my side in the future, that's why I want you here” starts the man, still stroking your hair like you're a cat resting on his lap. 

“The boy didn't have to die,” you mumble as you mindlessly pinch a strand of his black hair between your fingers, playing with it, and you recognize the fragrance of the same shampoo and hair oil you smelt on the twins. These girls love this man enough to tend to his hair, his people trust him enough to let a stranger into their circle, and his cursed energy is in harmony with yours - for a second, you feel like you found someone you can rely on. But then he speaks again.

“That boy was nothing, but a monkey. It was a necessary evil to get you here, and it worked,” you let go of his hair, and sit up while using the sides of your hands to dry up your tears while he continues. “Your adoptive father never loved you, I can taste it in your tears. He only adopted you, so he can keep a close eye on you and make sure you'll never become a master of jujutsu.”

“What was the point of doing all that?”

“Fear? Envy? I don't know, I gave up on trying to understand the way monkeys feel or think a long time ago,” he shrugs and shakes his head in disbelief, as if Machida's way of raising you offends him more than it does you. There's a still of silence between the two of you before he speaks up again in a sweeter tone. “Where did the name Chouka come from?”

“She was a five year old girl, a murder victim” you begin. You can recall the murder scene clearly just like it happened yesterday, even though the last time you read her files was two years ago; it started with a frantic call from a single mother of two, her baby boy stopped breathing in the middle of the night, she weeped into the phone. Little did everyone know that it was no mere accident, the boy's body was so badly beaten he could've barely been identified, his blood and gore painted the baby blue of his bedroom walls crimson and black. In a fit of rage, the mother blamed the boy's older sister, Chouka-chan who had her baby brother's blood all over her Hello Kitty nightgown. By the time you got there, it was a case of double homicide and a suicide. The throbbing darkness that you now know as curses was overwhelming when you set foot into the house, but you had no way of knowing the causes of deaths were supernatural, so Chouka-chan was named the murderer of the infant. Yet, the wounds on her body and the flesh under her nails told you she was fighting tooth and nail to protect the other child. 

“It was a grade one curse,” says Suguru. With a snap of his fingers, he summons a monster akin to a weeping woman, her hair dark and wet like weeds on the bottom of a dirty lake, her skin dark and spotted with something akin to leper. “Postpartum depression curses usually appear around hospitals, but your victim accumulated so much negative energy on her own that she created this and caused the death of her own children,” with a second snap, the curse vanishes and he continues. “It was the first place I ever sensed your residue. You didn't even know, but the sheer power of your will made this curse hide in fear. She knew you could easily kill her if you were to see her. Ever since then, I knew I had to have you in my family.”

“I can't control it, though. The curse I killed… I just stepped on it,” you confess, and Suguru's sudden laugh startles you.

“Did seeing it make you feel disgusted, by any chance?” he asks, and he smooths his palm across the back of your head when you nod. “Imagine a world where these disgusting creatures never existed. If it weren't for the monkeys oozing out cursed energy, Chouka and his brother would still be alive. If it weren't for your cowardly stepfather, you could've saved so many lives. The best we can do right now is move forward, step towards evolution and purge the world from these filthy curse machines, Detective. Don't you agree?”

Your mind finally feels clear and your bosom is light. The dried salt of your tears are the only thing remaining of your sorrow as you're looking into the brown gaze of this man whose judgment you decide to not trust. You snap away his hand. “I think there are many flaws in your plan, Geto-sama. Bring me Uehara Hachiro or I'll arrest you instead. Or kill me, and have the entire Kyoto and Tokyo Police Department hunting you down for murdering the daughter of the Chief Inspector. If you need me, you're far away from having enough manpower to withstand two cities worth of law enforcement.”

“Disappointing answer, but I had an inkling suspicion you'd say something like that,” he says while standing up and making his way to the light switches. You expect a sudden ache to come as the artificial light illuminates the room, but to your utmost surprise, you feel nothing out of the ordinary. Suguru smiles, and it earns a click of your tongue to know everything still goes according to his plans. “Give me two weeks to train you, both body and mind. If by then, you'd still decide to leave, I'll give you Uehara Hachiro.”

“And what do you gain from that outcome?”

“Oh, rest assured, you'll pay back the favor when the time comes. But right now, your cursed energy is so unstable that it may very well kill you, or you can turn into a curse. Imagine the disaster the latter could cause,” you follow him in silence as he blows out each candle. His arms hidden in his sleeves, that irritating curve of his knowing smile never threatens to fade while he accompanies you back to your room - he already knows you have to say yes.

