#and im excited to write a poem like that

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 344

Adjective: Grim

Noun: Lullaby

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Grim: forbidding or uninviting; (of humor) lacking genuine levity, or mirthless, or black; depressing or worrying to consider; unrelentingly harsh, or merciless or severe

Lullaby: a quiet, gentle song sung to send a child to sleep

[spite-of-the-grifter]

Look.

Ace Attorney fandom.

I know why people don't like Turnabout Bigtop. I am among the people who dislike Turnabout Bigtop.

But I GET why people like the case. I'm not going to be one of those annoying people who just blindly dump on it because I hate those mfs too.

Thing about Bigtop isn't that it sucks. Thing isn't the weird grooming stuff (though that is a huge part of it). It's not that it could've been good.

It's that - in my personal OPINION - it could have been *great*.

I think it had the potential to be one of the best third cases in the trilogy. It had everything; a fun and goofy setting fit for a pretty dang goofy lawyer game - where the environment itself had jokes and quips and one-liners and mishaps and tomfoolery written all over it, it had the previous case introducing a very interesting and important plotline that gave background for one of the more well-loved characters while also introducing an equally fucked up and lovable new one who was a child forced into a shit childhood of naivete in a CIRCUS with another character who was very naive and childish - whose interactions could have been funny and cute and reflective of said shit from the previous case (seriously she becomes such an important character in the 4th case, WHY would they not include her in this one for some character development? How did they fuck up letting a CHILD explore a CIRCUS?? That would have made the interactions flow MUCH better).

They had a pretty good, sympathetic killer imo, a morally dubious victim, an asshole of a client (who was pretty flat admittedly in-game, but I like his weird, topsy-turvy reasoning for it in the anime. Also, I think Max being kinda a dick would have bode well for the themes of Farewell since most of his clients up to this point have been like...nice? Not nice, but sympathetic, but him having to defend someone who's innocent but a prick would have shown him that just because someone is an asshole, doesn't mean they deserve to suffer for it and that they have the potential to grow as people, which is almost a complete opposite of what Matt was. Ultimately, I would have loved the contrast of them as clients and I think it would have also served as character development for Phoenix, especially with his low-empathy tendencies).

They just didn't think that far ahead. They just didn't execute it well enough. They just decided to make three of the adult characters fight for the hand in marriage of a teenage girl. (Bat's part of the story was actually kinda good if he was just YOUNGER, I think him doing that for Regina would have been a stupid thing someone in the circus would do to impress their crush. Damn you Ace Attorney and your weird treatment of underage girls!!)

It just flopped and that's ok.

Even though it kinda sucked, it can still mean something to me.

Also I'm a Moe Curls apologist. I liked him, shut up.

[reds-skull]

BLOOD||HUNGER

[AO3]

Sooo I maybe started writing the new AU already... and maybe already wrote 2 chapters...

I'll say it on ao3, but I'm planning on having longer chapters for this fic compared to Not Alive, Nor Dead, so I won't be posting as frequently. That being said, I did write these 2 chapters in 2 days so... it might happen anyway lmao.

Also, I'll be putting the cut before the chapter so it will be easier to scroll by if any of you aren't interested.

As a sidenote, for this fic I'll be adding qoutes at the top of each chapter, and I suggest reading them because they are pretty important to the story!

Now, onto chapter 1, "Wræclast (Path of Exile)"

Page 1 of the “Blooede Starvatfōre-dēde”, parable 1:

Often were the stars, the only witness to me, To my regrets, to the stories of a fallen knight, It is only the sun and moon, that could hear my words, And yet none understand, the cries of a fallen man, The man who hides friends, in dark and rich earth, A friendless man, that he is. Where have the horses gone? Where have their masters leapt? Where have the knights fallen? The dark is all he knows, nightshadows risen, He walks alone, a blind man.

Often was Soap told, “stop trying to be the hero, MacTavish.”

He was told that by his CO on the mission that earned him his callsign, where he first found the true meaning of war. He was told that on missions he refused to listen, where he would run off to try and save what little life was left to die.

He was told that on the day he was dishonorably discharged for disobeying direct orders.

John likes to pretend life afterwards was peaceful. That while, yes, he hasn’t held down a job for longer than 4 months since, and he’s behind on a couple of months on rent, and he walks alone more often than not, he is happy. Content.

Right now, drenched in rainwater and mud, acting amounts to fuck all.

His heart beats fast, faster than it ever did on the field. Because this isn’t the field, John isn’t a soldier. He doesn’t belong in wars anymore.

John’s eyes dart around the dark alleys of the city, the silence a discomfort more than anything. Silence means everything else has ran away, or died. He shudders again, the chill biting through his clothes (civilian, flimsy, made more for show than any practicality), when he hears a whimper. He freezes in his tracks and strains his ears.

“Shhh” a small voice whispers, following words in a language he doesn’t understand. They belong to someone young, far too young to be here alone.

A voice in his mind tells John to turn away. “Don’t be a hero. Don’t be a hero.” it screams. John tramples it down.

