#brass sign plate

[irre-photo]

Brass Plate #56  <120mm×120mm>

[bag-0f-b0nes]

There was one other thing that had been in Camelot since before history:

I love the Drumb so much look at him!!

I love everyone who draws him as the hanged man card so i HAD to try it myself

Image description under the cut!

[IMAGE DESCRIPTION:

A digital drawing of Drumbot Brian as the tarot card The Hanged Man. Brian is a brass coloured masc presenting robot with obvious seams on his face plates and hands. His hair is curly and shoulder length, and a slightly more orange colour than his body. He has moderate facial hair in the same colour as his hair. There are signs of oxidation all over his body. He's wearing a white shirt with a brown stripe patterned waistcoat, with dark brown pants and brown shoes. All his clothing has holes and tears in different places. On his chest there is a big tear, revealing an ambigram of Brian/Merlin engraved in his right breast. He is holding a red banjo with 1 loose string.

He has closed eyes and a slight smile, seemingly at peace.

He's hanging upside down and there are copper coloured ropes around his leg which he is being held up from. There are also ropes around his hands, binding them to his banjo. There is one rope around his neck, loosely hanging upwards. The rope comes together at the top and is bound to a gallows-like construction, the rope hanging around all the support beams.

The background is a sandy gradient from dark rust red to a lighter reddish sand. There is a soft glow emitting from Brian's body, and sunrays come from behind the gallows. There is a dark brown border and around that crinkly yellow/orange paper, with the words "THE HANGED MAN" underneath, in a faded, typically western font.]

[nexysworld]

Summary: Leon is sent on a mission to carry out a hit for the government. He hated these missions the most, but worst of all you weren't supposed to be there. You weren't supposed to see him. Pairing: ID!Assassin Leon x Fem!Reader Tags: NSFW, MDNI, Smut, canon typical gore, graphic depictions of murder, comfort sex, mild dubcon, unprotected sex, fem!receiving oral sex, soft sex, angsty sex, hurt/comfort/hurt, dark content, descriptions of wound dressing. WC: 5.2k

A/N: This was a birthday fic for the wonderful @elfven-blog. <3 Title from the lyrics to the song Sextape by Deftones. Edit: I also have a bot based on this fic now: Character AI | Spicychat

Read on A03 || Ask Box || Masterlists

Cool air bristled the hairs on the back of his neck, limbs tingling with the typical anticipation of what came next. Hits weren’t his favorite type of mission, not by a longshot, he wanted to save people, not kill them. But with experience came a certain professional numbness and a way to compartmentalize. It didn’t help that the locale for this affair was in the dead center of a suburban upper class neighborhood. Every home had that same limestone brick or white overlapping paneling. Every door the same mahogany brown, tacky lawn gnomes, overly green grass, white picket fences – the works. The possibility of witnesses was high, the escape routes limited. 

Regardless, Leon was a professional, and he would make it work. He always did.

Tilting his wrist, he looked down at the gold rolex, it was a little past 2:30am. He listened closely, to ensure there was no movement inside. The double windowed back doors were his point of entry. The brass knobs were old, the locks inside not quite as intricate as modern ones, all it took was a good smack against the swiss army knife he’d jammed into it for the lock to click open. The door opened quietly, he made sure to not close it completely behind him to ensure he could make his escape. 

The house had an eerie quiet over it, almost like the universe knew what was about to happen. Leon cracked his neck and let out a breath, careful to not touch anything as he moved throughout the lower floor, clearing each room. The kitchen was pristine, nothing out of place on the island or counter. There was no homely smell of food, only the lingering scent of some harsh cleaner. Not a sign that anyone had even been down there within the past several hours – a good thing, he noted. Through the archway came the living room, he had been hopeful someone had opted to sleep on the couch, separate targets were easier targets. Unfortunately for him, he wasn’t so lucky. 

The plush gray sectional was untouched, not so much as a divet into the cushion. The TV remote lay on the dark oak coffee table. Unlike the kitchen, this room felt more homely. The faint smell of some fruity air freshener was all over, the cherry walls were lined with gold plated frames of the family. 

His target was some small town politician, Jackson Moore, normally somebody not noteworthy to the government in the slightest, but he made the unfortunate mistake of shaking hands with terrorists, facilitating the sale of some new viral invention through the local pharmacies. The idea of another Raccoon City incident made his stomach turn. He wasn’t sure who he held more anger for, the people like this person who’d bring it about, or the government that he knew turned a blind eye until now – the same government who wouldn’t make the effort to save the people who uphold it. 

He shook his head, and pushed his bangs back refocusing for a moment. He scanned over the pictures. Most normal family outings, some graduation photos and holiday ones in there. Hunnigan had told him beforehand that all of the kids were off to college, none due back for several more weeks. The only targets in the house were Mr. and Mrs. Moore. 

There was only one more room on the bottom floor, where he was sure his victims were, the master bedroom. Leon made his way over, silently padding down the short hall staring at the door. It was cracked, the sound of light snoring and the smell of mint wafting from the room. He peeked inside, letting his eyes adjust to the dark room, a string of moonlight the only thing illuminating the sleeping lumps on the bed. 

He tested the door, it squealed slightly as it opened making him freeze. One of the sleeping forms moved slightly rolling over. He waited, still as a statue until he was sure that both still remained asleep before sliding himself through the narrow opening he’d made. 

Looming over the sleeping forms, he pulled his gun out from it’s holster attached to his waist. Even with the silencer, he knew he needed to be quick. One shot would wake the other, and then it was a matter of speed. He cocked the pistol, taking a few more steps towards the unaware persons before him. The gun felt heavy in his hand, but he lifted it anyway, deciding to start with the official target first. 

Will the trigger pulled back, the room lit up for a split second with the bang of the gun. Time slowed as he watched the man’s body jolt slightly, blood splattering onto the pillow, the walls. The smell of gunpowder and iron hit his nose. The man’s fingers twitched slightly before his movement stopped. Just like he had expected, his wife was awake instantly, though no noise came from her. 

Wide eyed, she stared at Leon, then down at her husband next to her. Her mouth opened like she was trying to scream, but the noise was caught in her throat, tears welled in the woman’s eyes. Blood had splattered onto her too, some chunks of brain along with it dripped from her curlers onto her lap. Her trembling hands reached over to her husband, “Jacks.” She whispered, reaching over and putting her hand on his deformed face. “Jacks.” She leaned over the man, trying to scoop the bits and pieces of him back together. 

Leon wanted to feel sorry for her, wanted to wonder if that’s how someone might react to his death some day. But he pushed those feelings aside, she was a target, culpable in everything just as her husband was. He lifted the gun again, pointing it at her.

As she looked at him, eyes wide with fear, her mouth formed the shape of a word. He didn’t need to hear it to know it was a plea. He pulled the trigger again.

Deadshot, like putting down an animal, between the eyes. 

Her body crumbled over itself as she slumped forward onto the bed, the back of her head exploded open like a volcano of bone, blood, and brain matter. 

Not dwelling on it,  he put his finger to the device in his ear. “It’s done, Hunnigan.” “Good work Leon. I’ll make sure that –”

“Hey mom, you still up? I thought I heard something.” 

The soft voice pulled Leon from his conversation, there were footsteps out in the hallway and the sound of a lightswitch clicking on. ‘Shit.’ He cursed to himself inwardly.  He took a few steps back from the door, whispering to Hunnigan. “You said there were no other targets here.” “There aren't –” “The daughter is home.” “Does she know you’re there?” “No, not yet.” 

There was a moment of silence on the line before she spoke again. “Leon.” Hunnigan’s voice was serious, she knew him well enough after all these years to know his thoughts. “Leave no witnesses.” “There won’t be, she doesn’t even know I'm here.” The sound of the fridge opening and closing indicated the girl’s location.  “Everyone at the location is a target, Leon. Everyone at the location is a witness.” “Not if she – “ “Leon, this is an order.” “I can wait for her –” “Leon –” 

“She doesn’t have to die.” “Dad, is that you?” The sound of his voice, despite him doing his best to stay at a whisper, must've alerted the girl.  There was shuffling around on the other end of the line, the next voice he heard made his blood cold. The head of the D.S.O shouting into his ear. “Kennedy, this is an order, kill her! Complete the mission. Do you understand me?”

“Understood.” He said flatly, disconnecting from the call. In a worse stroke of bad luck, the door to the bedroom swung open nearly at the same time. 

And there you were. 

Glass shattering as it hit the floor, water splattering around as the light from the hallway lit up the room from the opened door. You trembled in place as you processed the sight of things. Leon was frozen where he stood too. You were an adult, but young, more importantly innocent in all of this. Rarely in his forced-on-him career has he had to kill someone completely innocent. Usually it was the partners of criminals, civilians caught in crossfire. But never someone as young as you, never in a situation so targeted.

He hardly registered the shriek you made before you bolted. Acting purely on instinct he took off after you, the delay of his own shock didn’t matter much when he noticed the slimy trail of bloody footprints from where you’d ran through the glass left in the hallway. His own boots crunching it against the ground as he moved.  If you had been smart, you’d have turned for the front door, or even the back. Instead, nearly sliding on your own blood you went for the staircase, the one route that would trap you on the upper floor. You let out a yelp of pain, trying your hardest to only use your less injured foot to bounce up the stairs as quickly as you could, the blood matting down into the carpet with each step. 

It didn’t take long for Leon to catch up, thumping up each one loudly as his boots made contact. He wasn’t sure why he didn’t take his gun out, why he was even letting you attempt this unwinnable escape, he also didn’t know. Maybe it was just delaying the inevitable. 

He reached out for you just as you made it to the top of the stairs. A simple shove was all it took to send you flying into the decorative hall table that waited at the top. A sickening crack was heard as your head collided with the dark wood, knocking it over as you rolled over with a groan, dazed from it. Managing to prop yourself up on your elbows, Leon could see the trickle of blood that began to run down your eye and cheek, along with the starting to swell shiner from your high-speed table collision. 

You scuttled backwards, as best you could, haphazardly tossing the vase that had fallen at him. It missed, and went crashing onto the stairs. Tears mixed with the blood on your face, diluting the color, only leaving the dry specs stuck there. You looked pathetic and terrified in a way that made Leon’s heart twist.