“Fine, two weeks,” you say with a sigh.

“And your father?”

“He gave me enough time. No one else will come or call. I'm all yours.”

“Did anybody ever tell you you're even prettier when you cry?” his breath feels hot against your cheeks. He's so close, you're forced to tilt your head to the side to be able to look him in the eye. His smile widens as your pearly canines are slightly bared in a ginger smirk.

“You're not my type. Sorry to disappoint you twice, Geto-sama,” 

“That's alright,” Suguru chuckles. He takes a step back, so you can give him a proper bow before he turns on his heels and begins to make his way to his chambers. “Sleep well, Detective. I won't go easy on you during your training.”

[nogu-d-reamers]

WELCOME TO PLAYTOWN/POPPY PLAYTOWN- CHARACTER REFERENCE #6.

KICKIN "CHICKEN" LE COQ - DESIGN AND DATA.

INFORMATION AND DATA.

Name: Kickin "Chicken" LeCoq

Age: 27

Height:2'5 mt/6'5 fts.

Species: smiling critters creature. Roaster silkie (chinese silk chicken)

Occupation: bountyhunter/seaplane pilot.

Genre: male (he/him).

Sexuality: bi

Magical usser type: alchemist.

Birth place: Olde River (Playgrounds).

Birth day: July 18th.

Personality:

"Luckiest star" or Kickin usually appears to be the typical tough guy bounty hunter or the flirtatious pilot who has a lover in every port where he lands; a shameless man, without fear of what people will say about him, without any sense of danger or how far he will go. Catnap describes him as a "magnet of chaos who knows no failure."

which he usually repels at first.

Once you get into trust with him, he is friendly as a capybara who loves bad jokes and spending time relaxing or doing a sports activity for pleasure; Noticing many times that they seem annoyed that he does not have enough to go to an event with them, that some work crosses his path on an outing on several occasions.

He is someone who loves to lend a hand to his friends and the people he cares about, even in the worst moment he mentions a couple of times «well, what's next?» taking out in advance a part of the plan that the person has in mind, not very legal from how he obtained it; but better not to ask questions about it.He is a rooster who ignores the opinions of others and tends to be cynical and blunt, especially with authority figures over unresolved or personal issues.

A constant comic gag is that sometimes his methods are… too violent or really crazy. So the critters have to stop him from doing something crazy

A constant comic gag is that sometimes his methods are… too violent or really crazy.

or that when splashed with water, the cheap feather dye falls off and attracts the attention of one of his thousands of rivals and they start fighting at a bad time.

about his work and daily life.

Unlike other critters (and the general public) he does not have a fixed work schedule, but will often depend on being required for the missions or jobs he has as a bounty hunter; which maintains 3 basic requirements to accept a job=

1. does not carry out assassination missions or attacks against other lives.

2. will not accept a mission with children involved (unless they are rescues).

3. He should laugh in your face if you do not offer him a minimum of ₱200.000 or 12.000 carats in galyostro crystals and he sees you as a high class (if he accepts missions of little or almost no denomination, but he hates when rich people go overboard him with their arrogance). When he is at work he usually disappears for weeks on end and catnap or hoppy tell him the news that happens in his absence, having to endure the phrase «SACREBLEU! SO MUCH HAPPENED WITHOUT ME BEING THERE?!» or «bien bien...but don't look for me when you need something dangerous later...»

He often works alongside Catnap on some cases within Main City as an informant or support force if a case turns violent.

In his free time he spends his time repairing his beloved seaplane and other equipment... to end up going to Hoppy's shamelessly asking for a discount, going to Picky's restaurant or arguing with Bubba at work so that he doesn't turn him in to the law.

Magic data (and other skills):

As a bounty hunter he has great physical capacity and intelligence based on survival and street malice; but he also has skills in=

1. knowledge in fights and how to take advantage of their physical disadvantage.

2. knowledge of the use of firearms.

3. non-legal acquisition of valuable items (cursed objects and relics remaining outside of its scope).

Although he is an alchemist, having no formal studies or education; He cannot use a fixed element like Hoppy, but he has the innate ability to alter luck so that it is in his favor and can do a basic transmutation of mutating metallic materials to the size of bullets and firearms.

