#//whether that means just not talking about how he feels or masking his anger and pain with his dumb little faux-affably evil shtick

[doomxdriven]

What Color is Your Aura?

rose vines, blood, apples, velvet, sharp nails, galaxies, dripping jewelry. your essence is CRIMSON: you are the strong, defiant and avoidant. you crave some sort of deviation; to walk in another's footsteps feels mundane, a waste of your time. you are possessive and never look back at the things you've lost or forgotten. you are the rebel. you are the one who will change the world. you find kinship in like-minded individuals of red, blush, garnet, and bronze, who share your impassioned existence. you are also drawn to the confident souls royal and gold, who will help you grow and show that not everyone seeks to break you. however, you may struggle to get along with the slow-acting personalities of navy and umber who never seem assertive about anything.

Tagged By: @compassionatekiller Tagging: @serenexgraced (for whichever of your gals you want) and WHOEVER ELSE WANTS TO!!

#;oil that tastes like blood (JIN DASH MEMES); #//tbh p. on point. 'avoidant' made me think for a moment but tbh jin is kinda avoidant as far as his true emotions go #//whether that means just not talking about how he feels or masking his anger and pain with his dumb little faux-affably evil shtick #// 'not looking back at things you've lost or forgotten' is kinda true too bc while he is big on taking revenge on the soul society #//for what they did to the bount. and while what happened to the bount genuinely fucked with him #//he doesnt really look back and long for anything or 'miss' anything or anyone. #//all the bount that were exterminated by the shinigami? #//jin feels anger for their deaths. but he's successfully compartmentalized their losses and written them off as weak #//def hates what the shinigami did to the bount and he uses that as the vehicle for driving his revenge but he's more so #//looking forward at the pain he can inflict on the soul society vs looking back and mourning anyone or anything #//at least he thinks he is LOL. the guy could probably use a team of therapists. #//the only bount he cares for anymore are those who follow him. and even then. he's so jaded inside that their deaths might #//not even phase him too much should they come to pass. #//also on point for him being drawn to confident souls. jin is very appreciate of power and skill in others and also just confidence in #//general. #//which isnt to say he cant get along with more meek or self-doubting invididuals but he def does see those as negatives #// * individuals* im too lazy to delete that previous tag and correct my grammar lmao #//ANYWAY GOOD MEME

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

💗OkayokayokayKAY.

Miguel with autistic!AFAB!reader.

Plsplspls

hii!! I made this into headcanons, hope that’s okay. little disclaimer, autism is a spectrum so what one may experience, the other may not, and bc of that, I tried to make these sorta generic. thank you for requesting, hope you like it💌

…

headcanons

miguel o’hara x autistic!fem!reader

word count: 468

✧.┊ MASTERLIST

— he's incredibly observant, so he picks up on lots of things most people would ignore

— the change in your demeanour, the way you stim and fidget, the way you'd essentially 'shut down'

— none of it goes unnoticed by miguel

— he's extremely patient and understanding 

— he is a spider-man/ scientist after all, so he def has lots of knowledge about it. he knows that it's a spectrum, and no two are the same, so he's spent a long time learning your behaviours and patterns to tailor his help exactly to you

— like he's trying to understand you better and see what you do like and don't like, what you need and what you don't need. boundaries and possible triggers etc etc

— he NEVER judges you, ever!! whether that be stimming, info dumping, special interests and hyper fixations, just anything !!

— I feel like he feels special to be able to see the true you (unmasked) maybe there's a pun or inside joke about both of you wearing masks

— he loves to hear what's been running riot in your brain- your new fave show, a new topic you've found interest in. he def likes to listen to you talk and would never make you feel bad for doing so

— he's careful with the way he words things, as you may struggle to understand the meaning and intention- and wouldn't want to upset you

— but he doesn't treat you like you're fragile, like you're made of glass. he gives your special treatment bc he loves you, not bc of your disability

— he makes sure that you never feel like a burden. you may apologise every so often for 'being too much work' but he reassures you constantly, saying he would have it no other way etc

— despite him wanting to be around you all the time, he knows that you need to have your alone time, especially if you're overstimulated 

— he lets you be and gives you space while still being near- he keeps a close distance essentially. close enough to let you breathe, but still there to comfort you if needed

— he has great paternal instincts but never treats you like a baby or child. he utilises his knowledge of fatherhood and uses it in ways to help you without being condescending or patronising

— sorta feel like he's a mind reader. like he just knows what you need when you need it, but without suffocating you. like he can tell if you're about to be non-verbal. and he just knows the moment before you get overwhelmed and helps you out of the situation (again without smothering you)

— he appreciates your empathy, and need for justice. dare I say, he loves your anger too (without it sounding selfish) like he admires your vast range of emotions, and how you're so human

— — — — — — — — — — ☆ — — — — — — — — — —

#miguel o'hara #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel ohara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #miguel o’hara hcs #miguel o’hara headcanon #miguel x reader #autistic reader #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #atsv miguel

[8-rae-rae-8]

CW: Petre, sensory overload (briefly described), poly 141 undertones

Sometimes all he needed was to listen. Hard days followed Ghost no matter what had happened. It could have been a perfect mission, Johnny, Gaz and Price at his side and never missing a beat, but something could just feel wrong. Whether it was the blow of the wind, or the way his gloves rubbed into his palms, it managed to get under his skin with ease.

The tic of his hands every time he settled his weapon only served to irritate him more. Frustrated grunts coming from him over the most minor things. Ghost couldn't even be bothered to reply to some of Johnny's typically playful comments. Everything sounded like sandpaper to his ears.

It was only inevitable that he'd be called to talk to Price once they got back to base. A simple two week mission that felt like months to Ghost. Only growing more irritated day by day.

Upon seeing Gaz, Soap, and Price there, it felt he may have been more snappy than he had assumed. If he had a tail, it would have tucked between his legs.

"Simon." Price spoke sternly. The privilege of being The Ghost would only exist if it was purely a work problem. No, this was personal. His irritation was personal, and his misdirected anger was a mistake.

The other two simply sat on the chairs in front of Price's desk, eyes watching as Ghost stepped forward between them.

"I didn't mean to." Ghost was quick to say-No, Simon was quick to say. His gear was off, simple fabric balaclava in place of the plastic skull one.

"You need to rest though, aye?" Kyle asked, leaned back in the chair. His hand reached to rest on Simon's upper back.

Wordlessly, Simon nodded. Another hand slowly lowered him to his knees, and another pulled off the mask. A warm hand brushed through his hair. Simon didn't fight, he relaxed. He was in someone else's hands, someone he trusted. His mind felt fuzzy as he just listened and moved as he was made to.

His head was quick to lay against someone's thigh, Johnny's most likely. The hand brushed through the short but knotted hair, cleaning him up just a bit. Simon blinked slowly, letting himself breathe.

A candle was lit on Price's desk, a scent carefully chosen by Simon a while ago. A scent like fresh laundry, and not laundry using the SAS' provided things. Like laundry at home, warm and cozy.

It wasn't hard to ease Simon into regressing. He practically melted against Johnny's legs, an arm wrapped around one of his calves and his face buried in his thigh.

"That's a good boy..." Johnny cooed to him, while it seemed like Price and Kyle began talking about something else. Simon didn't catch on, all he understood was what Johnny was telling him.

"Ye just needed to relax, aye?"

Without all of the things that had made him feel icky in the field, relaxing really did make a world of difference. Simon slowly nodded.

His arms tightened a little around Johnny's leg when he shifted into a more comfortable position, pulling in deep breaths.

"Let's go rest in my room." Soap said, speaking to him almost like he was a little puppy. If he had a tail, it would wag.

Simon just nodded again, a small whine slipping from his lips. Just listen, let them take away all of the big things. No more choices, just a puppy. A little dog that knew how to listen and relax. They'd never use that against him.

Steady touch was used to help lift Simon to his feet, Johnny standing up with him and gently guiding him back to his room. Simon stumbled a few times, his head too fuzzy to do much more than looking around and huffing in complaint about having to move to get to ahere he wanted to be. Unfair to him, really.

The second they were there though, Simon hopped up on Soap's bed and nuzzled against the blankets. It smelled just like him, comforting and warm. He happily sunk into the firm mattress.

Johnny softly chuckled and simply pet his head after closing the door.

"yeah.. ye needed some puppy time." Soap smiled down at him when Simon huffed in return.