“P-please… don’t.” You pleaded, putting your hand out and up as if that simple gesture would be enough to stop him, distance him from yourself. 

He couldn’t do this, at least not like this. He kneeled before you, cupping your uninjured cheek in his hand. “Shhhh. Shhh.” 

“P-please… I won’t tell any–” “It’s ok,” he cooed. “It’s not my style to hurt pretty girls, you know that?” He added as he scooped you up from the ground bridal style. He knew he shouldn’t be doing this. Getting his DNA all over you, getting your blood on him. This wasn’t a clean kill, this wasn’t what the upper brass wanted. For the moment though, he didn’t care. “Where’s your room, Sweetheart?”

You didn’t point or make a sound, your eyes darted from him to the cracked door next to him and then back to him as you shook in his hold. He wedged it open the rest of the way with his foot, before gently placing you down on your bed. It didn’t look right, all the blood staining into the fresh and plush sheets. It was different than your parents downstairs, the whole room screamed you. From the decor on the walls, to the laptop on the nightstand, your college hoodie hanging off the back of the chair at your desk. More reminders that you didn’t deserve this. 

Before you could, he swiped the phone off of the side table, stuffing it into his pant pocket. “I know you hurt right now.” He said sweetly, “Give me a minute and we’ll get you all cleaned up, alright?” He gave you a moment to process his words. ‘What the fuck am I doing?’ He asked himself, as he held your hand, patting your arm gently. He could see the confusion in your eyes as the gears in your head turned to try and make a decision – timidly you nodded. He shot you his signature smile. “Atta girl. Stay here for me, no funny business.” Pointing a finger gun at you before he slipped out into the hallway and into the upstairs bathroom. 

The suddenly bright lighting stung his eyes, he saw himself in the mirror, your blood speckled onto his jacket, some dried to his face. He looked rough, a cold sweat broken out onto his face, blue eyes distant looking back at himself. He splashed some cold water onto his face to calm his nerves before digging around to see if there was anything he could use to alleviate some of your pain, even if temporarily. The medicine cabinet was well stocked, though nothing would be enough to really combat the pain of your cracked head and torn up feet. He bit his lip as he grabbed some bandages and the bottle of peroxide. 

First aide wasn’t really his specialty, but he knew enough from training. Along with the other supplies, he filled the empty cup on the counter with warm soap water, and took the washcloth with him. 

To his surprise you were exactly where he’d left you, splayed out on the bed, looking scared and exhausted. Your head rested against the pillow, eyes staring up at the ceiling. “I’m going to take a look at your feet first.” Not that he really gave you the option, but you nodded in return. Leon was no stranger to gore, guts, and the rest, but something about them gave him pause. There was so much blood he could hardly see what was skin and what was glass. “It might sting just a little.” He assured, pouring the cold liquid out onto your feet. You hissed and squirmed a bit, but he placed his arm over your ankles to keep them still, watching as the peroxide bubbled, clearing away the redness of the blood. Small pieces of glass fell with it onto the now stained carpet. He opted to speak to you, see if he could get you to calm down some more while he worked, pouring more over the wounds. “You’re in college?” There was something about you that was indescribable to him, familiar to him, and he wasn’t sure why. 

“Yeah.” Finally you answered with words, voice barely above a whisper.  “Shouldn’t you be at school then? I thought the semester was still going.” He as he checked you over for any more obvious glass. When it was clear the peroxide had done it’s job, he took the bandages, gently wrapping them around your feet, gauze padding them. 

“D-dropped out.” You squeaked out. “Last minute decision, had to come home.” He tied off the bandage before moving to look at your face. “School’s not for everyone. You’re probably better off without it.” Leon dipped the washcloth into the cup, wringing it out over the carpet, not really caring about the mess. He dabbed it gently against your injured face, helping to remove the remaining mess and to get a better look. Luckily the cut above your eye seemed superficial and the blood had stopped running, it was just a matter of cleaning up the  dried mess that was left over. He was careful around the tender purple skin as he cleared as much as he could. “You have a boyfriend you leave back at school?” 

“No. Never had one at all actually.” You replied, wincing when he accidentally touched a painful spot.  “Never had one?” He asked more for himself than as a real question to you. ‘Hasn’t finished school, never had a boyfriend. This is so fucked up. She can’t be any older than Ashley was…’ He thought to himself, debating whether the court marshalling would be worth letting you go. In the same train of thought, he considered what would happen to you if he did. The government would probably send someone else just like him, someone less soft. He bristled at the thought, sitting up straight on the side of your bed. “That’s a shame, I would’ve thought a cute girl like you would be drowning in guys asking her out.”  “Not really” You seemed to relax a bit now, well as relaxed as a person could be in your state. He could still tell from your blown pupils and 1000 mile stare that you were still in shock. Probably a good thing. “My parents are… were, strict.” Your face contorted like you were about to be sick at the memory. 

Leon went back to stroking your cheek gently for comfort. “So no boyfriend, ever have your first kiss? First time?” Now that he had a better chance to really look at you, all cleaned up he realized who you reminded him of. Not so much Ashley, she was more strong willed and you didn’t quite look the part either. It wasn’t just the age, no…your voice, mannerisms, the way you looked. It was so very much her. Someone he hadn’t thought about since before even Raccoon City.

“Yeah. Wasn’t very good, some drunk frat boy.” You admitted leaning slightly into his touch. Silence passed between you both, nothing but the ceiling fan whirring above you. An automated air freshener spritzed roses and lilac into the air, barely covering the distinct peroxide and blood smell. Leon was surprised when you finally spoke again. “Why did you do it?”

The look on your face gutted him more than it should have. “I had to.”  “Because of his job?” “Something like that, yeah.”  “Did he deserve it?”  “Yeah.”

You nodded, turning your eyes away from the ceiling to look at him. There was another tense silence before you spoke again. “Are you going to kill me too?” 

He felt a chill ran over his body at the question. He leaned forward pressing his forehead to yours, moving his hand up to stroke your hair. “I don’t want to.” It wasn’t a real answer and he knew that, but it was honest.  “Why are you being nice to me?”  “I told you, I don’t like to hurt cute girls.” “That’s not it.” 

How you read him for filth like that he’ll never know. “You remind me of someone.” He leaned back just enough to look at you again, but kept your faces close, so close he could feel the warmth of your breath on his face.  “Who was she?”  “My first girlfriend.” He admitted.  “What happened to her?”  “We broke up.” He said with a short laugh. “Right before my very first day as a cop.” While the conversation was far from appropriate for the situation, he supposed it worked to calm you down more as he felt you relax into the bed. His internal struggle was still playing tug-of-war with his psyche, not sure of how to proceed.

The piece in his ear picked up with some static before Hunnigan’s familiar voice was heard. “Leon are you there?” 

He ignored her in favor of continuing to dote over you, hand gently running through your hair, taking in your features more. That trepidation never left your eyes – he understood it. He probably looked psychotic right now, a murderer who was being eerily kind. He was self aware enough to know that much. 

“Leon, we haven’t heard a status report. Has the last target been eliminated?” She spoke loud enough this time that while it couldn’t have been above the lowest whisper for you, it was obvious you heard it, eyes widened again, mouth opening slightly. To keep you quiet he leaned forward pressing his lips to yours, a soft kiss you didn’t really return. “Stay quiet for me, ok?” He mumbled against your lips, before sitting up again. He considered replying to Hunnigan, but looking down at you, he took his earpiece out, tossing it to the other side of the room instead. 

Hey eyed you again, before adding another kiss. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this.’ He reprimanded himself, as he placed another this time to the corner of your mouth, then your cheek, then jaw. Another on your neck for good measure. ‘I should’ve done it the second she opened the door. I should’ve done my job.’ Despite his mind’s dialogue he continued now at your collar bone. ‘Like ripping off a band aid…. I can’t let her last moments be like��that.’ He began to rationalize as he looked up at you. “Let me make you feel good.” 

“Wh-what?”  “You deserve better than a drunk frat boy. Let me make you feel good.” He repeated.  “Why?”  “Because I want to.” He could clock the nervousness in your voice immediately. “You can say no.” He added. “I’m not a rapist.” 

“A-are you going to kill me if I say no?”  “No, of course not.” Again, it wasn’t technically a lie. He wouldn’t be doing it because you declined, but he felt mild disgust with himself for side-stepping the reality of the situation again. ‘It’s better this way though. For her.’ 

“Ok.” You said, nodding at him to continue.  He treated you like glass, gently working your thin tank top up and over your breasts. He continued by kissing each one tenderly before taking your left nipple into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it until he felt it pebble. When you whimpered at the feeling, he began to suck on it, kneading your other breast with his hand. When he pulled himself off with a pop, he looked down at you, lips parted, eyes closed. Enjoying so much despite him having done so little. Adorable. 

He ran his thumb along your bottom lip until he saw those pretty eyes crack open before capturing your lips again, taking the chance to slip his tongue inside once parted. You were sloppy with inexperience, but tasted like dessert, sweet. It made his cock twitch against his pants. He groaned slightly into your mouth, ignoring his own need. Pulling away he let you catch your breath, giving him the chance to move down your body one kiss under your breasts. The next above your naval – stomach contracting slightly. He added one more above the hem of your night pants. 

He looked up at you, silently checking with you if it was alright to continue again. When you nodded, he helped you out of the pants. Gently tugging them down from the waist band, lifting each separate leg himself, careful to not hurt your already injured feet. “You alright?” “Y-yeah.” 

“Let me know if anything hurts, ok?” “Ok.” “Good girl.” 

Leon tugged his leather jacket off discarding it on the floor before rolling up the sleeves of his button up. He claimed a spot between your legs, lifting one over his shoulder for better access to what he was about to do. He gave a reassuring kiss to your thigh, using a free hand to part your folds, rubbing his thumb over your clit gently. He eyed you watching as you melted under his touch, soft whimpers tickling at his eardrums. “Such a pretty girl.” He cooed, replacing his thumb with his tongue, swirling it around the sensitive bud. 

He had to grind down on the bed himself to relieve some of his own tension, reminding himself to keep his focus on you. His grip on your leg tightened as you arched your back, squirming more and more against his touch.  “God…oh god…” You chanted, head tossed back, the leg draped over his shoulder kicking at his back. He knew you were close when your voice cracked, soft gasps escaped your lips. He continued lapping at you as you ground against his face, letting you ride through your orgasm – only stopping when your hands made purchase in his hair to get his attention. “C-can’t…can’t.” 