According to Hoppy, if he had formal training, he could transmute objects into valuable materials.

other random data:

favorite food: veggies barbecue «easy to make, delicious, cheap and with a large number of variants to combine...c'est une bonne affaire !»

Favorite dessert: waffles with ice cream «We can all have a petite luxury from time to time...»

hated food: canned food «specially The military preserved food, ughh!!»

smell: ylang-ylang

strength: physical resistance, insight, charisma.

weakness: braggin.

favorite physical appearance: muscles «they look good yeah?~»

hated physical appearance: plumage colour «When I dye my hair they tell me I look like a poussin, when I don't the stupid! police chase me... GIVE ME A BREAK!!»

person you respect most: Hoppy «Dieu, She's the goat!!»

person you don't want as an enemy: Bubba «Don't send my plane to the junkyard!s'il te plaît!!!»

hobby:gambling, independent studies, and visiting Picky's restaurant.

Some crush?:«The popular kindergarten art teacher who likes flowers, but I know she's out of my league»

[itssweetiedarling]

Beauty and the Bite

Astarion's life is forever changed when a mysterious being curses him to live as a vampire. Redemption seems impossible until he's given a chance - he must learn to love a young woman and earn her love in return. Ten long years pass before destiny finally presents itself in the form of a brave and selfless maiden named Tav. She offers to take her father's place as Astarion's prisoner, providing him with the opportunity he's been waiting for. However, their troubles are far from over. A cunning bard named Gaddis has his plans for Tav and is willing to do whatever it takes to achieve his goals.

Beauty and the Beast retelling.

Chapter 1: Her Nose Stuck in a Book

The Library in Baldur's Gate was indeed a marvel, drawing in countless tourists with its vast collection of knowledge and rare manuscripts. Bards, in particular, harbored dreams of seeing their works proudly displayed on the prestigious high shelves alongside renowned literary masterpieces.

The shelves themselves were a testament to the rich history and cultural significance of the city. Each book, scroll, and manuscript told a story, contributing to the collective wisdom stored within the library's hallowed walls. Citizens who were fortunate enough to have their creations archived in this esteemed institution felt a deep sense of accomplishment and recognition.

Tav, with her vibrant curiosity and insatiable appetite for knowledge, had become a familiar presence within the hallowed halls of the Library. Her love for books transcended the ordinary, and she had developed a unique bond with the books themselves.

Each day, Tav would make her way through the labyrinth of bookshelves, her fingers gently tracing the spines of ancient tomes and her eyes lighting up with excitement at the prospect of discovering something new. The librarians recognized her passion and welcomed her as a regular visitor.

Her beauty was not only in her physical appearance but in the way her eyes sparkled with curiosity. Tav's thirst for knowledge seemed unquenchable, and the library became her sanctuary. Even if she wasn’t looking for books, she visited the library every day to sit down and read.

Today, that was exactly what she was doing. She was nose-deep in a book she picked up this week. She sat in her corner of the library, with her blue dress flowing to the floor like a waterfall. As she flipped the page, a blur of another person filled the corner of her eye. She turned away from her book and saw Gaddis.

Gaddis was a rather handsome man, often seen entertaining the females at the Elfsong tavern. His presence in the library was a rare sight, as the establishment usually catered to scholars and intellectuals. Gaddis, however, seemed out of place among the meticulously organized shelves and studious patrons.

Tav couldn't help but be intrigued by the sudden appearance of Gaddis. As he approached, a mischievous grin played on his lips, contrasting with the solemn atmosphere of the library. He greeted Tav with a bow, acknowledging her presence with a glint of familiarity in his eyes.

"Ah, Tav, the seeker of wisdom. Fancy meeting you in this sea of books," Gaddis said, his voice smooth and resonant.

Tav, momentarily confused by the unexpected company, closed her book. "Gaddis, what brings you here? I didn't think the Elfsong needed a break from your charismatic performances."

“Coming to see you.” Gaddis smirks.

Tav couldn't help but roll her eyes at Gaddis's cheeky response. If Gaddis wanted to keep his crush on her a secret, he wasn’t doing a good job at it. His intentions were as transparent as the crystal-clear streams that flowed through the forest outside Baldur's Gate.

"Well, you've found me, Gaddis," Tav replied. She has never been interested in the life of Gaddis.