#cod petre #cod agere #call of duty #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #poly 141 #soapghost #ghoap #cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii

[strawberryforks]

a fragile peace // red hood x vigilante!reader

summary: fighting crime is hard when the red hood makes (annoying, trailing, helping) you his business

warnings: violence, blood, guns, swearing

word count: 474 (a short one buuuut could become a mini-series if there’s interest)

a/n: requests/asks are open & encouraged!

red hood isn’t your enemy by any means–and you’re grateful for it. you don’t kill and he does so regardless of skill level, you just can’t see that ending well. you weren’t friends though, it was hard to be when he’d rather ruin your fun, attempt to kill (but succeed in maiming) your nemesis, and interrupt everything you did in the suit. being a vigilante (you went by striker) was supposed to be fun. it wasn’t when your mask wearing rival, and occasional reluctant ally, was always up in your business. it wasn’t, when he was always so serious.

he’s aiming a gun at the all but harmless villain lying on the ground–the guy, called himself ruckus, is already bleeding. externally. internally. all over the alleyway. “red hood!” you shout. he drops his chin down and turns his head to the side, looking at you. you can’t tell whether he’s smirking or angry, not with the mask on, but you don’t care. you tackle him to the ground. he throws the gun away like it burnt him. “don’t you ever fucking do that again, striker, i swear.”

you don’t care much, ignoring his words and the anger that bleeds into them. “and let you kill someone on my watch? you’re crazy!”

“that’s not what i’m talking about,” he grits. he pushes you off of him, manoeuvring into a sitting position. you realise then that he’s not smirking, he’s livid. snarling, almost. he glances at the villain who’s pathetically limping away and then to the gun, and back to you. “the safety on that was off. i could’ve shot you.”

“no, you were about to shoot him.” you say, angling your thumb towards the opening of the alleyway.

then red hood is up in your business, in your face. he’s taking small steps forward that you match with large ones backwards. you’re backed into the wall, your back hits first and your head presses back into something softer than bricks. one of red hood’s hands is above your shoulder on the wall and the other is behind your head, like a cushion.

caged in, your breath quickens. you feel wild, like a cornered animal and debate doing something stupid, something so predictable, as striking. red hood drops his head, and looks (you think but then again he’s wearing a mask) directly into your eyes. “i said, don’t you ever do that again.”

“maybe back off once in awhile red—i could’ve handled him.” you hate that your voice wobbles but how the hell are you supposed to be confident when he’s talking to you like that and looking at you in a way that you can’t decide if you hate or love. woah. that thought makes you pause.

he’s still staring at you, glare ever unwavering. “i won’t tackle you when you’re holding a loaded weapon. there. happy?”

he pushes off of the wall, taking a small step back and nods once. “i’ll leave the little criminals to you, i guess. don’t die and make me regret it, striker.”

it’s peace. a fragile one, but you’ll take it for now.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd #batfam #red hood x reader #red hood #red hood x y/n #red hood x you #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #striker!reader #vigilante!reader

[hannahlovesluca]

“You never loved me, did you?”

| warnings : heart wrenching angst, cursing

It started that one stupid day everyone celebrates when baby Jesus was born.

The one day thats supposed to stay merry, jolly, and bright.

Your eyes divert away from his face, landing on the wall behind him, a creamy white color with intricate swirls, roses, and animals imprinted on.

Your heart is beating so fast, you can feel a dull ache inside your chest that begs you to just give up all hope and run away from this situation.

Give up.

Stop- I can handle this…

Give up.

Everyone has their secret sorrows which the world knows not; and often times we call them cold when they are only sad.

Living life was not the same as it once was when you were young. Being young, you were happy. The world was happy. Everyday when you woke up, there was a permanent smile etched onto your face.

Now, you’re being met with situations like these.

“Y/N. Look at me.”

Your eyes flicker back to Ike, resting on his neutral face, obviously trying to hold back all his pain and sorrows the world doesn’t know about. The world doesn���t need to know.

Ike Eveland himself, is not cold.

He is sad.

Ike Eveland, is sad.

All of humanity's problems stem from a man's inability to sit quietly in a room alone.

At least, that what you thought.

“I’ll fight for you, Y/N. Whether you like it or not,” he says whilst running his thumb down your cheek; you almost want to lean into his touch.

You can’t bring yourself to smile.

If anything, you’re more hurt by his words.

You say the one thing that has been on the tip of your tongue for over a year.

“I don’t love you anymore, Ike.”

"What?" Ike questions tentatively, as if he were scared of hearing the truth.

He takes his hand away from your cheek, and his expression is one of shock.

"Y-you don't?"

"I don't. Not like I used to," you keep your tone as steady as you can. You've made up your mind.

“You’ve changed me forever. And I’ll never forget you,” you know you shouldn’t lead him on, and you’re not trying to, but god does he need to know how much you used to love him.

Ike's face is a mask of sadness, and his lips are pressed into a tight line. He's trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threaten to explode from his eyes.

"I don't know what to say... I love you still." His voice is choked as he tries to fight back his tears. "I... I'll never be the same after you leave me. I can't imagine a life without you."

“Nothing is ever certain,” you say, a small, sad smile resting upon your face.

“Someone will love you the way you deserve, but I’m not that someone, Ike.”

You don't understand how he can be so perfect. You're a nobody and he is a prince. He deserves the world. But you can't give it to him, because you are not what he deserves.

Ike laughs bitterly.

“You never loved me, did you?”

He turns his back on you and you feel something in your chest break. He leaves your house with one last sentence:

"Maybe it's a good thing we're not together after all."

And he leaves.

You want to shout - to scream.

A void in your chest was beginning to fill with anger. Quiet, defeated anger that guaranteed you the right to your hurt, that believed no one could possibly understand that hurt.

You feel as if you are a child and everything around you is going to hell and there is no one to tell you it is going to be alright.

Your hands are shaking and you clench them into fists.

You don’t love him.

It is the truth, you do not love him.

Not in the way he wants you to.

But it does not change the fact that you do not like to see him go. You do not like that he is hurting.

You have a choice: run after him, or stay where you are.

To run after him, you’d be running into the pouring rain. And this was not a cliché romance novel.

But to stay, means you could never mend things.

You could never talk. You could never fix things.

You had two choices.

Run into the pouring rain or stay dry and let it ruin the grass and flowers.

It was raining harder now.

You grab your coat and run.

Ike hears footsteps behind him and turns. You are running toward him and when you stop, both of you are breathing heavily, both of you are drenched.

There is a flash of lightning and a roll of thunder, and neither of you speak until it has passed.

Your heart is pounding and you are shivering from the cold. Ike steps forward and takes your hands. His eyes are searching yours and you wish you knew what he was looking for.

When he is content with what he finds, his grip on your hands loosens.

You open your mouth to say something, but he cuts you off.

His kiss is passionate, but soft and hesitant. He pulls away far too soon, his breath brushing against your skin, making your shiver again.

"I love you," he says.

And this makes you erupt into sobs.

“Please, don’t you get it, Ike? We can’t be together…I… I don’t love you.”

And those words make him flinch.

He takes a step back, and you are left alone again.

Alone in the pouring rain.

You feel a pain in your chest, and realize your heart has broken.

You are not sure whether it was because of Ike, or yourself.

He loves you.

And you will always love him, but not in the way he loves you. He fell in love with a storm, there was no escaping unscathed.

You wanted to cry, but you didn't, you probably should have cried, you should have drowned the both of you there, ending your suffering.

#luca kaneshiro #ike eveland #luxiem #nijisanji en #shu yamino #mysta rias #vox akuma #luxiem x reader #ike eveland x reader #luca kaneshiro x reader #nijisanji angst #ike eveland angst #drafts

[gguksgalaxy]

10:38am | Jeonghan 1k [22] “Why do you like him so much?”

Angst (jealousy), Requested by anonymous

“Why were you home so late last night?” Jeonghan asks, swirling the coffee in his mug around, eyes trained on his phone. The tone of his voice is flat, but there is something about the way the words leave his mouth as you walk into your shared kitchen that makes the hairs at the back of your neck stand up. 

Answering immediately will only fuel whatever fire it is that he’s currently trying to stuff back down his throat. You can tell. The way you can tell anything about him by just being around him. You pour yourself a cup of coffee first, taking a sip. “I was with Junhui.” 

Jeonghan has a habit where he grinds his teeth when he’s angry. It’s audible with how thick the silence between the two of you is. As your friend and roommate he really has no business feeling some type of way about you hanging out with other guys. Sure, you live with him, he’s allowed inquire why you came home at 3am without saying anything. But the tone in his voice is anything but from concerned. 

“I don’t get it,” he sighs, clicking his tongue. 

“What is there not to get, I went out with Junhui for drinks and stayed out a little late. I’m an adult Han, I can do what I want.” You don’t look at him. You don’t have to. Don’t really want to right now. The two of you have been arguing about minor shit on and off the past few weeks. Arguing about why you were home late was not on your to-do list for today. Or tomorrow. 

Jeonghan shrugs, twisting to grab the coffee from the counter and pouring himself another cup. “I mean out of all your options? Jun? Really?” Is that…jealousy? The slight sharp tinge to his words, the disdain in his eyes. There is no way. “Why do you like him so much?”

Some imaginary thread inside of you—one you were unaware of—snaps as he says that. You slam your mug down on the kitchen table. “Maybe because he treats me better than you.” 

Jeonghan chokes on his coffee, coughing roughly before giving you a wide eyed look. “What the fuck?” His brows pulls together, mouth opening and closing.

“You heard me,” you bite. “When’s the last time you asked me how I’m doing?” 

He falls quiet, eyes turning away from you. “Listen.” 