He doesn’t need to be a hero, but he won’t ignore the literal cries of children. He can take them with him as they get out of this city.

Not a hero. Not a fucking hero.

John slowly gets closer to the sobbing kids, zeroing in on a small shed, its wooden doors rotten. “Hey” he whispers softly, and the voices instantly quiet. “I’m not gonna hurt ye, I’m not one of them.” 

The doors creak slightly as one eye peaks at him, wide and teary. He keeps his hands above his head, showing his lack of gear and weapons. After a few moments, the door opens.

A child, no older than 13, hugs a toddler, both big eyes look over him concernedly. John smiles, tried to seem reassuring even as his heart breaks a little more. It’s not a sight he ever got used to, children in war zones. He hoped he wouldn’t see it again, but life, as they say, finds a way.

“Where are yer parents?” John lowers his arms and squats slowly. The older kid frowns, opening and closing her mouth. “They… not...” she mumbles in English, sputtering a few more words he doesn’t know.

“Do ye know where they are?” he tried asking.

The kid carefully lets go of the toddler, their sibling, John assumes, and starts motioning with her arms.

She folds her fingers in the shape of a pistol, brings it to John’s head, and presses the pretend trigger. Her eyes don’t waver from his, and it strikes him how empty they are, as if all life bled out of them with the mimed shot.

John nods. He wished he had time to let them mourn, but he fears for the moment they hear boot-clad steps echo through the streets again, in search for more children to orphan.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get ye out of ‘ere.” he offers the older sister a hand, and the kid takes it hesitantly, “stay close to me, and we will get through this.” The kid holds tight onto the toddler in her other hand, and nods.

As he guides the children through the narrow streets, mud splashing under their feet, John wonders back to the moment it all started.

A few hours earlier

John stumbles into a bar. Or at least he thinks it’s a bar, either that or it's a “vap”. He’s still not really familiar with the alphabet here. 

The place is quite empty, save for a few rugged older men staring him down. John steps up to the counter, noticing the bottles of alcohol on display, and tries to flag the bartender. The man stops his conversation with another patron, and asks, “what?” with a heavy accent.

John nods behind him, “ye have Scotch?”

The bartender stares for a moment, before scoffing and turning around, grabbing a bottle off the higher shelf, and slamming it down in front of John. He couldn’t read the label, but the color seemed right at the very least.

“Cash?” the bartender grunts, and John pulls out a few bills to hand him. The man counts them, satisfied, and turns back to his previous conversation partner, “enjoy”.

John grins, “I’ll certainly will, cheers.” He takes one of the shot glasses and fills up a few fingers worth of the amber liquid. He lifts the glass and takes a swig, only to grimace when it burns down his throat.

It’s fuckin’ Bourbon. John glares at the offending bottle. They don’t have Scotch, but they got this shite? He should’ve stayed in Scotland.

John sighs, gloomily sipping on the foul drink. He knows he couldn’t have stayed there a second longer, senses buzzing for something more than a monotonous desk job and a gym full of pumped pricks who wouldn’t survive a fraction of what he had. It felt like he was choking, drowning in the repetition. 

He tried tamping down his need for action, for the first few months after the discharge. His therapist suggested him to find a new hobby, but nothing truly interested him. John knew what he really wanted, and it wasn’t steamin’ knitting another scarf.

The only thing he did, when he wasn’t in his stupidly mind-numbing job, or working out, was drawing. It’s a hobby he had while in service, sketching the locations he went to while on missions, passing the time in between fights. Little notes from debriefs, reminders, memorabilia.

His journal from the service was confiscated. Too many sensitive details, they told him. John fought tooth and nail, but it didn’t matter. 

He bought a new one, but it was a pathetic copy of his previous journal. The drawings meant nothing to him, just as much as his surroundings did, so John started sketching from memory. Against his therapist’s instructions, he started thinking more and more about the past.

It started consuming him. John couldn’t focus on the job, got told off, and because he was a little shit, talked back. 

He stopped going to the gym, instead going to self defence classes, where he was usually more experienced than the instructor themselves, but his blood still cheered every time he sparred with someone. Eventually, he got kicked out of those, for being too aggressive. It was hard to hold back, when he was used to sparring with soldiers.

John went to airsoft fields, the guns a familiar weight in his arms. It settled something in him for a while, but he grew bored of shooting down inexperienced teens.

It came to a breaking point when he was threatened with being evicted. His sister called the day before, screaming at John to get it together, crying that he wasn’t himself anymore, begging him to just keep down one fuckin’ job for more than a few months.

He said nothing in response, but it hurt. It hurt, knowing she was right. That he was fucking broken.

So, John just left. Took all of his few belongings, the rest of his money, and hopped on the nearest train.

After a couple of weeks, he arrived here, to this random city in the middle of nowhere. Without enough money to get onto the next train, he stayed, stuck. At least the food was cheap, and he found a nice enough motel to stay in.