Gaddis chuckled, seemingly undeterred by Tav's lack of interest. He pulled up a chair, making himself comfortable as if he belonged in the scholarly atmosphere of the library.

"I thought I'd take a break from the lively tunes of the Elfsong and delve into the world of knowledge," Gaddis explained, gesturing towards the shelves around them. "Who knows, maybe I'll find something intriguing enough to impress even you."

Tav raised an eyebrow, skeptical yet curious about Gaddis's sudden interest in intellectual pursuits. "Impress me with knowledge? That's a bold claim, considering your usual repertoire involves charming folks with fists.”

Gaddis leaned back in his chair, a playful glint in his eyes. "You never know, sweetheart.”

Tav, unable to resist a challenge, decided to play along. "Well, Gaddis, let's see if you can handle it. What topic are you interested in exploring today?"

Gaddis paused for a moment as if contemplating his choice. "How about something mysterious and adventurous? I've heard tales of hidden treasures and ancient artifacts. That should be entertaining, don't you think?"

"Hidden treasures, you say? I shouldn’t be suprised. But alright, let me find a book for you."

As Tav navigated the shelves with practiced ease, Gaddis observed her with a smirk. His eyes wandered down her body as she walked.

After a few moments, Tav returned with a dusty tome bound in worn leather. "Here you go, Gaddis. 'Legends of Forgotten Treasures.' It's filled with tales of hidden riches, mysterious maps, and daring adventurers. Give it a read, and we'll see if you can impress me with your newfound knowledge."

Gaddis accepted the book with a grin, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Challenge accepted, Tav. Who knows, maybe I'll discover a hidden talent for unraveling mysteries."

Tav picked up her books, placing them in her basket. “Now, thank you for entertaining me, but I need to go check in on my father.”

Gaddis laughs, “Your father always needs checking up on!”

Tav shot Gaddis a glare, "He may be getting on in years, but he's still sharper than most. Unlike some, he doesn't rely on bar fights alone to get by."

“I wouldn’t be surprised if I see him in the news as the city's new serial killer. He seems just about wicked enough to do something like that.”

That was Tav’s cue to leave. She gives one last look to Gaddis before departing. "You have a wild imagination, Gaddis. But I'll leave you to your treasure tales and sinister speculations. I have more reliable things to attend to."

Left to his own devices, Gaddis delved into the 'Legends of Forgotten Treasures.' The tales within transported him to distant lands, filled with mythical beasts, cunning rogues, and the allure of untold wealth.

As the evening shadows deepened, Gaddis found himself engrossed in the stories, occasionally glancing towards the library entrance, half-expecting Tav to return for him.

More on ao3

[imjustabeanie]

Matchup trade for @merbear25 !

Lmao I just finished them. Hope you enjoy it!

Black Butler:

Undertaker seems like a good match for you. Considering all your interests and your thirst for knowledge, he would compliment you rather well as he has a vast amount of hidden knowledge in various subjects. He is not a jealous boyfriend and would encourage you to travel and do what you want, especially with how busy his second agenda makes him. But don’t think for a second that he doesn’t love you. He wants you to be safe and if he has to send you away for it then so be it. Undertaker is a very mysterious and secretive man, for him to tell you about his plans you’re gonna have to be very very patient.

He is the type of boyfriend to pull pranks on you. But also the kind to take you visit museums or historic places at night and then tell you stories related to them. He loves that you’re a horror fan and isn’t weirded out by him. Getting him into DnD will be easy and fun since he is a troll. He…doesn’t seem to be athletic but will always hype you up.

This man is an enigma himself. He has a lot of facades and is way smarter than he looks. As a boyfriend, you’d at first date Undertaker and then Adrien if you know what I mean (that’s his real name if I remember). Your relationship gives Jack Skelington and Sallie vibes. You love cuddling but also need your space which makes him perfect for you

JJK:

Aoi Todo with Yuuji as a runner up

Listen, yes he is very pushy and borderline delusional but this man is dedicated to his lover (you). Todo is your number one cheerleader and the only issue with him is convincing him to give you time alone on some days. He loves showering you with compliments and gifts. Any kind of physical affection is welcomed by him. Also you are his type physically so….

Based on Gege, Todo is the student that ranks the highest academically which leads me to believe that he is smarter than he looks and will gladly teach you what he knows. He’s the type to get into your hobbies for you. Any book only available for sorcerer will be given to you by him lol. He has no problem talking about curse history with you. He loves listening to you talk about your interest and you can be sure that if a mission requires him to travel he will take you with him so you can practice a new language. When watching movies with you, he will try to be tough but will end up crying like a softy (or screaming in horror movies) .Play piano for him and he’ll picture your wedding day (delulu I say).