Pulling back, he wiped your slick off his chin with his forearm, looking down at you. He watched as your chest heaved slowly, returning to a normal rhythm. Your uninjured eye was lidded less with shock and more with that familiar coming down of pleasure. He went to move back when you grabbed his arm, looking directly at him. “What about you?”  He was a little shocked by the words, your concern for him. “I said I wanted to make you feel good.” He chalked it up to your likely traumatized and now lust hazed brain. “Don’t worry about me.” Leon made the motion to move again.  “Wait.” You called, grip on his arm tightening. “What if… what if I want to?” 

He didn’t move, unsure of how to respond. He’d already fucked up the mission, already covered you in his DNA, yours on him – but he couldn’t do what you were asking. That was too far.

“P-please?” You choked out, tears now welling in your eyes, spilling over and staining your cheeks again. 

And just like that he was taken back to that day again, right before Raccoon City. A night he swore was the worst of his life, until he knew better. Sitting there across from him, begging him not to go – you sounded just like her too, like she was frozen in time beneath him. Even worse, this was the opposite of what he wanted, he wanted to make things easier for you, relax you.  “I just want to be close, please? Please?” You were full on crying now, face scrunching up, barely able to catch your breath.  “Ok. Ok.” He said, leaning down to kiss you again. “Shhh, don’t cry. Don’t cry. How do you want me to take you?” Your words came out between sniffles and hiccups. “Any way, you want.” 

He nodded, sitting back enough to help you sit up, slipping your shirt off all the way. “Can you flip over for me? Lay down flat on your stomach.” He helped you comply with the command, still careful of your injuries. He could see the bandages on your feet had turned a slight pink. Once you were laid out the way he wanted, relaxed, face down into the pillow, he worked his own shirt off, tossing it over in a pile atop his jacket. His gun was removed from the holster, he was careful to lock the safety, discarding it with his other items. He left his pants on, undoing them enough to free his half hard cock, the head still weeping. 

He spat in his hand, giving himself a few good tugs, feeling himself hardening fully again. “You ready?”  “Yeah.”  He crawled forward, gently lifting your butt up just enough for him to line himself at your soaking entrance. He grunted when he pressed in, you sucking him in warm and wet. He let you take a moment  to relax down again as he leaned forward, pressing the entirety of his bare chest to your back, sinking his cock in slowly until he was buried all the way inside of your heat. 

He kissed up your shoulders, and neck, rolling his hips into your slowly. “God you’re tight baby.” He whispered against your ear. He didn’t have the heart to rail you into the mattress, wanting to abate your request for closeness, intimacy.  “S’big…” You lazily mumbled into the pillow.  “I know, I know.” He crooned your neck just enough for him to lock your lips together again. “But you’re doing so good, taking me so well.” Letting you rest, he returned to focusing on the motion of setting a steady but not too rough pace, angling himself so that he hit that spot inside of you that had you whimpering again. He rewarded the noises by rolling you both onto the side, where he could wrap an arm around you like a tight hug, leg gently pulled over over his own so he had a better angle.  Likely for the best, Leon was close already, he slowed down more, returning to simply rolling his hips as he trailed his hand down your stomach, ghosting it over your naval and thighs before rubbing at your clit for a bit as he kissed and sucked softly against your neck. He fucked you like he would’ve done to her, like you were his lover, the most important thing to him. 

Your velvet walls felt like heaven as they squeezed against him, closer and closer to your own second orgasm. “That’s it baby.” He whispered hotly against your ear. “One more time for me, ok?” He sped up his fingers, feeling you tighten around him so much that he nearly felt his own eyes roll back. “G-good girl.” He praised, gripping your hip to speed up his own movements, his balls tightening as he came, cock throbbing as spurts of his seed painted your insides. 

Leon held you like that for a while, curling in on you, offering soft praises as he nuzzled into your neck from behind. He didn’t move a muscle until your breath evened out completely, and he could tell by the low thrum of your heartbeat that you were incredibly close, if not already asleep. He looked up at the clock on the nightstand – 4:45am it read. He had about 20 more minutes max before someone from HQ would be sent in as backup, now that he’d been MIA for so long. 

Now fully soft, he gently pulled himself out of you, and carefully rolled off the bed. He watched you for any more signs of movement as he buckled back up and redressed. There was that eerie silence settling over the house again, he felt heavy with the weight of the evening crushing against him like an invisible force. He wished for a moment that the world would swallow him up where he stood so he didn’t have to face his responsibilities, the consequences. 

You looked peaceful laying there. He knew it was just the exhaustion, shock, and grief, that kept you tugged under the waves of unconsciousness, but for his own sake he pretended you were in a truly relaxed state. Moreso, he was glad you wouldn’t experience any more of that pain or fear tonight.  Leon clicked the safety off the gun, watching you for any signs of movement. Not even a twitch as he cocked the gun again. He walked over, sitting at the side of the bed again, eyeing you over one more time. It felt like he was saying goodbye to a lot of things at that moment, his ex all over again, your future,  another piece of the man he wanted to be.  “I’m sorry. You don’t deserve this, you know?” He whispered, mostly to himself as he pressed the barrel of the pistol to the pillow. 

He couldn’t look this time. He wouldn’t look this time.  His chest tightened, having to take a moment to stop the bile trying to work its way up, and the urge to cry that had him wanting to heave against the floor. He grabbed his earpiece as he made his exit. 

“This is Kennedy to HQ – the last target has been exterminated.” 

[kafkasapartment]

A rare 18th century planetarium, silvered drum plate engraved with "Principal Affectations of the Planets", tables of the planets Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, and their details such as distance from the sun, periods, etc., as well as tables for the satellites of Saturn and Jupiter, and finely engraved zodiac calendar scale at border; plate mounted onto drum with geared mechanism, the whole turned by a manual hand-crank with ivory handle. Central coppered brass sun with silvered engraving of sun's face, five planetary arms with ivory planets and satellites, 1 1/2 inch terrestrial globe with 12 hand-colored engraved paper gores, the earth and moon rotating on separate geared mechanism with 2 rotating discs, showing the phases of the moon, the moon's path, and the time of day. Signed on the engraved silvered drum plate, "Made for Rich. D. Aldridge, Esq. by John Handsford, Bristol.

[dumbkiri]

𝐎𝐡, 𝐌𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ��ɴᴇ: ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜɴ ʀɪꜱᴇꜱ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ᴍᴏʀɴɪɴɢ

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader

In order to be a gentle lady of a house, you need to be a woman of patience and tolerance. Control your emotions and do not let your words slip from your mouth so easily. Sit across your prospects with regal dignity and speak when spoken to. 

Your mother and grandmother were no longer on this earth to guide you or to make a decision for you. So what do you do when you sit across from a man who so desperately wanted your hand, but you wanted nothing to do with him? 

“We hope to hear an answer from you today, Ms. [L.Name].” 

You slowly opened your eyes and hummed in thought. The chai mixed with coconut milk swirled around with the small spoon being its cause. Your hand stopped moving and you tapped the white spoon on the rim of the tea cup. 

Could it be possible to decline one of the strongest families in Jujutsu society? You always pondered this question and your good friends, Shoko and Satoru, have told you many times that yes, you definitely can do that. You cleared your throat and set the spoon down on your small plate decorated with sweets. 

“I thank you for your patience, Naobito-sama and Naoya-san. Yet I have trouble with making a decision that decides my future. As you both know, I inherited the blessed technique from my mother and it is considered, well, a blessing, to hold such a power.” 

But they do not know that blessed energy erases all signs of cursed energy. You could never give the strong heirs they wanted to the Zen’in Family because your children will grow up to harness blessed energy, not cursed. You know for a fact that Naoya would beat you for keeping such a secret from him. 

“I have to speak with all my prospects before I come up with any decision. Remember this meeting is to cement the choosing ceremony. We work out our deals here and now then when or if I choose your gift,” You gestured to Naoya with a smile on your clear face, “Our deal is made with one another. May we continue with the terms?” 

Naobito sighed while his son was growing angered by the second you ignored the bribe they tried to get you to take. You wanted things to be fair, so you didn’t care for the gift that Naobito told you that Naoya would put in the choosing ceremony. Then you insisted that he choose a new gift or else you would blatantly refuse it once the day comes. 

“Yes, we shall proceed. What we want most is strong heirs,” 

You held back the roll of your eyes behind your light purple veil. It was made of the most intricate lace and you did not want them to catch any signs of your annoyance. It fit well with the white shawl that connected with the light purple kimono. 

“Children with your blessed energy will give a new power to the Zen’in Family. With that being said, any and all heirs that you produce will be well taken care of.” 

You took the cup in your hand and indulged in a sip of the cool drink. Then you set it back with a soft clink and replied back, 

“Even if they are born females?” 

You knew exactly what you were implying when you asked this question. You saw how badly the twins, Maki and Mai, were treated. And you hated every second you spent at the Zen’in’s seeing this harsh treatment. They were just little girls back then and they should be treated with the same respect. 

“If they are girls,” Naobito put his hand under his chin and murmured to himself. Then he put his hand down and said, “I expect Naoya and you to produce a male first.” 

Your shoulder shook from your giggles and you lifted your veil a bit to glare at Naobito, “You know as well as I do that we are not in control of that. If you cannot ensure my future daughters' well beings then there should be no further discussion, Naobito-sama.” 

You shifted to the left and picked up a brass bell at the corner of the table. Before you could ring it, a hand had clamped down on your wrist and your eyes followed up the trail of the traditional kimono. 

Naoya was glaring at you with a scowl on his face like he was trying to formulate his sentence to the best of his ability. Then his lips parted to say, 

“I know that no matter what, you will produce a male first. You’re a strong woman and you hold a powerful energy that only female members can attain. When our son is born, he will not possess the blessed energy, but my cursed technique or a variation of it. Our daughter will inherit that ability to control blessed energy and if she comes to existence, she will be treated like her brother. You have my word.” 

To put trust in his word would be like feeding yourself to the wolves. Nonetheless, you took your hand back and nodded your head to the deal, “I understand, Naoya-san. I will see you at the choosing ceremony.” 