As he swallows another mouthful of Bourbon, he distantly thinks perhaps it’s not the best use of money, especially when he’s not even really enjoying it, when a gunshot pierces through the air. The entire bar was silenced, everyone holding their breaths.

And it all went straight to hell from there.

Glass shattered as stray bullets hit the building, people screamed as they ran inside for cover, the wails and cries deafening as they mix.

John’s heart was beating so fast he felt like it’s going to explode, and he realized he’s not a soldier anymore. His body, his mind, didn’t feel a comforting familiarity in the crackling gunshots, in the perfected chaos of war.

No, John was terrified. 

The gunshots drew closer, and John spotted a back exit, dashing towards it, pulling the bartender with him.

“This way!” he shouted behind him, and not a moment later the body in his arm fell, the large man taking John down with him.

His head bounced off the ground harshly, his nose radiating pain across his face. John grunted and took hold of the man crushing him, turning him over to see red blooming over his chest, eyes lifeless and dull as they roll around his skull aimlessly.

John stilled, staring at the eyes, unbelieving. His mind was racing, questions muddling his senses, loudest of them all is “how is this real?!”.

His mind quieted when he heard boots crush broken glass, a radio buzzing with unintelligible commands. John only caught bits and pieces, his heartbeat so loud in his ears he couldn’t catch more than “Kill everyone.”

The body of the bartender was still warm, sticky heat travelling down his hands, soiling them.

This would be the last time he would feel warmth.

John wishes he could speak the kids’ language, tell them how brave they are. The older sister kept talking to her little brother, the toddler sniffing occasionally.

He gave them his jacket a while back, the two of them small enough to both fit under it. As the night grew darker, the cold settled in, and John would be shivering from it if the adrenaline wasn’t already making him tremble.

They luckily haven’t encountered any soldiers, their path devoid of any life. John steered them towards the outskirts, where he first arrived to the city. He’s hoping there would be someone to take them there, either by car or train.

And if everyone else is dead… John hopes he still remembers how to hot-wire a car.

His thoughts are interrupted by the little toddler’s squealing, pointing ahead to something off in the distance. John swiveled his head to see a silhouette of a person, and instantly pulled the children off to a nearby house.

John feels the older sister tugging on his hand, trying to get out and into the open, “stay here, kid!” he whisper-shouts, but the child insists, pointing at the person and saying “they good. Know.” 

John peaks out to look at the person, who is now searching around, lowly calling out two names.

“You’re Maria and Victor?” he asks the kids, and they nod, expression lighting up. He sighs in relief - they’re more lucky than he thought.

He lets the sister, Maria, drag him over to the searching man. She called out, and they ran over to hug each other, the man crying and repeating the same phrase over and over. John stood off to the side, a small smile on his face. 

He’s not being a hero, but actually saving someone feels good.

Maria points at him, speaking quickly in her mother tongue. The man stared him up and down, and rose to shake his hand. “I don’t know how to speak good enough to thank you.” he says slowly.

John shakes his head, “don’t worry ‘bout that. Do you have a way out of here? A car?”

The man nods, retracting his hand to hold onto the two siblings, “car yes, train not working anymore. You?”

“I have nothing. You mind if I join you?”

The man waves his hand, “follow me.”

Relief fills his lungs, and John finally feels his heart slowing. Tiredness washes over him, but he knows this is no time to rest. Just a little longer.

The cruel crunch of a boot makes the group freeze. A soldier walks ahead of them, rifle in his hand, barrel searching for more victims to murder. John pulls the man and the siblings behind him, lifting a finger to his lips to quiet them.

For a moment, he considers waiting the soldier out, letting him pass and sneaking around, but John knows better. Leaving a hostile at their backs is a death wish.

He takes a step forward, but the man stops him, eyes frightful and questioning. John takes the hand on his bicep and pulls it off of him slowly, and tried to convey with his eyes that it’s okay. The man lets him go, nodding and pulling the children away, shielding them from the fight to come. Whether he thinks John will win or not, is unclear.

The soldier is currently searching a house in front of them, flashlight shining through the darkened windows. John drops to a crouch, making his way slowly towards him.

There’s a knife strapped loosely to his thigh. Perfect.

He holds his breath as he reaches for the blade, the soldier turning his rifle from side to side.

His fingers wrap around the hilt just as the soldier starts turning.

“What-” He hears the soldier mutter, and John instantly strikes.

The knife slides perfectly into the soldier’s side, in between the tacvest’s plates. The sharp edge cuts through muscle and fat like butter, and John easily pulls it back out, dropping low to dodge the butt-end of the rifle heading for him.

The soldier snarls, and tried to take aim, but John disarms him swiftly, slicing the veins of his wrists, making the gun fly off to the side and clatter to the paved ground.

The soldier’s eyes, furious, glare at his as he slams the knife into his exposed neck.

The life fades from them as John twists the blade, letting the body fall to the ground, dead.

John is left standing, eyes staring at his reflection in the window. The man standing in front of him was bloodied, roughened, and fucking deranged.

