#hes outwardly kind & soft spoken but he is capable of biting. but only if he needs to | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing vii.

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)

words: 4, 627

summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing

Despite being friends with three (well, now four) people on the football team—you didn’t fancy attending football games at all. It was highly unlike the usual scene you were comfortable with. It was loud, rowdy and people didn’t understand the concept of personal space when they’d shove and push others aside just to get a better glimpse of the players on the field.

Yet, you attended every single one of the football games—and you were a familiar enough face that the coach smiles at you when you hover outside the changing rooms; a simple request from the captain himself.

You’re a little shocked at yourself at the fact that you had no idea who Namjoon was prior to his introduction. He was the captain of the current football team, which apparently, throughout your college’s history—brought the most wins ever. And, he was also well-known that lecturers applauded him for his impeccable work-to-life balance.

Somehow, the divulgence of your own thoughts makes you frown. Because perhaps you were truly anti-social. You weren’t even acquainted with common school affairs in spite of being apart of the student council.

Maybe Jungkook was right.

You don’t dwell too much on your thoughts because you’re unable to, not when the door slams open and bodies of college men pour out with large shouts and their padded shoulders—looking very much prepared for their game.

The anxiety settles into the pit of your stomach when you realise you stick out like a sore thumb. The jeans and white top you were wearing was quite a typical outfit to wear to a game, with the addition of ironically—a baseball jacket. But when you were definitely smaller than the footballers; it was hard not to feel out of place.

Especially when they look you over before continuing out to the field. While you attended games before, you were never asked to meet in the changing rooms. Jimin and Taehyung knew well enough not to ask you, and Jungkook … well. You were always his dirty little secret, weren’t you?

And you see Jungkook first, grinning like a madman when another footballer brings him into a headlock and hollers something you assume is their hype-cheer.

It isn’t supposed to feel like this. Things were meant to have been settled, but the tight feeling in your chest when you look at him only reminds you that some things were hard to erase.

Before you can look away, Jungkook spots you—and he pushes the arms of his teammate off ever so slightly before turning to him and muttering a few words before he’s stalking towards you.

Your eyes widen, definitely not expecting him to pay you any mind.

“You’re here?” He furrows his brows.

You clear your throat, and you realise navigating a conversation with him after what’s transpired is much harder than you expected it to be. The fact that he was so casual about it when he left you with a kiss on your forehead makes you even more conflicted.

“I am.” You mumble. “I told you, remember?”

Jungkook blinks as if he remembers something, and his expression hardens ever so slightly before he’s schooling his features.

“Yeah.” He breathes. “I knew that. Just didn’t know you’d be … here.”

Here was probably referring to standing outside the changing rooms, and you can’t help but flush at the declaration.

“Um, yeah. Namjoon—” Before you can finish your sentence, you see the captain heading towards you with a large grin; looking over Jungkook for a brief moment.

“You’re here!” His words are exactly the same as Jungkook’s, but it evokes a different set of emotions in your chest.

You smile as sincerely as you can, which is proven difficult when you can feel Jungkook’s gaze on you.

“I am.” And you repeat the same thing you said to Jungkook. It feels odd, but you push the feelings aside. “Good luck, you.”

You offer a small punch to his shoulder, an awkward attempt at supporting him and you almost apologise but Namjoon smiles even wider.

His hand reaches out to your hair, gently patting it as he looks at you fondly. You don’t think anyone’s ever treated you so … tenderly before, not upfront and after one meeting at least. And you’re definitely flustered.

“Thank you. It means a lot that you’re here.” His dimples are on full show when he looks down at you with a kind gaze.

You clear your throat and look away, hoping the dim lights didn’t amplify the blush on your cheeks.

“Of course. We have that exhibition next to look forward to if all else goes South.” You grin cheekily up at him, words still soft.

You hope that your joke doesn’t rub him the wrong way, and it doesn’t because he snorts in response. All while Jungkook is silent.

“That’s a win itself, isn’t it?” He says smoothly, and your eyes widen at his blatant—or at least you think—flirting.

And before you can splutter a response, Jungkook is nudging Namjoon’s arm with his shoulder, the movement slightly rougher with his shoulder pads in place.

“We gotta go, Cap,” Jungkook says stiffly.

Namjoon doesn’t realise the hostility in his tone, but you do. And you frown ever so slightly, but you cover it up when Namjoon looks over at you with an apologetic expression.

“I’ll see you after the game?” He asks, eyes lighting up.