You rang the bell and your faithful servant, Tadashi, slid the door behind you open to allow the Zen’in’s to leave your home. Naobito and Naoya walked out while you held your head down as they passed by. Another servant guided them out of your home while Tadashi bowed his head before walking in the room. 

You lifted up your veil and looked up at Tadashi who gave you a sympathetic look. 

“Lady [Name], our grandfather would beat me with a stick seeing an expression like that on your face. He would scold me for not doing my job.” 

This caused you to wipe the look and replace it with a tired smile, “Oh, Tadashi, what’s that saying our grandparents used to say to us when they caught us fighting? We would be at each other’s throats, do you remember that?” 

Tadashi laughed with his chest and he kneeled down at your side, “I would like to forget those memories. Anyways, they told us, ‘There is always trouble in the night, but the sun rises every morning’.”

You rubbed your cheeks with the tip of your fingers and said, “Tadashi, whoever I go to, will you follow me? You’re the only family I have left and I cannot imagine myself surviving all alone.” 

“Now we both know grandfather would rise from the grave if I do not follow you. Of course, anywhere you go, no matter how far, I will be right behind you.” Tadashi promised and he stood up to his full height. He walked out of the room and told you that there was one more prospect that would like to speak to you. 

You cleared your throat and put your veil back down to cover the upper half of your face. Your eyes were hooded and you fixed your position. With a shaky hand, you rang the bell and waited for the man that would be making a deal with you. 

“Ow, Maki, did you really have to bring a weapon with you?”

“Of course!” 

“Did you see the way they glared at her? I would have brought a weapon too!” 

“Salmon.” 

The door slid open and you stared at your students with your mouth parted in surprise. You couldn’t believe that your students were here, especially on an important day. You wanted to scold them for doing this until you felt a very familiar cursed energy behind you. 

“Good morning, earthworm! I decided to bring your favorite people to eat some lunch with you while you take a break from seeing those old men!” 

You turned back around on your knees and pointed at Satoru with a worried glare, “What are you doing here? And you dragged our students to be here too? Do you know what this would look like? Like I’m not taking my marriage prospects seriously.”

Control your emotions. Be patient and tolerant. You chanted this a few times in your head then you focused back to the teenagers that awkwardly stood at the entrance of the room. You addressed all of them with a stern tone, “Did Naobito-sama and Naoya-san see you?” 

Satoru shook his head furiously behind you and made a ‘X’ with his hands over his head. 

Yuta rubbed the back of his neck and spoke up for his group, “Yeah and well, we weren’t accepted gracefully. B-but your servant, Tadashi, said it would be okay for us to have lunch with you! That Naoya was the second to last of your marriage…people…husbands?” 

You rubbed your temple and called for Tadashi who immediately appeared in the room with his head bowed. 

“And what of the last man, how long is he willing to wait? I don’t have time to eat with my students although I would love to. I do not want him waiting for too long, Tadashi.” 

You didn’t want to reprimand Tadashi in front of your students, but these meetings needed to be taken seriously. The brown haired adult cleared his throat and gestured to the man at your table, “Excuse the terrible announcement, but Ms. [L.Name], Gojo Satoru is the last man. He was the one to suggest lunch with your students to make you comfortable.” 

You could feel the confidence radiating off of Satoru’s body. You glanced at him from behind your veil and he was currently leaning on the palms of his hands. One leg was bent and the other stretched out to you from underneath the table. 

“You can hide your eyes with that lace cloth, but your blush is very apparent.” 

His words made the heat on your face even more unbearable and you looked away from him. Your right hand flew to your face and you cleared your throat, not wanting to make his words any truer than they already were. 

“Well then, please sit down.” You told your students and they happily crowded the table. A spot was left free by your right side and you looked at Yuta oddly. Did he not want to sit close to you? 

You had thought you and Rika settled your differences. Your questioning gaze took up Satoru’s attention and he smiled at your turmoil. 

“I invited another to join us, but they’re running late.” 

Yuta looked to his left and saw the scrutinizing squint you were giving him. 

“I don’t want to get beat up, [L.Name]-sensei.”

Was all he said as an explanation then someone else barged into the room dumping his backpack onto the floor. You didn’t have time to greet the person because he dropped his body down next to you with a huff. Spiky hair blocked your vision as the person gave you a hug and greeting, 

“Sorry, I’m late. Someone invited me an hour ago.” 

Megumi pulled away with a grumble and glared at Satoru who snickered at him. You hugged the boy back and looked down at his attire. He was in his school uniform and it looked a bit tattered. 

“Megumi, did you get into a fight?”

The boy ignored your look and pulled away from your loving hands that skimmed over his face that was slowly forming bruises. So this is what Yuta meant. He was afraid Megumi was going to beat him up. 

“What a silly notion.” 

You chuckled and servants flooded the room with food on plates. You let Megumi enjoy the food as did the rest of your students. They were very interested in what you had to say about your whole ordeal. 

“I just hope my future husband is…I don’t know.” 

You deflated and thought back to your prospects. None of them were truly nice to you and all they cared about was the blessed energy you had. 

“It’s hard to know that I’m the last one in my family with a technique that every family wants to grab a hold of. The thing is, they don’t know the important downside of marrying a [L.Name] that has blessed energy.” 

You drank more of your tea and explained further with your head down in shame, “Any heirs I produce will not be able to have cursed techniques. Carrying the babe for nine months will erase anything they inherit from their father. My sons will become protectors of their sisters. Like how Tadashi is my protector.”

“W-why not just tell them that?” 

Yuta stuttered and he yelped when Maki smacked the back of his head. Then she picked up her bowl of rice saying, “She’s the last of her lineage, idiot. Why do you think that is?” 

Yuta looked around the table for an answer and you handed over some beef to Megumi’s plate which he took gratefully. You spoke softly and said to Yuta, 

“My family was assassinated one night. All my cousins, aunts and uncles. Even my mother, who was the holder of Nami’s Miracle, our ancestor from the Heian Period, died that night. Tadashi, at the time, slept in the room next to me and he heard the commotion first and woke me up. As stated before, a male [L.Name] is assigned as a protector and he was mine. He dragged me out of my room and hid the both of us in this room.” 

You closed your eyes and sighed, “My mother died because she was the reincarnation of Nami. They killed her because Nami was Sukuna’s, how do I put this?”

Your two students, Maki and Panda, and Megumi spoke up all at once. 

“Slave.” 

“Wife.” 

“Concubine.”

This earned a forced smile from you, “Yes, all those. They were afraid that Nami would overtake my mother’s soul and I don’t know, betray everyone? The only reason why I lived was because Nami’s Miracle was passed down to me with a ritual after my mother took her last breath. They believe that I could be controlled by their authority, they weren’t wrong about that. I am indulging in their marriage proposals.”  

“And if you tell them that your future children cannot inherit cursed techniques, what’ll happen?” Yuta innocently asked, he wasn’t in the mood to eat anymore. 

“Nothing will happen to her,” Megumi grumbled, stuffing rice into his mouth as he chewed angrily. Even thinking about harm or death coming to you made his blood boil. “They won’t lay a hand on her.” The 13 year old boy boldly stated and swallowed his food with a drink of his water. 

“He’s right,” Maki chimed in, “[L.Name]-sensei will be protected by us, no matter who she marries. You better let us know if they hurt you, got it?” She directed the question at you and accepted her words. Your students were too precious for their own good. 

“Hey, this is my proposal, not yours,” Satoru leaned over the table with an elbow propped up and his chin in his hand. He tilted his head from his students then to you. Despite his blindfold and your thin veil, he stared straight into your eyes. You could feel the way he drank your appearance up. 

“I don’t care if our sons become protectors of their sisters. But that’s because I believe that our sons will still get something out of being their protector. After all, we are the strongest sorcerers, the same will go for our children.” 

Children. Not heirs. 

“But if they don’t?” You straightforwardly asked. 

Satoru hummed and put his chin in his hand puffing out his cheeks for dramatics. Then he raised his arms up and said happily, “Well then, they’ll have my good looks! Come on, eat up! I made sure Tadashi had the servants in the kitchen cook your favorites along with Megumi’s.” 

Megumi swallowed his current piece of food and pointed a death glare at his guardian, “I deserve this after you sent me a late invite. I swear you like to see me fail.” 

“Nope!” Satoru shouted and picked up a sweet delicacy, “I just love to prove how much you love your dear mother figure!” 

You giggled at Megumi’s staunch commitment with his words, “I will choose her infinitely over you as a father figure.” 

“That’s enough from you both,” You hugged Megumi into your side as you winked at Satoru trying to appeal to the white haired male. But his feelings were hurt by the young boy. 

“Excuse you, I’m the one who found you in the dumpster,” Satoru said offhandedly. 

This caused Yuta to look at Megumi with wide eyes, “Wait, Megumi was found in a dumpster?” 

“Yep! Discarded like he was nothing and I had to be the one to find him!” Satoru leaned back on his palms again while Megumi slammed his hand on the table. Some of the silverware and dishes clinked against one another, 

“No, I wasn’t found in the dumpster! Also you’re the one who approached me with a weird looking face! [Name] was the only one out of the two of you that was approachable!” Megumi shouted in defiance. 

It was at this moment you wished you could stop time. You were surrounded by people you loved and who loved you back. Megumi and your students filled parts of you that your family should have if they were still alive. 

You watched silently as Megumi and Satoru argued with your hands in your lap. Maki and the boys grinning at the silly scene that radiated a comfortable environment for all. 

If you were married to Naoya, you know that moments spent with your newfound family would be no more. Maki was a discarded Zen’in and Megumi…well he was under the care of you and Satoru. Your other students were also going to be turned away. 

Your eyes fluttered over to Satoru and you saw the way he slightly turned his head to you. He closed his mouth holding back his retort and shouted shifting to a different target, “Maki, you won’t believe this, but Panda and Yuta lost Playful Cloud!” 

“They what!” 

“That’s not true! He's lying!” 

It was a diversion so Satoru could speak to you alone over the table while Megumi joined in the teens yelling at one another. 

“You’re nervous.” 

This statement from Satoru was true. 

“Of course, I am. This week is the choosing ceremony and the holidays are coming up. I will be with my husband celebrating Christmas with him for the first time…if he celebrates it.” 