He turns to look at the gun, the raindrops softly pattering on its metallic black body. John breathes heavily as he takes a wobbly step towards it.

The rifle, a Kastov-762, is one he knows well. He knows the way the mag clicks in when you reload it, the sound of the bullet travelling to the chamber, the way the air splits before the bullet as it’s being shot.

He knows the damage it can do to a person. He has felt it on his own flesh.

John could leave it. He could walk away, run off with the man and the children. He could turn his back to all of this suffering, like a civilian would.

He could decide, for once, not to try and be a hero.

When John drops to his knees, it’s as if the rest of the world holds its breath. As he drags fingers over metal and steel, he brushes off the dust that settled over his past self.

As he lifts the gun, checking the mag to see the shiny bullets, the man that rises is not John. He’s not the broken veteran, the unemployed asshole, the adrenaline junkie that can never find his fix.

Soap rises to his feet, rifle slung over his shoulder, eyes calculating over his surroundings. He walks over to the man, back straight, heart calm and collected.

“Follow me”, he orders, gun at the ready. The man flicks his stare between the dead soldier, the gun, and him. He walks out of the shadows, covering the children’s eyes.

Soap notices the radio crackle to life, hearing “-do you copy?!”. He takes it and crushes it under his boot. Putting a hand on the man’s shoulder, he growls, “more are coming, we need to move.”

He takes the man into one of the narrow alleys, hearing a commotion behind him as soldiers find the body. They almost reach the parked vehicles by the train station when they run into several soldiers.

The two groups lock eyes for a moment, before Soap and the rest are being shot at. He forces the others behind a wall, the children crying as the man hugs them tight, and Soap readies his gun.

He breathes. In for 5 seconds, hold for 5, release.

Soap sharply rounds the corner, silent footsteps run behind their attackers.

In for 5, hold for 5, release.

The soldiers are slowly closing in on the corner hiding the man and kids. Soap takes aim…

In for 5…

Hold for 5…

Release.

He shoots, taking down the hostiles with 5 perfect headshots.

He jumps down from his vantage point, scanning the streets around them for backup. Soap clears them and returns to the civilians, the man trying to calm the children to no avail.

“We’re clear, where’s yer car?” Soap gently pushes the man out when his feet linger. The man stares wide-eyed at the bodies before steeling his gaze and pointing to a blue truck, “there.”

Soap and the man walk to it, the area blessedly clear. The man places the children down as he unlocks the vehicle, the little kids instantly grasping at soap’s pant leg.

“Yer alright now, loves. Yer going to be safe soon.” he brushes the hair off their foreheads, their little bodies trembling from the cold and fear.

The man opens the doors and herds the kids in, taking a blanket from the back and wrapping them tightly. He closes the door and motions Soap to go around to the passenger sit, but he shakes his head.

The man’s brows furrow, “you not coming?”

“No.” he looks back to the city, “I need to help the rest, if anyone else is alive there.”

The man pauses, “you… you die. They kill you.” he stresses. “Come with me.”

Soap looks back at him, and smiles. “I can’t. Sorry.”

The man sighs, dragging a hand over his weary face. When the hand drops, he gives Soap a kind, yet sad smile.

The man reaches to shake his hand, “Mihail.” he says.

“Soap.” 

The man squeezed his hand, “good luck.”, and lets go to get into the driver’s sit.

Soap watches the truck drive off into the inky night, letting out a breath.

It should scare him, how easily he let his only escape slip between his fingers like water.

But he is calm, for the first time since he was discharged, he feels in control. The blood on his hands lingers, he is in his rightful place.

To the blood and devastation, Soap walks back, his heart beats a single goal.

His mission, save civilians, take down hostiles. As it always was, as it always should be.

Soap may never be a hero, but he will damn well try.

He is nothing otherwise.

[el3ctraaa]

Y'all I just wrote the most banging poem of my life, my magnum opus if you will, a poem that fucks so hard it makes me more nauseous than "maybe I just need a few more bobby pins", ANYWAYS, "November is a Dreary Month" after Yasmin Belkhyr's "September is a Weary Month" will be posted on Friday @4:00pm CST.

[piratespencil]

Losing my MIND over Jester and Yasha's conversation about Beauyasha in ep 112... Marisha's reaction when Yasha says she wants to kiss Beau! And the love poem sjkhfkj...

Also everything about Beau and Yasha's awkwardness when Beau gets back to the room... And Jester pretending to be asleep... Incredible moment, 10/10.