“No,” you shake your head—you’re trembling. “You listen. I don’t know what has gotten into you in the past few weeks, but you’ve become an absolute hassle to be around Jeonghan. You barely talk to me and when we do talk, we fight. What did you expect me to do?” Your chest heaves, hands tight on the edge of the table.

He sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I don’t know, talk to me? Have a civil conversation? Not run into the arms of another man?!” His voice is steadily raising, patience thinning, and mask slipping. 

You narrow your eyes. “How dare you fucking talk to me like you have a right to be jealous. You least of all people have any right to be jealous Yoon Jeonghan.” There are so many words in the back of your throat that you have to swallow down. Whether they stay down will be the question. “That’s it right?” you continue, “you’re jealous?”

He turns his gaze away, fingers rubbing over his temples. Jaw tight, you can only imagine the tension. The question is whether you care. Because right now all you’re hoping for is that he says no, so that you can talk about this like adults. “I am.” 

Fuck that. Fuck all of this. “Good for you,” you sneer. 

“What?”

Your throat burns, your fingers itch, and yet all you do is stare at him for a solid minute before speaking. “You deserve this. You had your fucking chance, months ago, when I confessed to you. And as you’ll fucking remember, you rejected me. You wanted to stay friends. You’d never looked at me like that, and didn’t want to.” You pause with a heavy breath. The memories of that night no longer sting, but that doesn’t quell your anger. “You said no, and I moved on. I let you go, because you didn’t want to be with me. If it takes me being with another man for you to realise you have any semblance feelings for me, that’s not on me. That’s on you. Don’t make it my fucking problem.” 

Jeonghan sits there on his favourite kitchen chair and he just stares at you. His fingers are trembling on the kitchen counter. The eyes that had looked at you with annoyance mere minutes ago now seem red, like they’re filling with tears. He blinks them away. “I don’t think Jun is right for you,” he mumbles, a futile attempt to hide the crack in his voice. 

“And?” 

“What do you mean, and?” he questions, voice skipping mid sentence. “I can treat you so much better than he can and you know it. Please?” 

A small part of you searches for it, that wild and unashamed love you felt for him months ago. Back when you were smitten, hanging on his every word. Your confession had been unplanned over a shared portion of his favourite take out dumplings. He had stared at you like you were crazy—you had felt crazy. Crazy for him. 

But that was months ago, this is now. You’ve always been good at compartmentalising your feelings. Moving on is what people do. It wouldn’t be your first heartbreak. Or his. It doesn’t matter though, because those feelings you had are gone. If they weren’t you surely wouldn’t be considering just leaving. He had his chance, and he fucked it up.

“You should’ve thought about that sooner Jeonghan,” you whisper. “When I was still willing to do anything for you.” 

He reaches for you. You flinch away. 

“What are you willing to do for me now?” he whispers back, a single tear rolling down his cheek. 

Stepping away, you swipe your coat of the chair you’d left it on last night when you returned. “I’m willing to give you space.” 

Requests closed | © GguksGalaxy 2018 - 2023

#Jeonghan fic #Jeonghan angst #jeonghan drabble #seventeen fic #seventeen angst #seventeen drabble #mywriting

[thelampisaflashlight]

Lamb

[I decided to write something about my first proper ghoul OC, Lamb, because I missed them. Aether has to deal with them, because somebody needs to be responsible for this little dweeb.] Below the cut.

Too many hours are spent inverting the corners of their room.

Manipulating the shadows with their fever addled mind, the headache too strong to bear the faintest thread of light.

They breathe, but it is shallow.

Their chest does not seem to move.

They can hear people talking.

They call their coming death a tragedy.

Others call it a waste.

And the voice whispering to them from down below calls it...

A chance.

An oppurtunity.

A lady in black, with long gray hair tied in a bun so tight they can almost feel the bull of it on their own scalp, appears beside their bed one night.

She does not come alone.

She is shadowed by towering figures, their faces obscured by masks that shimmer in the lowlight cast by the single bulb left on in the hallway.

It hurts to look at them.

At the light.

The woman speaks, but the words mean little to them, still they listen.

They listen until their ears ring.

Unpleasant and grating.

Louder and louder as the figures raise them from their bed.

There is a gentleness in the way they cradle their frail body.

Like they're naught but a little bird.

All fragile bones, easily broken.

Already broken.

They take them downstairs, past more people in black.

Someone cries.

Voice raw with grief.

And it's strange.

So strange.

How little guilt they feel.

How something akin to anger makes their heart beat stronger for just a moment hearing that sound.

But they're too far gone to feel bitter.

From there, things get hazier still.

They're carried out and away, into the night.

They get the sense that they are dying.

Perhaps that they are already dead.

But their body finds no grave, no cold earth to soothe the ache in their skull, or the fire consuming their insides.

Instead they taken on foot to a place where the moon shines, blinding overhead.

The woman speaks again, something low, almost inaudible.

Promises their body will be made anew.

That the pain, the burn, will be gone soon.

And they laugh.

They laugh.

And laugh.

And laugh.

Like it's the funniest thing they've ever heard.

Until all that comes out is the harsh rattle of death.

.

.

.

Lamb has lived in the abbey for nine years now and still has no idea what they're supposed to be doing.

Every day, they just go with the flow, and somehow.

Somehow.

They manage to work diligently.

They do their best, whether it's ironing uniforms with a bunch of siblings, cleaning the floors, or listening to Papa complain that no one takes him seriously.

The latter is less a job and more...

"Are you listening, Agnello?"

Speak of the devil.

"Certo, Papa, I am listening." Lamb lies, picking at their nails.

Papa sighs and leans back in his chair, "Since it's important, I'll repeat myself just this once; I need you to retrieve some paperwork from the den for me."

Lamb tilts their head, "Ehh? Papa, your den is only a room away. Can you not get it yourself?"

"No, no, not my den, the den." He clarifies, sitting up and pointing down at the ground, "I need you to-"

Lamb gives a croak of distrust, narrowing their eyes at the older man.

"Agnello." Papa speaks sternly, "You cannot avoid that place forever."

"I do not like it." Lamb grimaces, "Stinks of ghouls."

"Agnello, you are a ghoul."

"Does a dog need to like other dogs to be a dog?" Lamb counters, "They're scary!"

"They're very docile I assure you." Papa soothes, leaning across hid desk to pat them on the head, "Regardless, I need that paperwork by the end of the day."

"Fiddle-faddle..."

"Off you go now." he shoos them, "Go, go."

Lamb croaks at him irritably, but heads for the door anyway, lingering in the frame long enough to pout.

"Agnello."

"Going."

"Good."

Lamb isn't fond of the other ghouls, it's nothing personal, they just...

It's hard to explain.

There's this... itch.

A tingling sensation that runs the length of their spine when other ghouls are near, their presence never fails to set them on high alert, and to be honest Lamb isn't really sure why.

Perhaps it's because they're more used to being around the siblings, living among the human clergy like a dog among sheep.

That was... that is, they think, perhaps part of why they were made to begin with.

Even if they don't understand, even if they don't remember, they know enough to know that the people here, within these walls, are meant to be looked after.

Cared for.

Protected.

From what, Lamb isn't sure.

But they do many things without knowing the reason why.

It's kind of silly though, them thinking they could protect anyone from the monsters in the basement.

Small and meek as they are.

Lamb isn't exactly large and intimidating, everything about them is soft, there are no edges or hard lines to their form, even their horns are blunted and tiny.

As they reach the stairwell to the basement, Lamb pokes their head 'round the corner, peeking into the darkness to see if there's anything stirring down below.

Squeaking when a figure passes by the landing.

"...Fiddle-faddle."

.

.

.

Aether isn't sure what to make of the impish creature peering down at him from the top of the stairs, whether he should be concerned by its presence or not.

"...Fiddle-faddle."

Fiddle-faddle?

"What?"

A hiss.

The creature retreats slightly.

"...Hi?" Aether raises his hand, giving a small wave, "Hi, what are you doing?"

No response, just black eyes staring down at him from around the corner.

Aether might be a demon from Hell, but whatever is skulking on the landing is...

It's something for sure.

"What are you doing?" he asks again, chuckling nervously, "...What the fuck..."

The creature lowers itself down on all fours and places its hand -a surprisingly ordinary hand, the nails don't even look sharp- on the first step.

"Uhh..."

Getting a better look at the creature, it's definitely another ghoul, but not one Aether recognizes, which... which isn't impossible, but it's strange that he hasn't seen this one before.

"Do you... do you need something?" he tries, but, again, the other ghoul remains silent, trying to descend the stairs on all fours for reasons Aether cannot fathom.

The motion is... strange, awkward even, and kind of reminds him of how Rain will occasionally run up the stairs like that, but coming down this way makes little sense and seems dangerous.

Aether watches the ghoul creep down the stairs, dumbstruck.

When the ghoul reaches the bottom of the stairs, it skirts around him, sticking towards the wall, ignoring him as it searches for... something.

"Whatcha lookin' for? Can I help you??" he questions, following the ghoul as it sniffs about, pausing at the door to the common room, standing now to its full height, which is...

Fucking tiny.