You said all this with a dejected tone. Meanwhile, Satoru listened diligently to your words, spoken and unspoken. He knew you were concerned over the life you had now and what would be taken away once you marry. 

Satoru hummed and leaned over the table again, but this time he was much closer to you. Carefully, he reached his hands out and pinched the end of your veil and pulled it over your head. 

“He was right to call you pretty girl this entire time,” Satoru whispered. 

Your breath hitched and your heart ached from the mention of an old friend. Pretty girl was a nickname Suguru Geto honored you with while Satoru stuck with earth worm because of your love for gardening. 

“Satoru, I might do something stupid if I marry Naoya. Like jumping off of a bridge,” You looked down and missed the way Satoru’s body tensed up.  

“Don’t worry, everything will be okay,” He pulled away and the veil slipped down once his fingers released the fabric, “ because I promise that I will be your husband.” 

This declaration rang with truth, you could feel the shivers run down you back once the words left his mouth. Yeah, it would be a blessing to marry your high school crush.

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Read the original series here under the title called "The Wife of Gojo Satoru"

[beansprean]

Commission from @vampireshmampire for "The Honeymoon Suite" - pls read this fic it's so cute

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Shot from the bottom of a flight of switchback wooden stairs turning right, covered centrally by a dark green rug. The walls are half paneled in a pale beech wood below and light floral-patterned wallpaper above. Under the second flight on the right is a large leafy plant and a half-obscured brass sign that says “No Smoking, No Hexing, No Marking T-, No Bloodlet-, No Ectoplasm.” On the left wall going up the stairs is a small framed photo of two smiling women with red hair standing in front of a large house and holding a “sold” sign and two brass signs, one says “suited” and points up the stairs and the other marks the floor as “1”. Further up the wall are other kitschy decorations: a patterned hanging tapestry; a large painting of a dandelion against a full moon; a framed photo of two smiling redheaded women posed cheek to cheek in wedding dresses; a mounted bluegill fish labeled “Franklin III”; a decorative plate ringed with witchy runes and a red seeing eye in the center; a decorative plate ringed in yellow flowers, buds, and bees, with “The Bee and Bee” written in cursive in the center; a needlepoint that says “home is where the wine is”; a painting of a flowery valley at a low angle, sunset sky peeking through a heart-shaped lichen exit at the end; and a single window with orange spotted curtains and blacked out panes. In the corner of the landing between flights there is a small French accent chair with a teal leaf pattern and a Grecian vase filled with pink-budded branches. Nandor is sitting sprawled on the landing, one leg stretched across it and the other laid out on the stairs below. He is leaning against the left-hand wall, hair bunched up as if he had fallen and slid down. He is flushed purple and laughing hysterically, chin tipped up and mouth open wide, tears leaking from his eyes. One arm is laid down limply and the other is held up to grasp blindly at Guillermo’s elbow. Guillermo is standing between Nandor’s legs, hunched over with one hand braced on his knee as he cries laughing with equal hysteria, flushed to his ears and helplessly lifting one finger to his laughing mouth to try to shush them. They are clearly drunk as hell but having a great time.

2. The same drawing, zoomed in to Guillermo and Nandor. /end ID

[the-traveling-poet]

Soft Touch

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Just another average day in the Scouts, or so you thought. When messes are created, you try your best to clean them before your Captain sees and loses his shit. Again.

Little did you know, a broken plate in the mess hall would bring you and Levi closer together.

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Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader (using Y/N-L/N)

Warnings: None, just slow burn fluff for our lonely Cap’n. Mild language use.

(SFW)

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A/N: First writing post, not sure how this will go over but we’re giving it a shot nonetheless (:

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Great, something else to piss him off further.

Despite the soft glow of midday sunlight filtering in through the windows of HQ lighting up the halls with soothing golden light, and the clear blue skies outside base that promised yet another warm and relaxing beautiful summer day for those in the Survey Corps to enjoy, you were worried.

Everyone had woken up that morning to an average day in the Corps. Everything was as it had always been, and always should be.

Early morning training, a quick breakfast, running errands for the higher ups, sparring practice before lunch time rolled around....Everything was peaceful since no expeditions outside the walls had been planned anytime soon, and everyone adorned a smile on their face and let lose a laugh or two.

But only when he wasn't around.

And that's what had gotten you into this current situation.

You stood before a mess on the dining hall's floor. Plates, bowls, and a couple mugs had been hazardously tossed off a table after lunch and onto the stone floor below, shattering them and scattering food everywhere. You sighed, then nealt down to begin clearing the shards of ceramics before wiping and mopping away the food stains.

Please don't come in here....Please don't come in here....

Ever since their early morning training, everyone had taken note of Captain Levi's foul mood. It seems he had woken up on the wrong side of his bed and was taking it out on the world. Curses would fly, extra work loads would be handed out as punishments for those who had slacked off to enjoy the weather or joke with their peers, and many scoffs and defeated sighs were heard leaving his mouth as he took over the sparring courses for the day.

Everyone knew on days like this, it was best to just do as he said quickly and without question or complaint, less you risk making the situation worse.

You wondered what it was this time, that had gotten him so worked up. The last you’d seen of him was at the beginning of lunch in the dinning hall. Instead of taking a seat and eating a meal with his co-captains, he stomped into the kitchen, grabbed a fresh mug of tea, and stomped back out. Most likely, you assumed, to return to his office.

Perhaps I should go check on him? Is that appropriate of a cadet?

You had cleared the ceramic shards and placed them in a small bin you retrieved from the kitchens, and set to work on the leftover scraps that now littered the table's bench and the floor below.

Just then, the large wooden doors leading into the dining hall opened, and you stiffened. The footsteps at the door paused for a second, then a tired sigh echoed the otherwise empty room from the person who entered. Immediately, you were on your feet and spun to face them, trying your best to hide the disaster behind your frame.

Captain Levi stood at the door, one hand on the brass handle he still held while the other came up to pinch the bridge of his nose. His sharp eyes snapped up to your face and narrowed. You were quick to salute him.

"Captain! Can I help you?"

He took a moment to answer, his eyes wandering over the mess you were so poorly hiding with your body.

"Was this you?"

You winced and turned your eyes back to the food on the floor, feeling guilty despite this mess not being your fault.

"No, sir. But I'm taking care of it as quickly and efficiently as I can, sir."

Levi seemed to ponder a moment before signing once more. He rolled up his sleeves as he made his way over to you, eyes trained on the mess.

"Go fetch some gloves from the storage room. You'll either cut yourself on those shards, or dirty your hands in that shit." He said absentmindedly.

Now that he was closer to you, you could clearly make out the dark circles forming under his eyes, and red veins webbing across the sclera of his eyes. His hair wasn't neatly combed as it always seemed to be, and his clothes were slightly wrinkled.

He didn't wake up on the wrong side of the bed; he never went to bed...

"Yes, sir," You saluted and hurried out of the room. Once you returned as quickly as you could, Levi was already near the table with another scrap bucket and white cloths covering his head to protect his hair, and over the lower section of his face to shield his nose and mouth. Shaking your head at the undeniably adorable sight, you briskly walked over to him and handed him his gloves.

"Thanks, L/N," he mumbled as he slipped them on.

"Of course, Captain," you nodded.

Suddenly, he sighed deeply once more.

"Captain this, Captain that. It's all I've heard for three straight days. Just Levi, please," he groaned.

You paused as you reached for some bread crusts to throw into the bin. You was at a loss for words and just stared blankly at him.

"Don't make me repeat myself brat, I hate repeating myself."

"Uh, yes sir! Levi, sir." You managed to stutter out a responce.

"Now, let's get this shit cleaned up before another brat decides to come in here and trip over this or make it worse." Levi grumbled as he tossed scraps into the scrap bin.

You hummed in agreement, too lost in your own thoughts to respond.

He seems a bit more approachable right now...Perhaps now would be a good time to offer him some help?

"Cap- Levi, sir?" You began slowly.

"What." He barely spared you his attention, but you could see he was listening.

"Well...I wondered if you were alright?"

His eyes snapped up to yours in an instant, a slight indent in his brow.

"What do you mean, L/N?"

"I just mean that, you seem on edge today? And I wondered if there was something wrong." You rephrased yourself quickly, fearing his reaction.

Levi thought for a moment, studying your face intently. "I'm fine, Y/N. Get back to cleaning."

Just as Levi's hand reached for a half eaten bagel on the floor, you blurted out; "You haven't slept for awhile, have you?"

The look on his face made you immediately regret you boldness.

But instead of saying anything, he just sighed and turned his gaze away.

"Can't seem to. Too much work, too many troubling thoughts."

He went to lower his facial cloth, but forgot his gloved hand had recently been picking through discarded food scraps on the floor. A dark stain was left on his cheek from where the glove had made contact with his face.

"Son of a bitch!" He ripped the cloth off his face and the glove off his hand as he let curses fly. It seems he had finally reached his limits, and his frustrations were now being taken out verbally to the food on the floor, as if it was the cause of all his pains and misfortunes. If he wasn't so down, and you didn't care for him so much, you might have laughed. But instead, you thought of something else.

Impulsively, you took your own gloves off and grabbed a handkerchief from your uniform coat pocket and reached out to wipe the stain away.

When your hand came into contact with his face, Levi flinched, and then stiffened. His mouth hung half open in surprise and his eyes widened almost comically. Taking this opportunity of silence from him, you gently wiped away the gunk before discarding the handkerchief into the scrap bin.

For a moment though, you let your now bare hand trail across his cheek and was amused to see the rising color in his face.

"Levi?" you asked softly.

"Uh-I...What?" Levi stammered, trying to compose himself. He was obviously caught off guard.

"Let me help, okay? You're not completely alone here in HQ." You smiled bashfully.

Levi was silent a moment longer, then nodded with yet another tired sigh. But this time, you could have sworn it sounded more like a quiet sigh of relief.

"I....I'd like that, Y/N. Thank you."

And for the first time, you saw Levi crack a small, brief smile of gratitude. The corner of his lips lifted ever so slightly, but his eyes showed the emotion behind his minute smile.

Perhaps you’d get to see his smiles more often now that he was allowing himself to warm up to his cadet a little more.

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[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Breaking Dishes. - OC

pairing: F!OC: Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price words: 2.7K~ cw: smut, arguments, violence, fighting/roughousing, breaking dishes, insults, toxic relationship.