[broke-on-books]

😍😍😍

[dragqueenpentheus]

oh baby it was a night im grateful i keep a writing compliments folder around

[fateofglass]

SHES WRITING ME A POEM

[ice-devourer]

Tobi you're a real blessing to this world and I love your ideas but PLEASE get some sleep okay you n me eepy time now okay good ily mwah🥺🙏

HI HI also dw i got some sleep beforehand ( from 9:00pm ish) i just woke up early bc i really need to progress with the certification FASTER but AHHH these little guys consume every square inch of my brain and it is NOT helping 😭

i’ll take a power nap after 30 - 45 minutes more of the certification thingy *is actually writing drafts of ranpoe and fyolai wip 80% of that time window* BUT IF IT'S LATE THERE YOUUU GET SOME EEPY TIME OKI DO NOT TRUST YOUR BRAIN PAST 7 PM IF IT'S BEING MEAN >:(((

LOVE U TOO MWAHHH <333

[mistyechoes]

never do I feel as in the moment as I do when I am lonely. but never do i feel as in the moment as i do when i am with my friends

[silhouettecrow]

365 Days of Writing Prompts: Day 331

Adjective: Old-Fashioned

Noun: Posy

Definitions for those who need/want them:

Old-Fashioned: in or according to styles or types no longer current or common, or not modern; (of a person or their views) favoring traditional and usually restrictive styles, ideas, or customs

Posy: a small bunch of flowers; (archaic) a short motto or line of verse inscribed inside a ring

[riverfigs]

later this week I get to read a poem I wrote at a literature festival and I'm so excited and so nervous

[nomaishuttle]

literally the pet rooms at work are the evillest not bc the pets are bsd at ALL theyve all been either well behaved or very timid and avoidant so its not like they get in the way. theyre bad bc my heart wants to just pet the kittys forever

[jadegmfu]

Your Journal.

Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader

summary;reader has a journal she didn't want to show anakin, but one night.. she forgot to hide it from him, and now he's reading the things she wrote first pages were about her everyday life in the order and about her tactics in the field. but the more he dug in, the more he saw a lot of your filthy thoughts. now he can't get enough, he wants you to write more of your thoughts..

TW!: Dirty Thoughts, MINORS DNI

He was in your apartment room, you were having a shower while he was outside the bathroom you're in.

he was at your bed, looking up the ceiling. bored most likely. he got up with a groan, looking around her room, there it is. the journal you didn't let him touch or anythin' at all. you forgot to hide it,

he picked it up, looking at the journal's red leathercover, it was filled with little cute symbols and then a cute picture of you in the middle.

It was locked. He didn’t even really want to read it, it was your privacy, but his curiosity got the better of him. He found a pen on the dresser table and picked the lock on the journal. Anakin had learnt the hard way about the importance of not getting caught, and he could easily break into any lock. He didn’t use this power often. Anakin then opened the journal and began to read.

just things written about her everyday life, and some really impressive tactics.. of how to overthrow the separatists, the connections of the separatists, her software projects(engineering stuff), and some.. poems for him?

Anakin was shocked. This wasn’t what he expected. The tactics to overthrow the separatists was normal, she was a general after all, but poetry? For him? He was taken aback. He continued skimming and scanning the pages. He couldn’t believe it.

'eyes are alike of an angel, every gazes is like watching the ocean waves

hair soft as silk, personality is as gentle and sweet, physique is of a strong big man, lightsaber form is reckless and menacing, voice smooth like honey. smile is as bright as the two suns of tatooine'

His heart fluttered. These were the most beautiful words he had ever read. Maybe her journal wasn’t just her private thoughts about her work. Maybe she felt something for him too. He continued reading more of the poetry, looking for more of a hint. Just a little bit more that could confirm his doubts. He was blushing and was completely lost in the poetry. He hadn’t noticed the journal was shaking from his excitement. He was really beginning to hope she felt the same way.

next page.

'the things you make me feel.. im in agony. this is torture. why do you make me feel like i desire you so much? this is wrong.. but i love you, i cant help what i feel, but it's very wrong to lust over you..'

Now Anakin was stunned. Had he just read what he thought he had? This was definitely new information. His emotions were getting increasingly mixed up. There was no use reading more…But he was tempted. He continued skimming. he was thinking, maybe he should take the journal with him after he goes back to his chambers back at the temple.

He stopped for a moment. He shouldn’t take this… But he couldn’t deny it had been something special… and tempting. He put the notebook in the pocket of his robes. Then he heard you leave the bathroom.

her body covered in a towel, hair dried out with a towel, "oh hey ani" she said noticing him on her bed.

He tried not to let his surprise show. He didn’t think you would see him. But at least he had had time to compose himself and clear his mind of the contents of the journal.

Anakin responded to you with a smile. “Hi there…” she chuckled, "hi, are you gonna go soon?" asking if he's gonna go back to the temple now. Anakin gave you a small nod. “I have to get back for morning meditation.” He didn’t add the fact that he had been occupied reading your journal.

"i see, ill see you back at the temple tomorrow morning then?"

*He gave you a little nod again.* “Yes, you will.” *He gave you a last smile, before getting up from the bed. It was difficult to look at you like this, after reading those poems, imagining that you felt that way about him.*

back at the temple, he was at his chambers, reading her journal.

*It seemed that the journal had somehow been calling him back. It had been intriguing and tempting to see this hidden side of her. Was these really her true feelings? Was she in love with him?