This ghoul is barely taller than Aurora, and looks like they'd snap in half if Aether sneezed in their direction.

As they reach for the door knob, Aether grabs the handle first, stopping their encroachment.

"I can't let you in there." he says, "Until you tell me why you're down here."

The ghoul looks up at him, eyes wide.

Aether can't help but shiver, seeing his own reflection staring back at him from the inky blackness.

"...Papers." the ghoul replies finally, "...Papa left them down here."

"Papers? What kind of papers?"

"Work ones. I don't know, he just said they were important, okay?" they state impatiently.

"You're being kind of rude right now." Aether states, placing his freehand on his hip like a disappointed mother might, "First of all, who are you, and why are you down here?"

The ghoul balls up their little fists and bumps them together, pursing their lips, seeming to weigh their options.

It would be endearing if Aether weren't dubious of the ghoul's intentions right now.

"Lamb."

"Lamb?"

"Lamb."

"Okay, Lamb." Aether says, "Why are you down here?"

"Papa said-"

Honestly, when Aether asked, he was expecting a simple response, maybe for the ghoul to repeat what they said previously about needing to grab forgotten paperwork, but instead...

"So he said-"

Instead...

"And then-"

Aether pinches the bridge of his nose, "Okay, okay, I get the idea."

This ghoul, this ghoul can talk.

So much.

"So Copia sent you down here instead of coming down here himself, because...?"

"...Who the heck is Copia? Papa sent me. Papa."

"Copia is..." Aether furrows his brow, "...Copia is Papa's name. How... How do you not know that?"

"He has two names??"

"Oh my god..."

#Lamp writes #shitghosting #nameless ghouls #aether ghoul #copia #nameless ghoul oc #ghost band #ghost bc #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #ghost band oc #Lamb is both clever and really dumb at the same time

[mrsshabana]

Anonymous asked:

"I can only imagine how jealous and possessive Gyutaro would be if you had a guy friend who you are childhood friends with, lol. Like he visits you at campus one day and gives you a nice big bear hug like "Long time no see *insurt goofy nickname here*! How have you been? Are those your friends?!" And Gyutaro is just standing there with your other friend barely keeping calm, but Akaza and Kyojuro are there to restrain him if needed.

Plot twist, your guy friend is Haganezuka! Cause his anger is just as bad maybe even more than Gyutaro's, physically attractive I guess by societal beauty standards and it be funny if he actually wears his mask on campus while he is with the gang just because. Don't disrespect his nerdy talks about blacksmithing and swords though! He is not afraid to through hands even with a demon! Has a lot of stories for the gang about this one red haired stupid kid and his demons sister who constantly get on his nerves."

Gyutaro getting jealous of a childhood friend

No matter which au we're in, Gyutaro will always be jealous.

So when your childhood best friend approaches you on campus, he is not a happy camper.

He's able to control himself until he sees your friend give you a hug. That's when he fucking loses it.

Akaza and Douma will have to hold him back. "Calm down man! What's gotten into you?" Akaza says. Making sure to keep Gyutaro a good distance away from you.

Douma will giggle and say, "Yeah Gyutaro, calm down. No girl wants an overprotective freak as a boyfriend."

Douma's words will make Gyutaro calm down a bit. He doesn't want to be too overbearing and scare you away. That's the last thing that he wants. But he just can't help but feel jealous when an attractive stranger approaches you and the two of you act all friendly with each other.

Of course, you will introduce Gyutaro to your friend. And the moment you state that he is your boyfriend, Gyutaro's chest will puff out with pride.

When your friend is around, he will make sure he is always touching you in some way. Whether it be his arm around your waist or holding your hand.

He'll try to be friendly for your sake. Not wanting to make you upset with him.

Gyutaro may be jealous, but he's even more insecure. And his insecurities really seep through when he fears he's being a bad boyfriend. So he'll push through.

Gyutaro thinks Haganezuka is weird as fuck. Talking about swords and shit. Who the hell needs a sword in 2022? He'll keep his mouth shut though, trying to be polite.

Whenever Haganezuka leaves, and it's just you and Gyutaro. He'll be completely honest with you. Telling you what a weirdo that guy is and how he doesn't like him very much.

But you know the real reason why Gyutaro doesn't like him. It's because he's jealous. You saw from afar how Douma and Akaza were struggling to restrain him.

Gyutaro can he a handful, but you love him anyways. Even if he's unreasonably jealous.

When you tell him how much your friendship with Haganezuka means to you, he'll give in. He trusts you enough to know that you'd never cheat on him. So he's ok with you hanging out with him.

But if you want to hang out with him alone, Gyutaro will find a way to stalk you from afar...

Repost from my old blog mrsshabana-archive

#gyutaro #gyutaro shabana #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x y/n #AAO #replies #kny haganezuka #hotaru haganezuka

[schumigrace]

At My Worst I Worry You'll Realise You Deserve Better (and at my best I worry that you won't) - MV1+CL16

A Lestappen fic that's been sitting on my brain for a while and I finally managed to write. Totally fictional. Not proof-read.

Part two

The two had never been considered conventional. Long-time rivals, fighting on and off track since they were both old enough to sit in a kart. A simple glance at the other's eyes was all that was ever needed for the internal roller-coaster to begin, an overwhelming wave of every emotion - anger always at the forefront, followed by an unwavering irritation. The adrenaline of simply being near each other enough to turn hurried glances into lingering stares, their bodies feeding off of the heavy atmosphere like a lifeline. The promise of the other's presence shifted inconspicuously from an irritating pain in the back of their heads to an addicting itch at the forefront of their minds.

They never really spoke about it, about how public shoves turned into private pushes. How angry wrist-grabs caught on camera turned into wrists held above heads. How the prying eyes of the media shifted attention away from childhood rivals to he totally just stared at his lips for far too long for it to not mean anything. No, they just accepted it, accepted that it must just go hand-in-hand with their unconventionality. It's not like they were friends or anything, they didn't do conversation, so where would they find the time to talk. Their days were spent behind the wheel of their respective cars - whether that be practising in two separate countries or side by side (a little too close for comfort) - or they were spent pressed against a wall or between sheets with hands wandering to places they shouldn't be (again, a little too close for comfort, if they really thought about it).

And maybe that's why they don't think about it, Max wonders, maybe that's why they don't speak about it. Because if they did, they'd realise how wrong this whole thing was. I mean, they hate each-other, right? It was only ever hate, a way for the both of them to take out the daily frustrations that came with their job, the promise of a back against a wall and legs around a waist was simply a way for them to get through the race without literally forcing each other into the barriers. At least that's what they told themselves.

Max figured now probably wasn't the time to dwell on it, anyway, as he lay in the Monegasque's bed, facing the (only-just) younger man's naked figure, as the other caressed his arm with the back of his hand. He hoped he wouldn't have to dwell on it, at least, but when Charles lips curled around a mumbled "what're you thinking so hard about, Verstappen," without even having to open his eyes, Max knew this wasn't a conversation that the other man would let him avoid.

Max knew he wasn't entirely off the mark when he considered this hate-sex as just that. So why is he realising now, after having spent the past week in the Monegasque's apartment (when his own is a mere five minute walk away), that he was scared of talking to the man. Of admitting that, okay maybe I don't like you, but my god I do like spending time with you, and I don't think I can ever let whatever this is end. The realisation that he can't mask his feelings behind talks of testing and simulators and track limits forever hits Max like a brick wall, and if it wasn't for the firm yet soothing touch from Charles and the fact that he had shifted closer to Max, to the point where they're breathing the same air, and Charles' toned arms fit so damn perfectly in the curve of Max's waist, Max would have jumped a mile and ran from those feelings until he was practically coughing up a lung. But Charles' green eyes have taken on a hint of concern behind their usual happy-go-lucky glisten, and Max decided then and there that he wouldn't have minded if the two never moved again. If they shared their breaths until there was no air left, and their limbs had fused into one, until the two had become an unrecognisable mountain of flesh and bone surrounded by white sheets and sunshine and giggles and an unrelenting history and - shit - love.

If Max was scared of this conversation before he was fucking terrified now. How, after this many years, is he supposed to admit to Charles fucking Leclerc of all people that he has actually gone and fucking fallen for him. He realises that if he admits that this is something he wants, that Charles is someone he wants, then there is a chance the other man won't be on the same page. That he'll realise that they aren't ever going to be conventional, and they'll probably fight too much and fuck too much and Charles deserves so much more than that, so much more than what Max can give, so instead he shuts an imaginary door the whole thing. He's good at compartmentalising, you have to be, to be a racing driver. He mentally puts the whole saga in a drawer and slaps a confidential label on it, and decides that social media's description of them as emotional support rivals will just have to be good enough for now.

"Nothing, Leclerc," he whispers. "Go back to sleep." Schatje nearly slips out at the end there, and he outwardly winces, mentally kicking his imaginary drawer again just to make sure it's firmly closed. Charles doesn't seem to notice, however, pushing his face back into the Dutch's chest, and Max thanks every single God ever that Charles Leclerc is the most oblivious human being on this damn planet.