Todo is the golden retriever boyfriend. Always active and always looking to make you happy. It can be a bit much for some people but his love is pure.

Hazbin Hotel:

Info about him are scarce but…Vox! A demon Tv definitely has a lot of knowledge lol and doesn’t mind sharing it at all. Be careful cuz he has a temper. Don’t mention radios and you’ll be fine I guess.

Now Vox is definitely a possessive lover but he trusts you. Travelling for him might be difficult given his position but he will try to make sacrifices and will let you travel alone as long as you update him often (minimum once a day). He probably paid for all your vacations. He likes when you’re gentle…with him if you are with everyone and he feels they don’t deserve it then he will let it be known. I think the biggest sacrifice he’d make for you is actually touching grass and visiting museums instead of seeing them on a screen. Now I think Vox likes to talk. When you ask him a question it’s easy for him to get lost in thought. He will go long and in detail about every aspect of demonology he knows, trust me you’ll be an expert by the end… He is a bit of a tsundere but if you feel down about yourself he will fight it off the best he can even if it makes him flustered. And yet he loves to flirt with you just to make you flustered.

He is a walking TV. Of course you’re gonna have daily movie nights with the worst horror movies he can find. Heck he’d even propose to scare you or invite you to scare people with him. Get him into yoga before electricity goes out everywhere will you? Also he’d totally understand you needing space sometimes, everyone does. He loves listening to you rambling about different subjects and definitely encourages you to do so in different languages (I am sure he speaks more than one).

[doonthestair]

How is somewhere so strict about about rules so lawless at the same time? Welcome, my friends, to my sleep-deprived pit of Catalan hell, where I shall lay shaking and twitching and rambling endlessly until the time comes to sacrifice myself to man’s great sky chariot, whereupon I shall be whisked away to soar over the mighty winter Atlantic and by Jove’s good graces, reach the other side. We find ourselves now approaching the seven hour mark of living in the Barcelona airport for the day, seeing as my witchly curses of both body and soul prevent me the stability required to venture outwards without a mild fit of panic and hysteria, so it is that I shall remain here for the following 12 hours. The sun has not yet risen. I need a drink.

Eureka! I have found a cherished establishment familiar to me from my days in London. My heart as in my very spirit yearns for a chai latte, but my heart as in physical organ screams and cries at the idea of caffeine consumption without an adequate amount of food to pair with it. Praise me for slowly learning from…past endeavors. Some may call them mistakes, though I prefer to call that incident “The Consequences of a Biology Exam the Next Morning.” How I do not wish to experience the spiders again. In any case, I shall acquire a blueberry muffin and the fruit of my homeland. They have a dirty chai latte. I hope they mean it. I need a chai latte so dirty, so filthy, filthier than the words I seduce your mother with as your pitiful patriarch watches. And they both like it. I pray my sins be absolved so that I may continue committing them. Oh, the lulls of sleep are but an arm’s length away but I have strained my shoulder so terribly from carrying my duffel bag that I can barely reach out. Siren temptations dreams are anyway, as I must stay in full consciousness from here on out. You can try to kill me if you want me to rest, I suppose. I’d like to see you try. Go on, puppet. Dance. Put on a show in the public arena that is an airport. Nothing matters here except for the things that very, very much do. The caffeine and adrenaline that run through my veins have pushed me past mortality. The last time I slept was in the Czech Republic. I’m sure that isn’t apparent in the slightest.

My mouth is filled with blueberry muffin and my ears are filled with Eurhythmics’ “Sweet Dreams.” It is positively banging. A “slapper,” the youth may proclaim, though I admit my knowledge of the current dialect is rusty at its best. I eagerly await for the sweet embrace of sunrise and from there, only another five hours until my flight even shows on the board. My activities within the airport promptly shall include all good things that start with W: wanting, wandering, wallowing, withering, wasting away. 

[starwrittenfates]

 ❣ For Ominis, Anne, and Harmony :)

SEND ME ❣ FOR 3 PROS & 3 CONS OF DATING MY MUSE!