Your lips tilt upwards and you nod your head.

“Yeah.”

Namjoon jogs off first, not before grabbing his protective gear as Jungkook lingers ever so slightly, stuttering in his feet as you have the vision of his back towards you.

You’re about to head towards the bleachers, a spot that Namjoon purposefully reserved for you with help of his coach; but Jungkook turns around and his face is hesitant.

“Will you …” He swallows as you raise an eyebrow at his uncertainty. “Will you cheer for me?”

The question is odd, especially when you know that he’s aware that you were here for Namjoon. Usually, that would imply that you were rooting for him. But, you’ve never been able to say no to Jungkook. Not even when you want him to feel the same hurt you’ve felt.

“What friends are for, right?” You mumble, eyes darting to the ground for a second until you look back up at him again.

What you don’t say is that friends don’t do the things we did, or that there was no manual to teach you how to navigate the throes of your relationship after everything that’s happened. Nor do you tell Jungkook that you’re always cheering him on, but you can’t do it outwardly. Not tonight. Not for a while, too.

Jungkook’s face falls obscurely, but he forces a tight smile before grabbing his protective gear too.

“I’ll look for you,” Jungkook says.

Then he’s off, with a squeeze to your shoulder that leaves your heart feeling a lot heavier.

You ended up sitting next to the school photographer, who you now know as Yena. Prior to this, you’ve heard the student reporter club have a few intense individuals apart of them—word you heard from Yoongi, the President himself—and he was already as intimidating as one could get. But there was Yena, who essentially made people cower in fear when they’d make eye contact with her.

“What are you doing here?” Is the first thing she asks when you slide into your seat. Her tone isn’t condescending, neither was it purposely made to make you feel uncomfortable. Rather, she asked it in a rather bored tone—as if there were better things she could be doing.

“Um.” You squeak.

Yena rolls her eyes, “Relax. I’m not going to bite your head off despite my grotesque appearance. Ever heard of a conversation starter?”

You blink.

“You’re very pretty.” You say softly.

Yena narrows her eyes at you for what seems like forever as you clear your throat. Then, she snorts before patting you on the shoulder.

“I didn’t mean objectively ugly, sweetheart.”

The tilt of her lips make your ears flush and you never found yourself downright intimidated by someone, but there was something about her that made you want to listen to her.

“O-Oh.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re too nice, _____. Has anyone ever told you that?” She emphasises her point with a tilt of her head.

“N-Not really …” You mumble.

She sighs as she kicks her feet on top of the railings in front of her while her eyes follow the line of footballers that pour onto the field, already moving towards a group huddle.

Her camera is already in her hands when she snaps the shot like second nature, before plopping back into her seat.

“Well, you are. People are gonna eat you alive, you know?” She says pointedly.

You fiddle with your fingers before you find the courage to look at her.

“How did you know who I was?” You wonder out loud with furrowed brows.

Yena scoffs before turning to look at you with a blank expression. And it’s the worst part in you that makes you think that you’ve said something wrong.

“You’re kidding, right?” She deadpans. “Girl who made honours three years in a row? First female student council president? Lecturers pet? Curve-setter? The list goes on, really.”

You flush as you turn your head away.

“I didn’t mean …” You mutter.

She waves you off. “You don’t have to sound so guilty about it. You’re smart and you’re capable. Own it.” She shrugs.

You blink up at her with wide eyes, and for the first time; she properly looks at you and your surprised expression.

“Thank you.” You say softly.

When a whistle blows, the game has somehow started and you have half the mind to begin cheering like the rest of the crowd. But the awkward part of you remains rooted in position.

“So.” Yena leans in with a grin on her face. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

It’s … odd. Purely because you’ve never spoken to her before and you’ve briefly heard about her in passing when you communicate with Yoongi on pastoral affairs. And for someone to speak to you so freely and casually, like you’ve been friends for years—feels nice.

And it’s probably also because you didn’t have any girl friends that you could really trust. People on campus were … they were mean and they usually wanted something from you, whether it was to get to one of your friends or get insights on events so they’d get a boost on their reputation.

“Earth to _____?” She drawls.

You snap your head towards her and your ears turn red once again.

“There’s isn’t … any guy.” You confess.

Yena snorts as if she doesn’t believe you.

“Really now?” Her grin approaches a smile when she rests her chin on her palm. “You know not just anyone sits here, right?”

You shrug. “What about you? Who’s the lucky guy?”

She blinks, then leans back before kicking one leg across her other.