It’s 8:12 A.M. when Kathleen finds herself sliding off bed and wrapping herself in a flowery black and pink silk robe. John’s side of the bed is cold, a sign he’s gotten up long ago.

She pads over to their en-suite bathroom and quickly washes her face, brushes her teeth and her hair, before she leaves the bedroom in search of her husband.

As she enters the kitchen, she finds her temper already rising, her jaw clenching as she looks around, finding multiple reasons to get angry already, so early in the morning, so early in a weekend morning.

First, she finds that he’s made breakfast already. Not for them, just for himself. Nothing for her. Selfish bastard.

Second, he made himself a full English too. Having left the rest of the eggs and sausages out of the fridge. The milk too even though he KNOWS she hates when he does that.

Third, he’s left a mess of pans and utensils on the kitchen stove… Which means she can’t even cook herself breakfast if she wanted to.

Fourth, the water kettle is not full enough for her to make herself a cuppa. In fact, the water in it is already lukewarm, even if there was enough to make herself one, she still couldn’t.

And fifth, John is sitting outside in the balcony, getting some sun, while only wearing a pair of jeans, showing off his strong torso and bulging arms to the whole neighborhood. Like a bloody tart.

Oh… Kathleen. is. pissed.

“JONATHAN. WILLIAM. PRICE!” She calls out at the top of her lungs as she whips the sliding glass door open and coming face to face with the man of the hour.

“Morning, Kat.” John greets her, completely calm and collected as he looks up at her, leaning his elbow lazily on the table next to him, which holds his empty breakfast plate and cutlery. 

He’s lounging without a care in the world, a grey wool sweater across his lap, and a mug of tea in his hand.

“Morning my arse! Did’ya see the mess you left in the kitchen?!” She asks him pointedly, brown eyes wide as she glares pure daggers at him.

Unfortunately for her, her raising her voice and her stern glares do little to him now, four years into their relationship, one into their marriage. He’s gotten used to them.

“Calm your tits, woman, I’m going to clean it after I’m done here.” He replies nonchalantly as he gestures vaguely. “Can’t I have a moment’s peace?”

“Oh, you want a moment’s peace, do ya?” She asks him as she crosses her arms over her chest, dipping her head to the side. “When do I get a moment’s peace, hm? When do I get a bloody weekend when I wake up and there’s not a mess to clean or with my breakfast made for me?” She asks with a cocked brow.

John shifts around in “I let you sleep in. Didn’t make any noise. You chose to get up right now. Could've stayed asleep and you would've woken up to clean dishes.” He remaked with a shrug.

“Ex-cuse me?” Kathleen asked pointedly as she stared at him. 

“You heard me. You’re getting an attitude for no reason, da’ling.” John remarked as he finished gulping down his tea.

Kathleen wanted to yell at him some more. She really wanted to. The man drove her insane, especially when he was like this… Correct.

“Don’t you gaslight me, Jonathan. I have a right to want to wake up to a clean house and some food made for me!” She retorted, grasping at straws for something to justify her anger.

“And this is after you complained I never make breakfast the way you like it?” He retorted as he looked her up and down before standing up, gathering his plate, cutlery and empty cup of tea.

“You-!” She sputtered a bit as she looked up at her husband, who gently moved her aside so he could slip past her back inside the house. “I- You-!” She continued as she followed after him.

”Face it, Kat, you have no leg to stand on, da’lin’.” John remarked as he entered the kitchen.

“Don’t you bloody walk away from me!” She raised her voice and suddenly shoved him from behind. It caused his empty cup of tea to roll of its perch atop the dirty plate he was carrying and shatter into a million pieces on the hardwood floor. 

John stopped in his tracks as soon as the cup fell, so as to not step on the shards and turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Was that fuckin’ necessary, da’lin’?”

“Yes.” Kathleen replied with a bite to her tone as she stared up into his eyes, holding her ground even as he turned and stood over her.

“Really? What’d I do to deserve that push, hm?” He asked her as he dipped his head to the side, blue eyes trailing over the form of his wife beneath him, wrapped in a silken robe that wrapped beautifully around her full figure.

Meanwhile, Kathleen’s brown eyes were glued to her husband’s figure too, trailing over the strong neck, broad shoulders, muscular pecs, soft stomach, and the abundant hair that covered it. 

“You- You were sitting outside like a bloody tart, showin’ off for the bloody neighbors!” She suddenly said as her eyes shot up to look at him, having found something to grasp on to yell at him some more.

John’s eyebrows raised, his lips morphed into a smirk and he gave her a mocking look, his nose scrunching up a bit. “Is that what this is, da’lin’? You’re jealous?” He asked her condescendingly.

“Oh piss off, John, I’m not jealous!” She retorted pointedly as she glared at him.

“Right…” John asked as he took a step over her. “Then why are you complaining about me being shirtless, then?” He teased her as one of his hands moved to grasp her around the chin, squeezing her face lightly.

“I-” Kathleen tried to defend herself, having already realized that today just wasn’t one of her days when it came to having a sharp tongue. So she did what she could, ever competitive she was, wasn’t going to take the disrespect lying down.

Grabbing his forearm, she ripped his hand off her face, then, took the plate off his other hand, and threw it across the living room blindly, hearing it shatter somewhere, probably against the bookshelf by the TV.

“Fuck. You. John Price. I’m sick and tired of your bloody attitude.” She pointed a finger in his face and then poked him on the chest. “You think you can walk around here as you wish, as if you’re in bloody charge? I think the fuck not!” She scolded him.

John didn’t even flinch at her poking him, or the plate being hurled across the room. He was used to this. Used to her. Hell, it turned him on when Kathleen was being a cunt to him.

John reached forward and grabbed her by her right forearm, pulling her against him. “Yeah? Then who’s in charge, da’lin’?” He challenged as he looked down his nose at her.

“It sure as hell isn’t you!” She retorted, her voice, much like her hackles, raised, even if she didn’t try, at all, to pull away from him. She wasn’t afraid of John. Never had been, never would be.

“Let’s see about that then.” John told her as he pulled her over to the living couch, spun her away from him and bent her over the armchair.

Kathleen squeaked softly, knowing well what was coming, as John pinned her wrists behind her back with one hand, the other rolling up her robe to expose her thighs and her ass.

“Who’s in charge, hm?” John goaded her before he whipped his hand back and delivered a hard smack to one of her round ass cheeks, causing it to ripple, a moan falling from her parted lips.

“Not. You.” She replied, huffing a moan again when he delivered a second smack to her ass. “Fuck. You. John.” She grunted through her teeth.

“What’d you say, da’lin’?” John asked as he leaned close to her ear. “Did you just tell me to go fuck myself?” He teased, watching as she fruitlessly writhed over the armrest, her head buried down in the couch cushion, her hands and arms struggling in his grip.

She rolled her head to the side so she could catch him through the corner of her eye. “Yes, I fucking did. And I’ll say it again. Fuck you, John.” She spat at him.

“Tsk-tsk. Brat.” John mused with a smirk on his lips. She could hear it. Then he smacked her again, and again, always making sure to strike the same spot, her skin already redening and blushing as the skin warmed up and the blood vessels popped below it.

John only gave her a break once the dulcets of her voice had softened and her moans had become whimpers, her arms and hands having gone limp in his grasp. “Who’s in charge, Kat?” He checked as he looked at her with a satisfied smirk on his lips.

Kathleen’s brown eyes caught his, her face just as red as her ass, her eyes widened, pupils blown from lust. “Fuck. You.” She gritted through her teeth.

“Oh, that wasn’t enough was it, sweet’art?” He goaded again. “Very well.” He added. John’s hand grabbed hold of the waist band of her panties and pulled them down swiftly, noting the wet spot she had already left in them. 

“Someone’s enjoying being spanked huh, you brat? Someone likes having an attitude adjustment…” He goaded as he let go of her panties, letting them fall around her ankles.

Before Kathleen could even retort properly, John’s rough and calloused fingers delivered a slap to her puffy cunt, causing her to squirm and squeal, her legs straightening up and trembling. 

“John!” She cried out as he continued repeatedly slapping her pussy, causing her to squirm and writhe against the hard material of the armrest below her. 

“That’s it, call my name, da’lin’.” He goaded as he kept repeatedly and continuously smacking her warm, wet folds. “Who’s in charge, here, huh?”

“F-Fuck… You!” She spat at him, as she finally freed her arms from John’s weakened grip. Then, she threw an elbow back, hitting her husband squarely in the nose.

“Ah, you cunt!” John complained as he suddenly stumbled back back, one hand shooting up to cup his now bleeding nose, while Kathleen suddenly rolled off her perch on the couch.

“No, you’re the cunt!” She retorted before suddenly lunging herself at him, throwing her whole weight on top of John, who, not expecting it, landed on the floor with a hard thud.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Kat!” John replied as he tried to get a grab at his wife, instead, only getting her trying to grip him by the arms and pin him to the floor.

She struggled with it, of course, she might have some military training, but not nearly enough to fight him, and definitely not enough strength to fight him.

His forearms bulged under her hands, the rough skin prickling with goosebumps, the adrenaline flowing through his veins, as well as hers, the both of them desperate to fight the other.

John bucked his hips and rolled them over before she could even attempt a proper pin down, landing her on the floor with a thud and a huff from her lungs.

He grabbed her by the hair with one hand, the other gripping her wrists together and pining her to the floor instead. 

Kathleen wrapped her legs around his hip and attempted to roll them over again, unsuccessfully, so, instead, she did the only thing she could do. She leaned up and spat in John’s face.

John’s eyes closed for a moment and his jaw clenched before they opened again, looking even more angry and… horny than before. “Is that how it’s going to be, Kathleen?” He asked her as he let go of her hair and used his hand to collect the spit off his skin. 

“Yeah, it is-” She barely had time to continue before he was plugging her mouth with his fingers, causing her to swallow them and her own saliva back up, pressing down on his tongue, preventing her from continuing her tirade.

“Keep your smart-ass gob shut, sweetheart, or you won't have a fuckin' jaw to move when I'm done wit ya.” He told her, eyes locked on hers. Kathleen looked up at him, eyes widened, pupils blown, before she wrapped her lips around his fingers, beginning to give him a suck.