PROS:

Affectionate: This boy doesn't care about things like blood status. If you find a way into his heart, he will treat you with such warmth and softness. He's honestly a pure cinnamon roll that's too good for this world. He's the type to shower his love with gifts and affection. He especially loves physical touch because of being blind.

Protective: He isn't afraid to fight for those he cares about. Don't underestimate him.

Emotional: Despite having a habit of hiding his emotions and being icy with others he doesn't know too well at first, Ominis is actually very emotional and caring and empathetic. He's for sure the type to be known talking about his love or caught kissing them in the hallways.

CONS:

His Family: Ominis would state this right off the bat (it's honestly the biggest one). Despite caring for his family, he knows how much of a problem they can be. After all, things have been tense between him and them since. And they are terrible about following tradition. It's not that they will stop him from being with someone else (especially if they aren't pure-blood), it's just the fact that things will not be easy being part of the Gaunt family. And he wouldn't want to bring any harm or danger.

Can be Jealous: I can see him getting jealous depending on certain circumstances. After all, it's perfectly human.

Repress Emotions sometimes: Despite being an emotional person, sometimes Ominis has that ability to hide his emotions away, not wanting to come off as a burden or worry someone.

PROS:

Affectionate: Just like Ominis, Anne doesn't care about blood status. She only cares about the person and would be that person going on dates and giving someone homemade gifts.

Playful: I can see Anne being especially playful. After all, she is the twin sister of Sebastian. She has a small little mischievous streak in her, but it's tame and mild compared to her brother. Her's mostly involve's playful wit and banter.

Will take care of you if you get sick: Knowing what it's like to have health problems and feel sick, Anne is assured with having knowledge of how to take care of her loves ones.

CONS:

Her brother (?): Depending on if Sebastian ends up in Azkaban or not, it's clear her brother is obviously a sensitive and painful topic for her. There's also that fact of Sebastian just being protective and I can honestly see him being that brother that carefully makes sure whoever is after his sister knows he will come after them if they hurt her. Oof...don't test it.

Her condition with the curse: Depending on if she's able to find a cure for it or not, this is an obvious one and it's sad. It just makes everything difficult, but grief is worse...

Can't think of a third one...

HARMONY GOODWATER (I haven't made a banner for her yet ^^'''):

PROS:

Loyal: As a Hufflepuff (and just the kind of person she is), Harmony is assured to be loyal to those who earn it. Once you earn her affections and friendship, she is determined to stick by your side. She will never be caught cheating and is very devoted.

Affectionate: With her naturally bubbly personality, Harmony isn't afraid of PDA. In fact, she often forgets that sometimes it's not welcomed by others. She's the type to hug a friend everytime she sees them and if she ends up dating someone, expect that to also involve kisses. She also holds hands and just enjoys being in their company.

Empathetic: She's a people person, but she's also very understanding and feels her (and others) emotions strongly. If you're hurting, she's hurting. If you're happy, she's also happy. It can be both a blessing and a curse.

CONS:

Stubborn: She can be very stubborn and reckless. Despite being a Hufflepuff, if it comes to protecting those she cares about, Harmony will do whatever it takes to keep them safe and stop whoever is causing harm. Even if it involves risking her own life. And when she is like this, it's hard for her to listen to others.

Overly Empathetic: Like I said, it's both a blessing and a curse.

Intense: She can come off this way to some at times mostly because of how passionate and devoted she is, but she proudly wears her heart of her sleeve and cares for others.

[randomchaotichuman]

i have once again been consumed with the need to write something (that is, of course, something new, not one of my several WIPs).(long post ahead)

here is a list of things I would like to write about but aren't enough for a story on their own or i don't really know how to include them (each topic is not necessarily related to each other)

Hermione should have experienced some degree of nerve damage from her torture at Malfoy manor. Shaky hands and has to take medication to be functional. (in general she went through a lot physically in the war, she has to have a hell of a time with phantom pain in scars) (the others are affected as well, but between Dolohov's curse and her torture, she has it extra bad in the long term). don't really know what to do with this information other than maybe write a character analysis fic.

i am getting back into bones (tv show) and genuinely considering rewatching the show. Sweets is my favorite character, i kinda want to write a character analysis fic about him, but don't really remember enough of his characters details to feel like I can do him justice.

i am also being slowly convinced to start watching criminal minds, because the characters seem really cool. i have read a bunch of fics from the fandom, but never actually watched the show.