#lestappen

[izzyeffinhands]

The only Facebook group I feel safe in as an Izzy Hands stan is Our Flag Means Daddy.

Even though I am apart of the two main groups as well, i.e. Our Flag Means Deathposting, Our Flag Means Fans, I do NOT feel SAFE. I see the wildest and hottest fucking takes in these groups and they piss me off. Are you even watching the same show? I’m also sick and tired of people calling Izzy a villain when he clearly is not. Also there are many that don’t recognize he’s gay, even after season 2. If you voice you’re upset and betrayed? You get attacked. I was again last night.

I guess I’m a proud Izzy “apologist”, but it fucking baffles me how fans just give Ed a pass on all the brutal things he did. Oh but the love story—- NO. Recognize you’re an Ed apologist as well. I like both Ed and Izzy, but I recognize the horrifying things Ed did.

The day of the finale, I posted my thoughts on various social media. I got attacked. I got messages even on tumblr from anon cowards who I imagine followed through Twatter. I was called the t slur. That I was stupid, fat, all sorts of things.

It’s because I said I’ll never trust David Jenkins again. Now, do I have my own thoughts as to whether parts of the finale are a dream state/gravy basket that Stede himself is in? Absolutely. But let’s dive into why I was especially hurt.

First off. I am disabled. For those who know me, I’ve also had two leg surgeries and my injury has ruined my life. So seeing Izzy with a false leg, as a disabled character, still being badass? It felt good. It boosted my confidence for me to keep going. I had so much metal in my leg it caused pain that left me bedridden and using a wheelchair and cane. Many a time I wish they’d chopped my leg off.

I see a lot of myself in Izzy. I swear, he has the traits of an Aries with his anger and intense emotions. This man feels deeply for those who cares for, even though at first this seemed to just be Edward. Despite the hardened shell, he’s a romantic at heart. I’m very much the same.

That hardened shell is also a form of masking to me. In my opinion, and in my own headcanon for this roleplaying blog, Israel is neurodivergent and suffered sexual assault on ships when he was young. It’s part of the reason he has bowel issues. He had to force himself to put on that rough motherfucker mask in order to protect himself. I was bullied mercilessly in school. When I started middle school, I decided to align myself with the “bad kids” as a form of protection. Guess what? Part of myself was masking I was a bad ass, part of myself became the badass I was masking to be after years of torture.

Also. I am transmasculine. I’m pre-HRT. But to me, Izzy is very transmasc coded. This was even confirmed by Con himself when a transmasc fan at Supercon brought the conversation up. I’d just like to say again how much I adore him for supporting the trans community, particularly transmascs who often are glanced over.

Then David Jenkins, a straight man, that swore he wouldn’t fall into the kill your gays trope did exactly that. So let’s exclude here the thought that this is possibly a dream state, or even that he might be resurrected by Buttons as a zombie or ghost which I fucking hope not. We’re talking about my initial feelings. Now it felt like they were setting him up to be killed but I said oh no Jenkins wouldn’t do that to us. He promised he wouldn’t.

Guess what?! He fucking did. Not only that, he murdered off the disabled, gay, transmasc coded character after giving him the most beautiful character arc of any character on the show. You can have a gay pirate rom com, you can understand some characters can get hurt, but killing someone as a means to advance plot? Fuck you. Also, the fact that Izzy apologized to his ABUSER?! As if the victim blaming and shaming wasn’t enough for Izzy Hands, which I see plenty of still, that’s fucked up on so many levels.

So to me I watched a version of myself be murdered. It hit me in the hardest way imaginable. I cried for days. I’ve never been so attached to a character in my 38 years of existence. I’m sick and tired of people saying they like his redemption arc. Izzy never needed redemption. He just needed one, single, person to tell him that he was loved and cared about.

So voicing that I felt betrayed and that I no longer trust Jenkins got me nothing but vitriol. Then toward the end of the day, he made a tweet about how there’s no version of the show without Izzy and had the comments turned off. He knows what he did. And then in the FB groups, if you dared say you were upset that day, requoted Jenkins, you’re a horrible person? Right. I didn’t start attacking the writers. I just said I’m betrayed and I can’t trust what I thought was my comfort show. Because of that, I got hate.

As much as I’d like to believe Izzy will return, the interviews David has done post season 2 talking about his character give me little hope. It’s like he just stabbed every fan in the back. Id like to think the rushed finale is really a dream sequence or gravy basket deal. Id like to think that Izzy will come back thanks to Buttons. But now I just don’t trust David Jenkins.

And if you dare voice this opinion anywhere but Our Flag Means Daddy and Twatter, you get attacked. So here goes. Thanks for my TED talk.

#izzy hands #our flag means death #out of hands [ooc] #ofmd #my personal thoughts #our flag means death season 2 #our flag means death finale #david jenkins

[marshmallowprotection]

Is there anything that will tick Saeyoung off? And how should we deal with him when he's angry?

Saeyoung is an emotional person. He can grit his teeth and bite his tongue for a long time before anyone realizes he’s angry. A lot of that has to do with the what he went through as a child and the agency. He had to wear a mask to protect his brother and himself from death. He had to lie through his teeth and pray that it’d be good enough to make someone think that he was listening to what they told him to do and he wasn’t angry about it. It’s hard for him to open up about those emotions simply because he had to hide them away. 

That’s why it’s like trying to chip away at a brick wall during his route when he’s not only triggered by being told that his self-sacrificing promise was a lie and he suffered for nothing, but because he’s never been allowed to show his true self. For Saeyoung, his reality is that he’s never allowed himself to be Saeyoung. He doesn’t even quite know who he is when he realizes that he can take off those masks that he’s been wearing all his life and discover himself. Who is Saeyoung, anyway? It’s hard to say. 

Now, he doesn’t like to be angry but he can be an angry person. It’s never at his partner or his loved ones. He will never allow himself to be upset at the ones he loves, and if it does happen, it’s because he’s been pushed to the edge and he has no way to control himself from lashing out. There’s a few examples of that in other routes where he gets angry at Yoosung after realizing that the hacker is his brother and his life is a lie, for one. He tries to hide that part of himself but it can slip out sometimes whether he likes it or not. 

The only time he gets genuinely angry to such a severe level is when someone has hurt or will hurt his loved ones. If you’ve played Saeyoung’s route, V’s route, or Saeran’s route, you are well aware of how upset he can become when he is told the truth or he figures it out. He’s willing to hurt, kill, and destroy anything he has to for the safety of his loved ones. He was on the brink of killing Rika in V’s After Ending and the only reason he didn’t is because he was stopped. He was so disturbed in the Secret Ending that he was willing to throw his body away for Saeran’s safety, but it’s not hard to gauge that he was going to destroy Mint Eye the second MC and the others were gone. 

It’s implied that Saeyoung would destroy his father as well the second that he gets the chance. He has no qualms about making his hands filthy with blood if he has to do that. Saejoong even comments in Saeran’s After Ending that he knows that Saeyoung is going to get to him and it’s not going to be pretty. 

This happens because Saeyoung feels his emotions so strongly. He would do just about anything for the people he loves, even hurt someone and get rid of them if he had to do it. He can be cold-blooded in the case of villains. That’s simply how intense his anger can be. 

But, if you mean... making Saeyoung angry in a way that isn’t intense? Well, there’s not a lot of ways for you to do that. It’s always in extremes for him. He won’t get angry if you ate his chips. He won’t be angry if you drank all the soda in the house. He won’t even be angry if you accidentally erased a hard drive or something. He doesn’t get angry like that. 

He may be annoyed, but he has a way of making a bad situation into something that he can work with. Now, it is something he needs to work on. He’s learning how to be open and honest with his partner, so give him some time and space to sort these things out. He’s learning how to share emotions and navigate what’s okay to share. 

But, he’s easy-going with his loved ones, and he forgives them. You don’t really have to worry when he’s angry about something minor. He takes some space from the problem, cools down, and then returns to talk about it later when he’s okay to handle it. That’s a healthy reaction. Just respect his space and give him some time. That’s all you have to do. But, in the case of his intense anger for the people that dare to threaten you? God, there’s not a lot you can do to stop him in those cases. His love and need to avenge or protect others is far too strong. 

#mod kait #ask #mystic messenger #mysme #anon #mysticmessenger #mm #seven #mm seven #mysme seven #seven mm #seven mystic messenger #seven mysme #mystic messenger seven #saeyoung choi #choi saeyoung #707

[heretherebedork]

People seem very excited about VegasPete and their gifs are everywhere. While I watched the episode I didn’t really concentrate on analyzing their interactions but thanks to the gifs I started to wonder whether Vegas actually wasn’t seducing Pete but instead trying to get a rise out of him. Pete stopped vegas’s selfharm so maybe he wanted Pete to be violent towards him. He told Pete that he knows Pete has been suffering and told him to let it out, it meaning anger towards Vegas in the form of violence. He doesn’t seem to be surprised that Pete grabs him but he seems surprised when Pete kisses him. Plus Vegas knows that Pete has reacted more strongly to his sexual advances than torture so maybe he thought that this would be a way to push Pete to attack him. This is just a thought and I can be wrong but it feels weird that Vegas was talking about how Pete should let it out after talking about Pete’s suffering aka the torture that Vegas inflicted on Pete. I mean why bring it up if he was trying to seduce Pete? And Vegas seems to be surprised even after sex. If this was his plan all along why be surprised?