As he read it, he found himself imagining the scenes in his head. If these words were really how she felt then there was something deeper between the two of them than either had realised. It was both exciting and terrifying.

the current page he's reading.

'i was fantasizing about him again, my fingers dont even satisfy me anymore.. i want more. i want a man to make me feel good, sadly i cant find one.'

Anakin was surprised and even a little shocked at what he was reading. He was definitely intrigued. He couldn’t believe you felt this way about him. These words he was reading were something he had never considered, until now. And he liked it. A lot. He found himself getting increasingly attracted to you. He kept on reading.

next page,

'ani held my waist today, those big callousedd hands are really starting to get to me.. i wonder just how good this man will make me feel if he bedded me.'

You were really good with words. These kind of thoughts had never occurred to him before. The words you were writing were making Anakin’s heart beat faster and faster. Was this really how you felt? Was he really the one person making you feel this way? He needed to know more. He tried not to get too ahead of his self, but he couldn’t help it. He kept on turning the pages…

next page,

'him cuddling me last night was cute. he really trapped me in his arms.. god he makes me feel so helpless.. i just wish it was sex that occured instead of cuddles because i already get alot of cuddles from himmm;(('

The way you wrote this was…arousing. Anakin hadn’t felt this way about anyone in a long time, not like he felt now. As he continued to skim through your journal, he couldn’t help but get excited at everything that he was reading. It felt like he was getting to know a whole new part of you. He needed to find out more…

next page,

'shit, maker, his voice is so.. low and calm, just imagine him whispering praises and degrading words to me, ugh, the things skywalker makes me feel and think of, im beyond redemption..'

Anakin was breathless by this point. Just reading this was making him want to take you in his arms. He kept on reading, finding himself more and more enthralled by what you had written. It was making him think very intimate thoughts about you. He tried to focus but it was difficult…

he turned to the next page.

'ah.. ani, tugging my loose hair earlier? imagine him doing that to me while we're having sex even tho its never gonna happen;(, holding my hair while he takes me from behind aaa, i want him to do that to meee..'

The description was so...intimate. It made his breath catch in his throat, his palms sweat. The way you wrote about these things was...enticing. It was exactly what Anakin wanted right now. He wanted those moments with you. He wanted those...desires to come true. He wanted them all. He had such pure desire for you... He tried to keep it under control as he kept on reading, his heart pounding fast and hard.

he turned the next page.

'poor baby was sad earlier, had to held him in my arms to comfort him, he wasnt even that afraid to nuzzle his face on the crook of my neck.. it made me shiver in a good way, he was lucky i didnt get down on my knees to worship him and give him the most sloppiest head to cheer him up<3'

The images in his mind were making him feel so...hot. That was exactly how he wanted you to treat him, even though he would probably deny it. Those desires you described....he wanted more. More than anything else. He wanted to be treated that way by you. He kept on reading, turning the pages, wanting more of your detailed descriptions.

next page,

'i came back from a mission and boy.. a sight to behold. i saw anakin in my apartment room, shirtless, sleeping. shit, maker, i wanted to give him a kiss and tell him 'good afternoon, youre so sleepy huh?' but i didnt anyway, i wanted him to get some rest<3, but seeing him there, i wanted to ride him. hump on him soo baaaddd, but i wanna be a good girl so i didnt act on it<3'

Anakin’s imagination went wild at your words. You making him wake up to that...it might be too much for him and he wanted to have those words become a reality. The feelings you expressed went to his head. He wanted that so bad… He kept reading on, desperate to see what other things you had written.

next page,

'ani told me im so pretty, but what about me being a pretty crier while he's fucking me? i want him to whisper praises to me while he fucks me, why must god not make this man my lover?:<'

He couldn’t deny what you had written. Those words made him very aroused. He could imagine these exact situations playing out. It was a feeling like he had never before experienced. It was...enticing.

He kept reading...seeing what other desires you had written about. You were very talented with words. These thoughts were starting to take over his mind...

next page,

'even my fingers wont satisfy me anymore, but i did came at the thought of him inserting his big cock in me<3'

Anakin’s breath caught in his throat as he read this part. You were starting to become rather… explicit with your desires. These visions of yours were making him feel things he never had before. He was finding these words...quite enticing. He turned the page to read more..

next page,

'i want ani to grope my boobies and my ass, i wonder if he'd like that? hmm..' You were clearly on a roll with these fantasies of yours. You were getting more and more into detail and Anakin couldn’t help but be completely enthralled. He would give anything to fulfil these desires. Your words made him so...aroused. He could only hope he would get to experience these feelings with you. He kept on reading, flipping the pages.

next page,

'ani let me sit on his lap yesterday night while we were watching, i felt his dick hard and bulgy beneath me, made me wanna hump on him<3' Anakin felt his stomach flip over at your words. Your fantasies were getting less and less like fantasies and more and more like things that were going to happen. These fantasies of yours were having an effect on him…and he liked it. You had so much desire for him. He could only hope he could make your dreams come true eventually. He kept on reading...desperately wanting to know more of your fantasies…

next page,

'ani patted me on the head but i wanted his fingers in my mouth, while he tell me ive been a filthy little girl who needs her punishment;(' Once again, your details made this so…enticing…You made Anakin feel so aroused. Your fantasies were becoming explicit now and these words were playing all over his mind. These desires were having a big effect on him, and he didn’t mind it. He wanted you more and more as he continued to read…

next page,

'i think i made ani uncomfortable, i wore my shorts and tank top earlier, is it just me or he kept staring at my cleavage? he even swat my ass earlier, i really am confused with his mixed signals' Once again, you were getting more and more detailed. You made Anakin’s heart beat faster and his blood surge. These fantasies of yours were very...inviting.