everytime I get into new fandoms i get the incomprehensible urge to write crossover fanfics. what can I say?, i love a good crossover. despite being one of my favorite things to read, i have never written one.

i don't really like the idea that Hermione went to work for the Ministry after Hogwarts, especially in such a bureaucratic department (could definitely see her working as an Unspeakable, but a desk job, really?). I have a lot of ideas on what I think would suit her better (i might end up making a post at some point about this)

i hc that Hermione would not stick with an only magical education. we know that arithmancy was one of her favorite classes, i fully believe she would have gotten a degree in mathematics if she thought it would help her have a more complete understanding of arithmancy. she would have definitely used muggle education to expand on her magical knowledge.

i have still not given up on the idea that magical dueling needs to be more of a thing in the hp world. not really sure what to do with it, but it's a cool idea that i will hold on to.

so, TLDR: here are a bunch of fanfic and headcanon things related to a few different fandoms that i have been thinking about and don't know what to do with. If you want to use any of these in your own fics, you are more than welcome (just let me know so I can read them)

[nosonofcrouch]

| | Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry | | Slytherin House | | Bartemius Crouch Jnr. , | | interpreted by kettu.

@nosonofcrouch // sideblod to @lenientgaunt

– Sensitive viewers/readers will be advised to not follow this blog as there will be darker themes and content mentioned, such as physical and mental abuse. – I, the writer, is 28 and located in Northern Europe. – I won't interact with anyone under the age of 18. – This is strictly a hobby of mine and I am not obligated to immediately respond to threads or messages. – I have the right to explore and write a character in my own way, just like anyone else. – I will not partake in any out of character-drama that may ( but hopefully not ) occur. It simply doesn't interest me, in the slightest. – you may also find me here @narasnooze

** and to make things tad bit easier... Let's say Barty escaped McGonagall and Snape before Cornelius turned up with those kiss-starved dementors. Yes? Yes.

B A R T Y , – named after his father, Bartemius, is a very bright young man from the pure-blooded Crouch family. At age eleven, Barty becomes a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and is sorted into the Slytherin House.

Bartemius Jnr. does very well in school and studies a bit extra to get in the top of his classes. He even manages to get the best grades in his year. All this... in a desperate attempt to make his father acknowledge him and be proud. The older Bartemius is an incredibly strict and cold man who rarely spend time with his son, never congratulate– or show any sign of love and support. He is distant with his only child and no matter what young Barty does, it never seems to be enough.

In his first two years, Barty keeps to himself, as he is rather shy and inexperienced about friendships. However, in his third year, a boy a year older than him approaches him one day and they become friends. Regulus Black becomes a very important person in Barty's life and one of his favourite things is to watch his friend play Quidditch for their team, as Black is the Slytherin Seeker.

Barty is ( much to Bartemius' father's dislike ) invited over to the Black family for a couple of weeks during a summer break and he is instantly amazed and impressed by the noble family and their ways. They are welcoming, kind and seems genuinely interested in him and listens when he speaks. A lovely family, part from Regulus older brother... He find himself become very fond of Orion Black in particular. He certainly seemed like a true father, and Barty so wished he had someone like him at home.

The number of friends grow, and Barty is being brought along on their mayhem. They are cruel to other students and Barty begins to silently question his choices of friends, wishing he'd stayed behind with Regulus instead, who doesn't engage in such bullying of others. But the attention Barty has finally gotten is hard to let go off... And the dark arts pulled him in, bewitching him like a veala.

A few years later, he and Regulus are both invited to a very important and secretive gathering by Regulus parents. Both boys, very curious and intrigued, step inside and their lives are forever changed. He, the Dark Lord, is far greater than Bartemius could have ever imagined.

"We have heard the evidence against you. The four of you stand accused of capturing an Auror — Frank Longbottom — and subjecting him to the Cruciatus Curse, believing him to have knowledge of the present whereabouts of your exiled master, He Who-Must-Not-Be-Named —"

"Father, I didn't! I didn't, I swear it, Father, don't send me back to the Dementors... No! Mother, no! I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't do it, I didn't know! Don't send me there, don't let him! I'm your son! I'm your son!"

"You are no son of mine! I have no son!"

...Fine.

Then he would become the worst of worst. He would become the most loyal, the most devoted follower to Lord Voldemort. He would become the very thing his father loathed. He would do anything his master asked of him. He would do all of it. He would give his very soul to the Dark Lord...