“That’s it…” He told her. “You look so much better with your mouth shut…” He goaded her with a smirk on his lips. Kathleen’s eyes sparkled with mischief at his comment, a clear sign that she felt challenged by his condescending tone… So, she bit down onto his fingers as hard as he could.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell, Kat…” John hissed as he pushed his fingers deeper in her mouth like one would a dog, causing her to sputter and choke, and forcing her to let go of them, allowing him to pull them back out.

“C’mere.” He demanded and grabbed her jaw with tight fingers, forcing her mouth to open, before he swished his tongue inside his own mouth to collect some saliva, before spitting it into her mouth. “Swallow.” He demanded and, for once, she obeyed. “Good fuckin’ girl.”

Kathleen then squeaked in surprise as he pulled open her robe, leaving it splayed open on the hardwood floor before he grabbed one of her legs, pushing it up against her chest while he sat over the other one.

“We need to adjust that fuckin’ attitude of yours. It’s way too bloody early for you to be fightin’ me, you hear?!” He taunted her as he undid the fly in his jeans and shimmied both his the trousers and boxer briefs down, allowing him to pull out his hardened cock.

“Fuck you, John.” She retorted as she squirmed a bit beneath him, trying to drag herself away with the help of her elbows.

“That’s what I’m about to do to you, sweetheart.” He taunted her before he quickly grabbed hold of her again, using one hand to push her down against the floor, one hand wrapped around her jaw and neck, while the other wrapped around his cock and used it to brush his leaky tip against her folds.

“John-” Kathleen grumbled as she wrapped her own hands around his hairy forearm, nails digging into his flexed muscle, dragging drown his skin.

“Sh-Shhh…”  He murmured before he drove his cock deep into her cunt, causing her to huff and moan, her head falling back as he plunged as far as he could.

“That’s my girl…” He teased her. He shifted around and lifted her other leg too, pushing it forward against her chest, allowing him to sink in deeper, before he started thrusting his hips down into her.

Her warm walls spread open to accommodate him, his cock making way inside fully with each snap of his hips. “That’s it… That’s what you needed, isn’t it?” He goaded her with a smirk. Unluckily for her, Kathleen could do little more than nod in agreement.

“Tell me you love me, da’lin’...” John cooed at his wife as he pounded deep into her, reaching that spot in her walls that only John had ever been able to reach.

“I love y-oooh…” Kathleen murmured, being cut off by a sudden shift in his demeanor, a more aggressive, ruthless rhythm coming into place, his hips snapping punishingly against hers, his cock bottoming out in her.

“That’s it, Kat, tell me you love me… Tell me you love me…” He repeated over and over. “Tell me you love me and my cock inside you, da’lin’... Tell me…”

“I love you, John…” Kathleen whined, her head rolling back on the hard floor, her arms wrapping around his neck and shoulders, fingers digging into the flesh spot between his shoulder blades, her nails just barely grazing the tattoo on his nape.

“You’re such a fuckin’ cunt, Kat… Such a fuckin’ cunt… But I love you so much…” John murmured before he pressed his lips into hers in a sloppy, wet kiss.

[niobiumao3]

Updates! Completed the Lego-only datapad, really like how it came out:

I got 4 different colors of the blue rounds, ultimately I went with satin light blue but I think any of these is a good match. For the top, a good ol' 1 x 1 calculator piece.

Additionally I got Tech a set of tools and some odds and ends to make him a workspace:

Next up, improved Jedi Phee lightsaber, using the transparent yellow bar. Plus, some artifacts/treasure hunting pieces for her:

Finally, a mini-Maurader MOC the housemate spotted at the local shop:

I have a second MOC coming, but I really like this one because it has a minifig seat :D

Parts list for the odds and ends below the cut

Phee's lightsaber 4L bar 30374, transparent yellow lightsaber hilt 64567, metallic silver

Phee's ancient wonders 1 x 2 decorated 3069bpb1016, tablet 2 x 2 decorated 3068bpb0929, pirate map minifig utensil key 40359a, chrome antique brass 1 x 2 decorated 3069bpb0257, tarot card (tower) minifig utensil sextant/quadrant 30154, pearl gold minifig utensil statuette/trophy 90398, pearl gold

Burning hourglass minifig utensil hourglass 23945pb03, pearl gold sand minifig plume 64647, transparent light orange 1 x 1 round 20482, transparent clear

Altar of Blue Fire 1 x 1 plate 3024, transparent red 1 x 2 plate 3023, transparent red 1 x 1 cone 3024, transparent light purple Wave Rounded Straight 6126b, transparent light blue 1 x 1 round 98138, transparent light blue

Tech's pure-Lego datapad 1 x 1 decorated 3070bpb174, calculator 1 x 1 round 98138, transparent light blue satin 1 x 2 modified 2540, dark blue gray

Tech's tools Mnifig utensil space scanner 30035, black Minifigure utensil set 11402, flat silver

Tech's clutter 2 x 2 decorated 15210pb007, road sign Slope 30 1 x 2 x 2/3 decorated 85984pb137 Slope 30 1 x 2 x 2/3 decorated 85984pb135 Slope 30 1 x 2 x 2/3 decorated 85984pb021

[pwlanier]

THE ROTHSCHILD CHINOISERIE NECESSAIRE

A GEORGE III JEWELLED GOLD AND HARDSTONE NECESSAIRE AND WATCH

The rectangular upright casket set with panels of banded grey agate, overlaid with chased foliate and architectural gold cagework, applied with silver and gold-mounted vari-colour diamond and ruby-set floral sprays and emerald-set foliage, the double pagoda cover chased with foliage, flowers, scale and diaper-work and applied with alternating rows of diamonds, emeralds and rubies, each corner hung with pendant single stones, the hinged top of the pagoda cover opening to reveal a fitted interior containing various gold implements including, a bodkin, a cotton spool, an ear-spoon, a pen, a burin and a brush, the front door of the base inset with a fitted mirror and opening to reveal a red velvet-lined fitted interior with two rock-crystal scent-bottles overlaid with gold cagework, a gold cup with applied chinoiserie decoration and scroll handle, marked with maker's mark AH probably for Andrew Hogg, two gold sablé drawers chased with chinoiserie landscapes containing a gold ink-well and powder-box, the gold base on four bracket feet and mounted with diamond and emerald-set chased scrolling cartouches, with original gold door key, in later fitted black leather travelling case stamped ‘Bulgari’

Diamonds: 374 stones, approx. 31 cts.

Rubies: 109 stones, approx. 14 cts.

Emeralds: 125 stones, approx. 9 cts.

The Watch: White enamel with Roman and Arabic numerals, with winding aperture at 10 o’clock, pierced gold hands, the watch movement gilt-brass, full-plate with cylindrical pillars, fusee with chain, verge escapement, plain brass three-arm balance with flat spring and regulator, gilt brass cock, signed ‘Robert Allam London, No 396’

Christie’s

[morrak]

@krieper and I paid slightly too much for this goofy little wall shelf, which has all the signs of being made by someone with ample tools and little patience. The brackets don’t match stud spacing (or each other, or their own hardware); most probably this belonged to a shed or some such. Given it’s red oak, and given its overall condition, taking it on as an afternoon project seemed like a good idea at the time.

Most of the paint flecks came off easily, and it only wanted a coat and a half of light oil for reconditioning. Most of the joints cinched up well enough that I’m not inclined to do a full disassembly and re-fit (which is great, ‘cause I don’t have a bench plane right now anyway). The only real investment was working up new brackets in brass and putting a grained finish on them and some matching screws.

Is it still goofy? Yes. Is the brass less modest than necessary? Obviously. Thing is, we needed more space for bug mounts and fancy rocks (some of which have been temporarily removed for you-couldn’t-see-the-brackets-otherwise reasons), and all our other looted furniture has brass on it too. I might eventually engrave some simple swirls on the plates and/or reshape the panels, but not soon. Gonna call this a win, especially since this patch of wall is otherwise completely dismal.

[irre-photo]

Brass Sign Plate  #52

『 LA NUIT PORTE CONSEIL 』

[my-writings-and-musings]

I had intended to post some more self indulgent Earthspark stuff for my birthday on the 28th but better late than never, yeah?

I adore that Alex and Dot wholeheartedly adopted two towering robotic children without hesitation and were just like "yup these are our babies now we love them" and felt like writing something soft from that. Please enjoy a little fic of Dot comforting Thrash when the latter gets sick for the first time, because hurt/comfort is my absolute jam and he's baby.

Dorothy Malto didn't make a sound as she entered the barn, something that was easier for her than most thanks to her training as a soldier and experience as a mother. There wasn't even a creak from the old rusty hinges as she squeezed through the doors, though she still held her breath as she shut them behind herself, listening for any sign of movement from within. Hearing nothing, she allowed herself to move with a bit more swiftness.

She couldn't quiet the worry gnawing at her gut as she approached the ladder to the second level, but she pushed it down as she pulled herself up the rungs, reminding herself what she was here for. Someone else needed comfort far more than she did.

For all of her strength, there was no stopping the hurt that cut right through her heart as she beheld the familiar white, brass and blue curled miserably atop a makeshift Cybertronian bed. Thrash hadn't moved much since her last visit that morning, and while the sizable blanket she'd placed on him was fluttering with each ventilation, they were slow and haggard enough for her to tell his condition hadn't improved. Though she'd expected it, the sight still made her ache with sympathy. At least his siblings were being kept from their own worry thanks to the "special training" Bumblebee had cooked up to keep them busy, meaning she could focus all of her attention on the child that needed her most. 

As soon as her foot met the floor, the young Terran cracked his optics open, and their dimness deepened her concern. In record time she repeated to herself what Optimus had told her; this would pass, illness was a normal but unpleasant part of Cybertronian development, his immune system was just calibrating itself to the environment he'd been born in…

Smiling softly, she got to her knees beside his bed of straw overlaid with blankets, speaking with as much comfort as could be conveyed through tone. A tender hand on his shoulder allowed her to feel his still unbroken fever, but she didn't let a trace of her worry creep into her voice. "Hey Thrash, how do you feel?"

He looked at her a moment longer before he winced and pushed his helm deeper into the stack of pillows she'd personally arranged for him, looking ready to be sick but soldiering on with a strained murmur. "I'm okay."