I don't think Vegas is planning a lot of this, honestly. He's a traumatized man suddenly faced with someone caring about him and showing him kindness and mercy. Vegas is in unknown territory. He's walking on ice when he's spent his life on the edge of a knife blade and it's new territory.

But when he asked Pete to let it out... that was definitely asking for something specifically sexual for him because sexuality has always been a release for Vegas, a safe place for him to let out the feelings he can't otherwise because his father is more powerful than he is and sex is where Vegas can be most powerful.

He was not expecting the sex entirely from Pete but when it happened? When Pete gave in and showed Vegas that he wanted Vegas to have power? Vegas was, truly, powerless to say no and isn't that just fascinating.

Vegas has never had sex in a way that was also intertwined with a deep emotional connection. He's never done anything with someone he cared about or wanted to see again or wanted to keep with him. Think about his relationship with Tawan. Tawan loved his mask and the fake face he presented and never looked below.

Pete has always seen past Vegas' mask, even if he didn't always understand what he saw.

I do think Vegas wanted to get a rise of out Pete but I think it was definitely sexual in nature. He was surprised that he got the specific rise he did out of him... but he also saw past Pete's mask and they both knew that. Both of them see each other, twisted mirrors that reflect what's behind a mask.

If Pete had lashed out physically, Vegas would have returned it as he always had and with more of a sexual edge again because that's what he wants now with him, that's what he wants and he knows how much he wants Pete in every way.

They're on a tightrope together, walking on ice in darkness, balancing on a knife's blade.... Vegas and Pete, Pete and Vegas, both men with masks and trauma and buried pain and abusive fathers and painful memories and scars etched on their skin and in their hearts and burned into their souls and forever in their memories.

#vegaspete #vegas x pete #vegas theerapanyakul #pete kinnporsche #petevegas #pete x vegas #thai bl #thai bl drama #bl drama #thaibl #thai series #bl series #thai drama #character analysis #i hope this makes sense

[herculesgarcia]

'I rarely go down there. The view’s just so beautiful from here...' Hércules watched fascinated as Cass' fingers changed position, pressing the different chords, every movement quick and swift, executed perfectly after many years of guitar lessons. His sister was not good with people, but art in every shape or form... that was a different story. Her voice was sweet, just as she was. Most wouldn't agree, but Hércules knew the truth. 'And I can see everybody at their worst points, at their worst points. I’m not a sadist. I enjoy just being able to be witness of the loneliness and be a higher power in case there isn’t one. In case there isn’t one...'

He would have joined ― he knew the song, it was not the first time Cass had played it and it wouldn't be the last, but he didn't want to ruin the moment. And he loved seeing her like this, happy. Dozens of drawings around them, done with gouache, watercolors, charcoal. Both by him and by her.

She had decided she wanted to psychoanalyze him that day.

'Draw a tree!' Cass had demanded the moment he had entered her room, without waiting for Hércules to confirm whether he wanted to do it or not, just forcing him to sit down in a chair and placing a white piece of paper in the desk in front of him and a pencil in his hand.

'A tree?'

'Yes! A tree.'

Hércules had done exactly as she requested.

He never asked any questions when it came to Cass.

He had simply slid over the table the finished result towards her with two fingers when he had considered it was done.

She had picked it up, a small wrinkle between her eyebrows, tongue sticking out as she examined it. And then she had laughed. A sound Hércules forever wished he could record and play on a loop.

'The only thing this tells me about you is that you suck at arts and crafts.'

Hércules had feigned offence, a hand pressed to his chest and his face a mask of indignation. But it was all a farce. And the two of them knew it ― he could get mad at Andro, but not at Cass. Never at Cass.

'I’m not a higher power, I just live in the ceiling 'cause I’m lonely on the fringes and it gives my life some meaning in the exile, in my exile...' His sister's singing pulled him back to reality, and he found himself smiling adoringly. Her blonde curls, her eyes smudged with black eyeshadow, the dimples on her cheeks. The way she said each and every word, as if she was tearing herself open, leaving everything exposed. Hércules wouldn't be surprised if there had been a note somewhere inside Cass that said free for the taking.

Perhaps that's why she locked it all so well. In a wooden chest she had thrown to the sea, like a corpse in a body bag full of stones, slowly sinking, never to be found. Only, it hadn't sunk.

Maybe, a whale had brought it to the surface, like in a children's movie. Maybe, the currents had been too strong and it not heavy enough, and it had been washed ashore.

And Cass kept giving the key to everyone who showed her the smallest bit of kindness. So it was just a matter of time until someone found it. And opened it. And emptied her.

That was what Andro had been so scared of, when Cass had started to develop feelings for a certain doctor. She had somewhat admitted to it to both her siblings, but even if she hadn't done it, it was easy to tell by the way her face lit up at his mention, shining so bright she made the sunlight seem dim.

The eldest sister had tried to discuss it with her, two or three nights ago. After a conversation that lasted no more than a few minutes, Cass had stormed out, all anger and fury.

'I don't care how or if it ends. Everything ends! I know that already, but I'm not going to change my plans because of it!'

Hércules admired Cass. How she'd let love consume her. How she didn't mind being reduced to ashes, burning flesh and muscle and feelings, always managing to find a way to be reborn from them.

Like a phoenix.

'Some only talk towards the heavens when the end is feeling desperate. Have the overwhelming feeling that there's nobody who's looking down. At least I’m looking down...' Cass finished her song, the last sentence still echoing in the air of the messy room. She smiled, looking up. Hércules returned the gesture.

On the floor, next to them, two pieces of paper laid together. Each of them with trees drawn in, but wildly different ones. One had no leaves, but had thick branches that extended towards a pink, red sky, like hands trying to grab at something. Someone. The sun, setting on the horizon? The moon, about to rise? God, maybe?

The second one was not a tree. They were three. One of them was tall, beautiful, full of flowers. The second one had a hole in its trunk, where squirrels and other critters lived, and a bird or two on the higher branches. The third was small, and looked weak in comparison to the other two, but had roots that went deep down into the earth, grounding it, keeping it in place.

Unmovable.

Withstanding.

#[this is for me and by me] #[just wanted to write something for cass and hérc] #[because i love them] #cassiopeiagarcia

[kalpasio]

A Post Kalpas Odyssey

Welcome to Arcane Castle

A Kalpas x Reader fic taking place in APHO, chapter 6 below!

Kalpas’ team came back rather quickly, and the two of you shared the lunch you had made. The meal was silent, you were still thinking about what had happened that morning and Kalpas wasn’t one to talk unless necessary. The only words he said were when you were cleaning up.

“We should look for a new house for Carole and them,” you suggested while rinsing a plate.

“Saw one closer to the docks,” he put the plate in the dishwasher, and you nodded. After that, you lapsed back into silence until you departed.

The first house was missing a roof, but there were other houses in the area to check. At the fourth destroyed house, however, Kalpas groaned.

“Why are we doing this?”

“Adam and Carole and Timido need a place to live,” you checked another door and hook your head when you saw the floor missing.

“They can just stay where they are now,” he grumbled, and you rolled your eyes.

“Then you don’t have anywhere to sleep.”

“I’ll stay with you.”

“No,” you blushed and nearly passed the next house.

“Why not?” Kalpas stood behind you, blocking the path when you turned around.

“Sharing a bed is something partners do, like Lyle and Sunita,” you tried to sidestep him, to no avail.

“Let’s date then.”

“What?!” you finally looked up at his mask in horror at the suggestion.

“I liked sharing a bed with you. If we have to be dating to keep doing that, then we should date.” It sounded like he was being completely serious, but this felt like it had to be some kind of prank. “Then we don’t need to keep looking for this stupid house.”

“That’s—” you groaned. “Timido still needs a place to stay, and I’d really rather not date just because you’re too lazy to look at some houses.” It was Kalpas’ turn to groan now as you finally got past him.

“I just gave you a better reason,” he angrily stalked after you, and you intentionally skipped some houses so he couldn’t trap you again.

“Your definition of sharing a bed and mine are very different. I was barely touching the mattress, and I’d rather not be stuck doing that every night, thank you.” When he finally caught up, you whirled around to him, trying to make your anger clear, but as always, he didn’t care.

“You know we’ve shared a bed before—”

“What?!”

“In the previous era,” his voice took on a dangerous tone at being cut off. “We slept like that every night.”

You couldn’t respond to that. The past few hours you had been lying to yourself saying that being in his arms only felt right because you were touch starved. Your best friend was refusing to talk to you, and you’d been stuck with the same few people with the threat of being attacked being held over your head for months now. Random memories of people who looked an awful lot like yourself and the man in front of you were just making things worse.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, you looked away, feeling a little overwhelmed. “Just because we were close in a previous life, or whatever you want to call it, doesn’t mean we have to date now. Their lives don’t define ours.”