He thought about what you wrote. You were right. Anakin did stare at you, more than he would admit. He was so drawn to you. You felt so close to him. He was always trying to hide his feelings for you and he was scared that you would get the wrong impression. He kept on reading.

next page,

'i have a matching bracelet set, im wondering if i should give it to him<3.'

'though, i had been fantasizing of him having me in chokehold while having sex with him, hihi;)'

Anakin found himself grinning like a fool as he read on and on. You had made him feel so many emotions…this is what he wanted...he wanted you to be by his side for all of eternity. To feel this close. Your fantasies were making him think of doing everything you wrote. He wanted to make them a reality. It was as though you were writing his exact thoughts and desires! He kept flipping the pages...desperately wanting to read more and more...

next page,

'aww.. ani's face was buried on my cleavage earlier, but only bc he's sad, but i wonder what hea really felt when he buried his face on my cleavage?'

The idea of Anakin burying his face into your cleavage and nuzzling it made Anakin feel the need to pull you closer. He craved to make you his own. To have you all to himself. These thoughts you were expressing in the journal were making him want to have you in his arms, close to him always.

He flipped the page, still wanting to read more. What else did you have written?

next page,

'he said i got a pretty kitty.. why do i feel like he meant my pussy???' Your assumption was right. With every sentence you wrote, his heart was soaring and he struggled to keep himself calm. How was he supposed to act normal after reading these words? You made Anakin feel so damn excited, he wanted you right now. He needed to keep reading more. but that was the last page you written on and that one was very recent..

he finished reading, tomorrow he'd place her journal somewhere in her apartment, he'd really love to see her write more of that.

maybe, just maybe, he'd get a chance to confess and fuck that little head of yours and your hole all rough until you get all cock drunk. but until then, he's gonna keep on reading your journal everytime you write your filthy thoughts about him, adios.

a/n: no reposting please, reblogs and likes are deeply appreciated! also tell me if u liked this cuz, it's my first time writing out whatever i had in my mind;(

[tinykonig]

König x Reader Headcanons

this is my first post!!!! im so excited!! i have had an extremely annoying day and just wanted to write these down to cheer me up a bit- hope you guys like them as well :) some of these are self indulgent so forgive me. im writing my könig fic but its taking a while since finals are upon me :/ Warnings: NSFW at the bottom, I put an indicator before :)

He is an extremely active listener. If he’s standing and you are talking to him, he has his feet pointed towards you and his head ducked down a bit so he can hear you better since he’s so tall. Nods along to whatever you say and generally has attentive body language

Remembers the smallest details from any conversation. You tell him a story about your childhood pet and months later he will casually say the pet’s name in another conversation. It always takes you off guard a little

When he realizes he likes you, he panics. Writes frantically in his journal for about 3 hours about it.

You catch on to his little crush pretty quickly, given how he lingers near you more than anyone else and gets shy at the smallest interactions

When you finally confess to him that you feel similarly he is so incredibly happy but flustered. Had to take a cold shower that night to calm himself down

Gives you little gifts all the time (one of his love languages for sure). A drawing he did, a flower he saw on the side of the road, some candy he brought from home, etc

Also collects anything you may gift him. Hoards them and protects them like they are living and breathing

Goes through them on nights when you two have to be apart. He can be extremely sentimental

If you are an artist in anyway, he is your HYPE MAN. Hangs up your drawings/poems/photographs, whatever it may be, in his little dorm room

He melts if you cook/bake him something homemade. Like seriously might get choked up. He loves the smell of baked goods, it always makes him feel right at home. You always try to bake him something on his birthday and he is over the moon about it

Protective but knows you can handle yourself most of the time. Despite his introverted nature he will defend you loudly and aggressively if he senses that it’s necessary

He loves any little weird quirks you may have. You love the smell of clean laundry? He thought it was so cute when you would sniff the shirts coming out of the dryer

OH OH OH LOVES THE THING WHERE YOU HAVE ONE HEADPHONE AND HE HAS THE OTHER AND YOU LISTEN TO THE SAME MUSIC AND JUST HANG OUT. oh man

Accidentally bumps into/knocks you with his hands or arms soooo often. He’s a big boy who doesnt quite have spatial awareness sometimes