Having expected such mock bravado, she moved her hand from his shoulder to the side of his helm, encouraging him to look at her with a tender stroke of his cheek plating. Dim optics flicked in her direction, looking up at her as she tried to encourage him to be honest in the most gentle way possible. "You don't look okay." she said softly, adjusting her hand and sliding her thumb back and forth along his temple. Memories of doing the same for Mo and Robby brought her back to their first times being sick. They'd been a great deal smaller than Thrash, but somehow he still stirred the same protective instinct within her, and she halfway wished for the ability to cradle him as she had them. 

The weight of his helm pressed into her palm as he closed his optics with a weak shudder, expression tightening in pain and discomfort before he spoke up just loudly enough for her to hear. "Head hurts…" he confessed, walls slowly coming down as he allowed himself to admit some of his struggle. That was something they'd been told to expect, but hearing it didn't make her feel any better.

"I can call Optimus and see if their medic has anything for that." she offered, speaking somewhat quickly as her concern briefly got the better of her. It didn't matter that he was nearly twice her height; as far as she was concerned Thrash was her baby, and seeing him like this made her feel an indescribable need to provide some kind of relief. With her first two she'd at least had human doctors and a competitive wealth of resources… The ailing bot made a soft sound of discomfort and leaned even more heavily into her touch, his trembling compelling her to speak again, albeit with much more control of her tone. "Can I get you anything for now?"

Thrash was silent, his brows briefly furrowing as he once again fought to be strong and hide all the discomforts she knew was making him miserable. For a moment it seemed like he would succeed, and that he would mutter something about just wanting rest as he had that morning, but Dot felt something falter within him. A wave of exhaustion passed through the young mech, and he let his helm go limp in her grasp.

"Mom…" he said in the weakest whisper she'd ever heard, voice breaking as his dim optics turned back to her before going foggy. She couldn't keep the heartbreak off her face as she heard him speak, especially as his shoulders trembled with a weak sob and her usually upbeat and happy boy confessed his true feelings in a single, pained sentence.

"I don't feel good…"

"Shhh…" she soothed without delay, adjusting herself to gently guide his helm into her lap. Forcing her voice to stay steady and her heart to remain strong, she held him close, hoping he could feel her love and support while he needed it most. She'd seen the same reaction from her older two many times, and remembered the feeling well from her own youth; the helpless misery of being sick and young and just wanting the pain to stop. "I know baby, I know…"

Thrash whimpered again, and though her leg began to go numb she didn't even think of moving him from her lap as she cradled him as well as her smaller form allowed. It brought a small measure of relief to her son, who quieted and closed his optics after a few minutes of her soothing touch, his ventilations slowing as he finally relaxed enough to drift off in her grasp. After a solid twenty minutes he was powered down and her leg was buzzing with pins and needles. Despite all of that, the sight of him recharging peacefully brought a soft smile to her face. 

"Mom's here." she whispered with a tender kiss on his helm, intending to stay as long as necessary if it brought him the smallest amount of comfort. 

[theatticbox]

All of my old Sims Medieval conversions. Extra preview images are included in the download.  All items can be found under Sculptures.

Included is: Broken wagon, Wooden Barrel, Water Bucket, Bags of Rice, Rope Coil, a pile of coal, Chicken Crates, Small Crate, Large Crate, Basic Pouch, Burlap Sack, Sign Post, Wooden Tombstone, Stone Tombstone, Round Tombstone, Caged Animal, Empty Cage, Open Cage, War Wagon, Vegetable Bowl, Fruit Basket, Basket of Oranges, a Crate of Cabbages (and one pumpkin), Leg of Lamb, Stacked Bowls, Brass Goblet, Bread Plate, a Crate of Tomatoes, Peasant wagon, Parsimonious Parcel, Parchment Collection, Deco Stocks, Skull, Pile of bones, Dagger, Money Pouch, Message in a Bottle, Toy Unicorn, Sealed Letter, Carved Horse, Hand Bell, Toy Dragon, Toy Rocking Horse, Toy Boat, a Wine Skin, Boat, Broken Boat, Blacksmith tools (part one), Farm Tools, Blacksmith Apron and Tools (part two), Herbal Chart, Anatomy Chart, Horse Shoe Pile, Ingot Pile, a Pile of Shields, and the Peteran Prayer Stone.  

download (sfs)

[kultofathena]

Landsknecht Emporium – Gustav Messer with Light Brown Scabbard – Beechwood Grip

Landsknecht Emporium’s Gustav is a shorter, yet wide-bladed Messer in the style of the late 15th and early 16th century; the design takes its features from several related antique Messers coupled with extant period depiction. One of the most characteristic blades for a Messer,  it has a short, yet wide blade with an elegant clip point. The sharp and well tempered blade is hand-ground from 6150/51crv4 high carbon steel and is ideal for powerful, close-quarters chops and vicious slices.

The guard with knuckle bar is crafted from mild steel and the Nagel is a separate piece peened on the other side of the quillon block, as it should be. The quillons are slid upward from the end of the grip with the blade protruding in the bottom. The tang is peened over the steel pommel plate. The handcrafted grip is crafted from two halves of polished Beechwood which are robustly riveted to the thick blade tang for a durable and lasting grip construction.

The sword is paired with a wood core scabbard which is tightly bound in leather and completed with a knotwork-attached suspension of a leather belt with a bronze buckle with brass tongue.

Landsknecht Emporium products aim to have the aesthetics of historical pieces, not the finish of mass-produced items. Each product bears the signs of its making; small tool marks and imperfections, which do not affect the build quality or usability but give each of our pieces its unique character.

[juggaloautist]

VIDEO CLIP‼️ + THEORY‼️

Of coooourse‼️ I’m no gossip~!😋💕💅‼️

FRANK IS SO DAMN FRUITY. I LOVE HIM. A LITTLE TOO MUCH

oh yeah btw, Every bug you click on at the website, all those videos are in Wally’s perspective. He’s always there, but his name is never mentioned until the end of the video. It is distorted and lowered because of course they don’t want you to find out. Under these videos are subtitles

All videos say Wally’s name at the end. Which shows that everyone knows Wally is there, they just don’t say his name and usually refer to themselves, someone else (if they’re there) and Wally in a pronouns sense instead of names (if Wally was ever hinted to be there. They’ll say each other’s names, just not Wally’s)

Here are some subtitles

FRANK: …So they just won’t leave my tomatoes alone- And who am I to shoo them away? Isn’t a beetle just as permitted to partake of my plants as I am, Julie?

JULIE: Posilutely absotively, Frank!

FRANK: But I’ve taken such good care of them- I read to them every day, I water them the perfect amount-

JULIE: [She playfully accentuates his words, trying to mimic his annoyed tone] Oh you do! You pour a whole book on them and read them a water on their little heads and everything!

FRANK: [Exasperated] Julie! I’m serious!

JULIE: [Laughs] Oh, I’m sorry, Frank, I’m only teasing- You know, if this is bothering you so much, you should have a little sign just for those bugs! It can say, [Said with a lower pitched voice] ‘Terrific Tomatoes! Look but don’t touch!’

FRANK: [Sound of amusement.] What makes you think they’re going to be able to read all that?

JULIE: Well they’ve got big beautiful eyes, don’t they? Like big ol’... Saucer plates!

FRANK: Oh Julie! Don’t be so rude! You wouldn’t like it if they said that about you!

JULIE: Said what about me? How lovely my hair is? That I put just the right amount of polish on my horns?

FRANK: No, more like, ‘that Julie Joyful with her nose like an orange!’

JULIE: Oh? [Laughs] If they said that, they’d also probably say, ‘Oh! That Frank Frankly with that banana on his face!’

FRANK: Banana?! [Laughs] Well if they’re going to be so rude in my garden, maybe it’s best they don’t get to partake of any more tomatoes then!

JULIE: That’s right! [Thoughtful hum] Well… How are we going to keep them out? Maybe Howdy’s got something in his shop!

FRANK: Howdy is more inclined to sell us canned laughter than he is to sell us something actually useful! Besides… I don’t think he liked my rendition of A Flea and a Fly.

JULIE: Oh don’t you fret! I’m sure we can come up with a wonderful joke between the three of us! Isn’t that right, Wally?

………..

POPPY: --pleased as poppyseed punch you asked me to make this cake for you, really, I-I-I-- well-- it’s such an honor!

SALLY: Oh, I’m sure it is, darling! Now, let’s get down to brass tacks.

POPPY: Oh, ah, well, I don’t think I have any of those - I don’t like to keep anything too sharp around here, you know–

SALLY: Details, Poppy dear, details.

POPPY: Ah! Of course. Of course! N-now then, what do you think you’d like?

SALLY: What would I like? Poppy, this is going to be on stage. It’s hardly a like, it’s a need. And it NEEDS to be BIG! BOLD!!

POPPY: Ah, b-big, big, yes… maybe, three tiers, then?

SALLY: Only three? Hah!! Dream bigger, Poppy!!

POPPY: O-o-oh, ah, um-- y-yes, yes, suppose it is a big neighborhood, better to play it safe-- [little chuckle] and you, ah, you do know I love to play it safe, dear!

SALLY: Ah, ah, ah, but not too safe! After all, this needs to be a showstopper! It needs to have beauty! Pizzazz! DANGER!

POPPY: D-danger? Oh, oh, oh my feathers, I don’t know how I feel about making a dangerous cake…

SALLY: Ahh, tut-tut-tut, my feathered friend! You’ll do great, I’m certain of it. There’s no one else in the neighborhood I would trust with this! [under breath] And not just because you’re the only one here who can make something that doesn’t come out of a gelatin mold.

POPPY: Oh-!! A-a-ah, well, goodness me-- you’re going to make me blush!

SALLY: [Satisfied chuckle] So! I take it you have everything you need?

POPPY: Oh-- um-- w-well, er, not quite-- see, when I asked what you’d like, I thought, maybe, you would have a flavor in mind…?

SALLY: A what?

POPPY: W-well, a flavor. You know, ah, we could do chocolate, or vanilla, or sprinkles, buttercream, butterbell, butterscotch…

SALLY: Oh. Hm. To be honest with you, I didn’t think that far.

POPPY: …you didn’t think about the flavor?

SALLY: [Lightly defensive] Well the audience can’t taste it from their seats, now can they?? Ohh. What do you think, Wally?