Kalpas laned back and laughed. His sense of humor had always been horrible, but right now, when you were trying not to start crying in the middle of the street, him mocking you was the last thing you needed. Inhaling sharply through your nose, you debated whether you should punch him or just walk away pissed, but he spoke before you could decide.

“You think I are about what happened in a different era?”

“You just said-!” you bristled and punching him was looking better and better.

“I thought you were smarter than this,” Kalpas leaned forward, taunting you.

“What is your problem?!” you jabbed a finger at his chest that only seemed to make him laugh again. “Do you think treating people like shit is how you show affection? I’m sick and tired of you calling me stupid and useless! If that’s how you flirt, go find someone else!”

“Haven’t you figured it out?” he groaned, finally starting to get annoyed.

“All I’ve figured out is how much of an ass you are,” you were practically shouting in his face—mask?—at this point, so you were forced to take a surprised step back when he moved forward.

“Fuck the previous era,” he snarled, voice low so only you could hear it, and you felt caged by his intense gaze. “I’m dating you in this era, whether we got along then or not.”

“I want my own side of the bed,” you declared after a moment. Kalpas threw his head back and laughed again.

“No.”

“Then you’re sleeping on the floor,” you crossed your arms and stuck your nose in the air to show you would not be swayed on the matter.

“I’m taking the blankets.”

“What! You don’t even need them!” Your façade dropped into irritation. The man could heat the entire room by himself if he wanted and he was going to steal your precious blankets?

“Then you better share the bed,” Kalpas seemed way too happy to threaten you. “Or do you really think you can win the fight for blankets?” Knowing him, this would be an actual battle that you would be lucky to leave with the bed still intact.

“Maybe we can find a bigger bed somewhere…”

“Walking away from a fight?” he scoffed. “Coward.” Rolling your eyes, you kept walking.

“We’re still trying to do a job,” you reminded him. Looking at Kalpas who was somehow scowling with his whole body, you laughed under your breath. “Do you want to hold hands?” you offered, half joking.

He shot you a look that reminded you of a pouting child and you quiet laugh turned into a full laugh that you had to hide behind your hand. With a grumble, he pulled at your wrist to stop you from walking into a lamppost. Your laughter died down a little, but the smile stayed on your face. Slipping your wrist out of his grasp and replacing it with your hand got you another grumble, but you couldn’t stop your smile from growing when he let you lace your fingers together for the rest of the walk.

Coming across another potential house, you let go of his hand to look inside. Part of the second floor had caved in and was blocking most of the kitchen. Turning, you shook your head ‘no’ to tell Kalpas the place was a bust, and then continued walking. A few steps down the path, you realized he wasn’t following, so you backtracked and gave him a confused look. All he did was stick his hand out, palm up, and give you a scary frown that could be felt through the mask.

“What?” you asked, genuinely lost. “Do you want me to give you something?” He just flexed his hand in a grabbing motion and continued to stare silently. Hesitantly, you reached your hand out to his, looking for any injuries, but he shot hit hand out and grabbed yours. His grip was a little tight, and you were so startled that you almost yanked your hand away. Kalpas was holding your entire hand—thumb pressed to your other fingers—like he was holding a knife.

Gently, you brought your other hand to his wrist and slid the crushed hand out of his grasp. Wiggling your fingers to get some feeling back, you returned your hand to his in a position that was much more comfortable. With that settled, Kalpas gave a grunt of approval and began dragging you down the path.

It took another dozen houses to find one that wasn’t dilapidated. The only problem was that there was only one bunk bed in all three of the bedrooms.

“I mean, if Timido can carry her bed across town, I’m sure she can carry it here too. Then the bunkbeds just need to be separated.,” you looked over to Kalpas. “We can lift the top bed up and off together.”

With a nod, he took two long strides forward, then put one of his shoes on the lower bunk for stability. In one fluid motion, he lifted the top bunk off, took a step back, and set it on the ground next to the bottom bunk.

“That would be a lot more impressive if I weren’t so upset by the fact that you just stood on the bed,” your eyes remained locked on the dirty footprint on the sheets. Kalpas started laughing when he saw your face so scrunched up in distaste. “If you ever put your shoes on the bed,” you threatened.

“What? You’ll kick me out?”

“Yes!”

“I get it, I get it!” he waved you off. “No shoes on the bed.”

When Adam and Carole came back from the castle, you helped them settle into their new home, and returned to your own for dinner. You and Kalpas had been eating dinner together since Sunita left, but this time it felt a bit different. There was no hand holding, or loving confessions, but it felt like something had fallen into place. While you were cleaning up, you had asked Kalpas if that had been a date. He just looked at you as though you were crazy and said ‘no’ while taking the plates from your hands.

Much like the night before, you both got ready, and then argued about how much space Kalpas was taking up. After a minute of bickering, you left to go sleep in his bed. Not even thirty seconds later, he was in the room, yelling at you to move over. When he got no response, Kalpas simply picked you up and laid down where he wanted, with you pulled securely to his chest.

The blankets were an absolute mess, and your feet were sticking out, and you were in the exact position you had been trying to avoid, but you couldn’t deny that it felt nice to be held like this. It took a full minute of complaining, but you were allowed to sit up for about two seconds to fix the blankets, before Kalpas pulled you back down.

Thankfully, the morning went much smoother than It had yesterday. It only took one smack from you for your pillow to turn of his alarm, and when he got up, he rolled you off of him so you could continue sleeping. You might even think he was being nice, except for the fact that he was being as loud as possible. When you sat up and glared at him, you were greeted with a full smirk. The mustard never intended to let you sleep.

He still beat you downstairs and started your coffee, which you were now pouring with a yawn. “Did you really put your mask back on?” your question was coming from a place of confusion, rather than teasing. “You had it off all night, and you take it off to eat. Why put it on for the few minutes you’re cooking?” The man gave no response, and you decided not to annoy the person making your food.

Breakfast was as wonderful as ever, and you learned that Kalpas had remembered more about life in the previous era than you had. Few of the memories were happy, but it was fascinating to hear about them all the same.

At base, Sunita was still refusing to work with you. Lyle was assigned to your team instead and did not once shut up. When you weren’t holding Kalpas back from killing him, you were trying to calm down Bronya. Five minutes in, you questioned why you were stopping them, but then you thought about how pissed Sunita would be. Friends or not, dealing with her when she was mad was a pain in the ass.

The mission took a little longer with how often you stopped to yell, but it got done. Back at home, keeping your eyes open while you ate was a struggle, and you nearly went to sleep in your battlesuit. Kalpas grabbed you as you were falling towards the bed and sent you to go get changed.

Wrestling with your pants took a good minute or so—you couldn’t really tell—but when you came back, Kalpas was waiting. He even left you a little extra space, and you wasted no time flopping onto the bed and passing out.

By morning, your Lyle-induced headache was gone. When the alarm went off, you didn’t even bother trying to sleep again. You chatted while Kalpas cooked, and then headed over to base, ready to deal with whatever bullshit came your way.

“We’re going to face Void Archives,”

Except that.

Everyone in the room grew serious. Bronya had you all prepare while she spoke so as to save some time. It seemed like the Arcane Castle was charging up for something big. Given all the information you had gathered so far, it seemed likely the “sky people” were on the way.

“Attacking now, while we still have the element of surprise is our best bet.” The three squad leaders had agreed, and you believed them.

Sunita and Lyle argued the entire way there, and you could feel Kalpas next to you, itching to yell at them. Quietly, you grabbed his hand and gave a little squeeze. Out loud, you justified it as just wanting to keep him from bursting out. Inwardly, however, you had to admit, you were a little scared. Just looking at the castle gave you the creeps, and the times you had been inside were anything but fun. Knowing that Kalpas was right there, close enough to touch, helped keep you grounded.

You had meant to just give a quick, reassuring squeeze, but he didn’t let go of your hand, and you certainly weren’t going to complain. The two of you only parted when you entered the castle. If you wanted to get through this, you both needed to be ready for a fight.

man, when's the last time I wrote a sentence with any sort of variation in its structure? also, I know I always think I write Kalpas ooc, but this time especially it feels like that. But he hasn't had the MANTIS surgery (multiple times) or received a discipline, so he's just normal angy and not crazy angy?

#kalpas x reader #azaryawrites #honkai x reader #tamalethebear #cross posted on ao3

[succulentsunrise]

That's great! May I request a fic where Marx was treated badly by his family because they found out he was gay, and julius saved him and made him join his squad, and Marx develops feeling for him? Thank you so much!

It's in my rules that I don't write romantic relationships that have large age gaps, and Julius and Marx have ~17 years age difference. Though I could've fulfilled the request by just making it one-sided from Marx's point of view, I still wasn't super comfortable with it, so I'm sorry if this isn't to your liking.

Therefore this fic is entirely platonic and concentrates on Julius saving Marx from uncomfortable family situation.

The Saviour Knight

Warning: Homophobia, deprivation as punishment

Words: 1281

---

A hand impacted harshly with the wall just behind a youth. He tensed up, curling inside himself a little. He knew the hand wouldn’t actually hurt him, but it didn’t make the experience any less scary. There had never been any violence, just threats of it - but it was still a threat. Even if there wasn’t physical violence, there would be a punishment.