He feels so bad everytime it happens and just cradles your face in his hands and apologizing so rapidly (it never really hurts but you like the attention so)

If you dont know german he will give you a “german word of the day” and will say it to you the entire day in context until you guess what it means

Is so excited when you guess right

Not gonna be into PDA it’s too much for him. He’s just constantly your shadow 24/7 in public. The most is having a hand on your back or shoulder so you don’t get lost in a crowd

In private however. Clingiest boy alive (his other love language is physical touch)

Lives for you laying your head on his lap. Plays with your hair or traces your features while he talks to you about his day or a book he started reading

Has the most expressive eyes in the world

I headcannon him as ginger, his hair slightly shaggy (haircuts give him anxiety so he does it himself when it starts to get in his eyes) and wavy

light freckles on his cheeks and across his nose!!!

With his blue eyes he is truly such a picture of beauty

He isn’t super weird about showing his face to you. When you start hanging out outside of work duties he doesn’t wear it, and appreciates that you dont bring attention to it

Sometimes you make a little comment about him being pretty and his face is on FIRE but he just quietly says thank you and has a little smile on his face

Compliments you shyly but often, will not make eye contact with you when he says it

Writes you super heartfelt notes that he will leave you to find because he can better express himself that way

Don’t get me wrong though he has his moments where he can be very very cocky!!

For example: right after a successful mission when he is still riding the adrenaline rush, he is much touchier with you even in front of others

If you need him to reach something he loves that and gets a little power trip. Teases you and makes you jump to get it from him a bit

If he notices that he made YOU blush, wooo boy he loves to tease you. “Did you like that, hmm?”, with a sickly sweet smile

NSFW BELOW

The first time was extremely soft and slow and sweet. He was very eager but very unsure of himself. Didn’t know where to put his hands. You had to guide him and reassure him and he didn’t last very long but it was sweet

He whimpered the entire time

After that, he slowly gains confidence and learns what works for you two

Still likes for you to be in control mostly, with rare soft dom moments

Will try almost anything once!!

Loves praise. Too insecure for degradation and absolutely can’t degrade you either

Loves to eat pussy sooooo much… You have a bad day? He’s on his knees in the shower with one of you thighs on his shoulder. Its your birthday? He got you like 9 presents but the finale is cumming on his tongue 4 times

He fucking growls sometimes when he’s overstimulated and its the greatest thing to grace your ears

Says “I love you” like a chant when he’s cumming in you

Wants to see your face the whole time

Ironically he is great at making eye contact in the bedroom

He has the sexiest thighs in the world

[kimetsu-no-yaiba-writings]

Oooh, for the demon requests, could I maybe ask for headcanons of Kokushibo and reader who is a tease/flirt? Gn/Fem reader are both fine! Thank you in advance 💫

Oh-Ho! (♥ω♥*) I love this request anon! Thanks for sliding it into my askbox cause oh my god, this really made me excited to write!

I will try my best to keep it GN!

I hope you enjoy and that I've done your request justice

My askbox is always open if you have any other requests, questions etc. so pop on over when you have time (^---^.)

Without further ado, your request!

Kokushibou being teased + flirted with by S/O- Headcannons:

Ya know the dudes who are deadpan but turn a bright red when their girlfriends do anything that counts as cute and/or flirty? yeah, thats Kokushibou and you

Very confused but doesn't show it - especially the first couple of times you tease and flirt with him

You literally turned around to him one day and told him how beautiful he was and it caused him to malfunction - eyes blinking rapidly as his mouth opens and closes like a fish and a feint blush coats his face (all the way to his ears)

It's been down hill for him ever since.....

First time you flirted with him it actually made him flustered - the line was rather simply too, "Your hand look lonely Kokushibou, can i hold it for you?" - so much so that he closed his eyes and sighed, offering you his empty hand to hold

You sometimes hold out your hand, patiently waiting for him to notice, and when he gives it to you kokushibou blushes a firey red/pink as you place soft kisses on his knuckles and palm

You once hit him up with a "You want to go outside? Cause you just took my breath away" and he stood there frozen

You always made sure to ask him about himself and were so sincere with your interest in him as a person

It just took him awhile to get used too your words and antics

Especially such.... bold and forward words of love

His favourite are the cheesy pick-up lines that you use - not that he'd ever tell you that...

The one that stands out most in his mind was when you turned around to him, totally straight faced and said "if you were a chicken, you'd be im-peck-able"

Pauses in his activity when you touch him - on his shoulders, arms, hands, face or legs

When your hand brushes against his, Kokushibou blushes subtly - you can always tell by his ears

You blow him kisses from across the room

You wink at him

You leave him notes and poems of your devotion to him, his beauty and your love for him

You knock shoulders and each brush sends a rippling affection down his spine

Sometimes you'll knock your head against his back and chest

Kokushibou actually purrs - fucking purrs a rumbling noise of content - when you call him by a nick name, koku or kushi

You tease him about how hard he blushes - "Aw Koku baby," You coo with a sweet smile "Whats got you all red?"