“I’ve told you to stop talking with other boys like that!” his father screamed.

The anger in those cold eyes was scary. Marx, who was by no means a brave or strong person, could only cower. The accusation was unfair. It would be pointless to say that those were simply his friends who he studied with. He had always been hard-working. He had always only gotten the best grades from all the tests, always behaved properly in the court, always been immaculate. 

Except for one thing.

He didn’t feel attraction to women. 

Marx had been naive and thought it had been something he could’ve brought up with his father. That was not the case. His father had ever since been on the edge and monitored how he acted zealously. This was only a problem because he was the only child of his family. If there was someone else to give his parents an heir, he had the inkling that they wouldn’t have cared so much. Now his father would blow up if he looked even a little bit warmly at another boy of his age, afraid that rumours would spread and no one would want to marry him when the time would come. No one would want to bear him a child. Whenever his father would get insecure about this kind of thing, he would limit the time Marx would get to spend with other people of his age and lock him in the study. Sometimes it would be “fasting”, sometimes it was just seclusion. He endured it all, because he knew his father wouldn’t let it go too far. Still, it was impossible to know what would set his father off. It was tiring to have to constantly tiptoe around him. 

Then, at the age of 15, Marx found himself a saviour - a knight, actually. They met during one of the noble gatherings that his father brought him to. His father was eager to impress the rising star of the Magic Knights, Julius Novachrono. His voice was kind and gentle, and demeanour was calming in itself. Marx immediately took a strong liking to him. Whenever they’d speak, his heart would begin pounding in his chest, and he’d try to make excuses to stay in the conversation. It was especially easy when he found out that Julius was extremely interested in magic. His new grimoire became especially useful in getting him to talk for a long time. He was even more interested when he heard a rumour that the man might also be gay, like him. It was just a rumour, one that Marx didn’t dare to ascertain whether it was true or not. Yet Marx enjoyed how he felt with Julius: he felt like he was himself in the eyes of this person, not just an heir or a noble. He was Marx. He wasn’t judged for who he was. The more they talked about the knights, magic and the Grey Deer, the more he expressed interest in joining the squad. He had to be polite, however. He didn’t know if he was good enough to join them. 

The problem arose when Marx asked a few too many times whether Julius Novachrono would be visiting again. Though he had masked it as interest in Julius’ squad, the Grey Deer, constant questioning set off his father. The accusations flooded in suddenly, took his study room by storm, and many improper words bounced off of its walls. It didn’t take long until he was told to fast for his impure thoughts again, and the door to the room was locked. The only way that he could lessen this sentence would be by agreeing that he would immediately marry some young lady from another house. Marx refused to do that. He was wrongly punished again: he just wanted to talk to his peer. He had no impure thoughts about Julius - the man was older than him by far, and clearly harboured no such thoughts for him either. He tried to argue with his father, but his father only called him a liar. The only thing Marx could do was hold on and drink the hunger away. He trusted that his father wouldn’t let it go too far. He knew his father. The first day was difficult, as always. Second day was slow. There was little he could do to distract himself. By the third day he thought they should really call this what it was: starvation, not fasting. He was dizzy, had no energy to move and felt like he was dying. His father had never made it go this long. It was usually a day. He considered for a moment fulfilling his father’s wish. He considered shouting for him, promising he had changed. He hadn’t, but he was tormented. Would this be what life had to offer for him? Constant torment for not promising to ruin some young woman’s life? Constant suspicion that he harboured feelings that he didn’t have for his friends and mentors? Marx banged at the door with little energy, begging his father to let him out. None of his cries were answered. He didn’t even know if his father heard him. Just as he was giving up on hope, the door suddenly opened. Through his tear-stained vision, he could see a person with a radiant helo step in. The rest of his body was shrouded in grey. Relieved, Marx closed his eyes. Exhaustion and stress slowly left him as the calming presence enveloped him, and with it came unconsciousness. 

It was later that Marx woke up in the headquarters of the Grey Deer, having been checked on by a doctor. He learnt that Julius Novachrono had taken him here using his connections. Marx had expressed a desire to join the Grey Deers, and Julius Novachrono had discussed the matter with his father. If he was still willing, he could join them. He was fifteen, after all. Julius put it to him in a very blunt fashion: military life wasn’t easy, but it would solve some of his problems. His father would likely not pester him about getting married immediately, and he’d have time to build himself a reputation and consider his future. However, he’d have to deal with life and death situations, which wasn’t necessarily better. Marx took a week to come to a decision. He wanted to join the Grey Deers. 

Later on, meeting Julius was one of the fondest memories Marx had of his teenage years. He had worshipped the older man as a hero, as a peer. He had been like a lost puppy by his side, trying to learn and imitate what Julius would do. Julius had been a saving light on what seemed a bleak and confusing situation. It was thanks to him that Marx now had a comfortable position, had had an easier time figuring out his own place in the world, and could easily deal with his parents’ demands. Those tumultuous years had calmed down ever since he had met Julius and joined the Grey Deers. Marx could only hope that one day, he’d find someone around his age who was as calm and kind and Julius. He would wait for that day patiently. He had been given the peace to do so, and he would treasure it.

#Julius Novachrono #Marx Francois #platonic #black clover

[ariesbilly]

If Billy were to go the pure evil route, do you think there’s a better way you’d go about it or like to see it play out? Like how do you feel about fics where Billy is really the tragic type

i feel most of the fics i read where billys like full dick, no redemptive qualities, are smut.... lmfao so. probably not the best scale to judge by 😂

are we talking about billy, as a human, being evil? because thats severely different from him having a better villain/possession arc. 

honestly, at this point, i think the best route to take wouldve been billy lighting everyones ass up for not helping him. and yes, i get that like, max is a kid. what is she supposed to do? or how literally nobody else knows about his abuse, so what are they supposed to do? i get that part of it

but if we’re talking billy going full villain, then fuck logic. just have him be pissed at everyone for not intervening. AND let him kill his actual abusers (neil AND karen). actually from there, have him kill karen first. and then mike and nancy will be like “you killed our mom you bitch!” and billys like “your moms a predator, hate to break it to you, but if you still wanna defend her you an die too i guess. no sweat off my back”. so like we can go that way. i think hes more than earned that. to just slaughter everyone

if youre asking me about him getting a proper villain arc fro the get go and not the lame ass shit the duffers wanted to pull...

you gotta go bigger. and you also cant have him focus on kids way younger than him like thats lame. i mean... dont get me wrong. fuck them kids. im not concerned about them. its just like... a boring narrative. keep the max shit because thats actually grounded in something. of course hes gonna take his anger out on her when hes forced to be her caretaker. thats gonna breed resentment. 

but they shoulda upped the shit with steve by a gazillion. show me REAL bullying. go further than bullying. go full psychopathy lmao. i want this man UNHINGED and INSANE.

i wanna see billy with a knife so bad why wasnt he ever given a knife oh my god. 

and play up how charming he can be. that facade he puts up to get by, to get something out of people. make him SCARY. really show how easily he can slip that mask on and off so that when he does go apeshit and starts cutting up steve in a backalley the audience FEELS something

and like... im not an abuse victim. so i cant say what is and isnt right to show in a tv show depicting one, but for me as a viewer, i wouldnt mind keeping in the neil aspect, really showing how bad it can get, so long as he still gets his comeuppance and when he does no one feels bad about it. 

like i very much understand not wanting to make the abused kid the villain. i will not argue with anyone who doesnt ever want to see that in any capacity. but for me? i very much operate under the idea of anyone is capable of being good or bad. its a roll of the dice how a person is gonna turn out. so i do think there was a way to incorporate billys history and still make him the villain the duffers clearly wanted him to be. its just... you gotta go bigger. this is not a story meant for a minor character. you gotta really commit to it. and they didnt. which was the problem. it just... fell totally and completely flat

i love how i went straight to murder lmfao like this show was ever gonna give us a serial killer kfjbgjksbg

i was thinking bout billy loomis my bad.

for me, a successful villain is one you wanna root for. which in itself will be a controversial take lmao but thats just my personal opinion okay. when theres a villain who im just watching like “i want you dead i want you dead please die”.... i dont know that thats as fun for me. and its not that i necessarily agree with what theyre doing or whatever. its more that like... you can tell a bitch is having a good time lmao whether it be the actor in the role or the character themselves or both. villains gotta be a party. like when billy was whooping and hollering and laughing during the fight? EXACTLY that energy. we needed more of that. the unhinged clapping in the sauna scene? mr dacre kayd understood the ENTIRE assignment 

i want to end this by saying i think billy shouldve held a knife to steves throat and made him bleed. i would like to see. i would also like to see steve holding a knife to billys throat and billys dick getting hard. ive said this before. i will say it again!

oh my god billy straddling steve and carving into his chest ???? imma stop imma stop we get my point by now

#MORE BLOOD! #HE NEEDED MORE BLOOD! #briana answers things