“Photographer pros. Or cons. Especially if you consider watching disgusting men sweat and chase after balls is something to be grateful for.” She rolls her eyes.

You laugh when she complains, and it’s likely the first time you’ve relaxed your shoulders around her.

“That does sound kind of gross.”

She nods her head as if to say right, before offering you a cheeky grin.

Then, her eyes zero onto the field, then back to your face—and eventually back to the field before she hops off her seat once again; waving her camera to signal you that she was going to carry out her duties.

You think Yena’s cool. A little intense, and kind of scary—but a nice person nevertheless. Maybe you were a blind optimist that saw the good in everyone, but there was something about her that you really liked. The kind of person you wish you could become.

The cheers get immensely louder, especially when you note that Jungkook’s scored a goal—his beaming expression displayed on the big screen while you hear girls and guys alike cheering his name.

It’s times like this where you’re reminded of how different you were from him. While he received praise and approval from the masses and was born to be loved by them. You were quite the opposite; the cheerer and the supporter but never quite the one receiving it.

His eyes skim the crowd, and you can see from the screen that his brows furrow ever so slightly. But he’s quick to return to his groove, fist-bumping a teammate along the way.

You sigh because even when you weren’t intentionally looking for him it’s like your heart only wants you to see what’s familiar. And funnily enough, the hurt is familiar too.

In the middle of it all, you try your best to smile—and throw in a small whoop on your own, hoping to blend in but be present enough to be heard.

Yena returns only when it’s half-time, her own body covered in sweat while she huffs, slapping a stray strand of hair away from her face.

“God. You’d think they’d slow down after fifteen minutes but nooo. They have to go flex on their fragile masculinities because they think growling and ripping off their shirts is peak alpha male character.” Yena mutters and it’s the first thing you hear from her.

You offer her a sympathetic smile before digging into your bag and pulling out a handkerchief, one that you always carry around.

“Here.” You smile at her toothily.

Yena eyes the fabric sceptically before looking at your face and back to the handkerchief.

“You sure?”

You nod your head, jutting out your hand once more to emphasise your point.

“Ah. I can see why Namjoon nabbed you up.” Yena coos, ruffling your hair as your eyes widen.

“H-How—?”

“How did I know? Well besides the fact that my job is to literally stick with the team and capture moments and make them look pretty—I’m nosey.” Yena shrugs and your face pales. “Oh, and I saw you guys at the changing room too.”

If she saw … that meant—

“Thought you were with the meathead Jeon for a moment.” Yena snorts.

Your eyes dart down to your lap, and Yena picks up on your silence immediately. But unlike the conventional person; despite her curiousity, she respected your privacy more. So she doesn’t, she just offers you a smile and a nudge to your shoulder.

“Don’t worry,” Yena assures, sighing as the voices of the footballers fill your area as they come up for refreshment. “He’s nice.” You weren’t sure who she was referring to so you just nod.

“Yena—pass me a bottle!” A boy calls, and you half expect her to do so, but instead, she delivers him one better—a middle finger.

“Get it your self you dickwad!” Yena calls back.

Your eyes widen when you turn your head to look at her, completely unbothered when the footballer shoots daggers at her nonchalant figure.

“Men. Think you always owe them something.” She scoffs.

You find yourself unconsciously nodding your head, and once again Yena recognises the gesture but doesn’t mention anything.

Instead, she turns towards you and levels you with a wide grin of her own.

“You’re cool. We should hang out.”

The declaration makes your eyes widen even more and you realise how much you’ve fumbled and made yourself look … stiff the entire time you were attempting to converse with Yena. But she seemed to be unbothered, and the thought makes you excited.

“We should?” You parrot with a squeak.

She nods and you’re still finding it hard to process the fact that she’d brought that up out of the blue.

You weren’t bad company. But you were … you.

“You’re like Ms Bona Fide.” Yena tuts. “People these days are either out to please or to receive.”

You furrow your brows.

“And I’m … not?” You say softly.

“You’re present.” Yena shrugs and throws you an easy-going smile.

God. She was so cool.

Namjoon scores the final goal.

You expect him to call the hangout off because, well, he’d closed the game and he was the captain. It was only normal that he’d want to celebrate.

So when Yena nudges your shoulders while your head is bent and focused on your mobile device, you slowly looked up with furrowed brows to see her cocking her head to the side with a knowing grin on her face.

And you see Namjoon, out of his gear and in a plain t-shirt and sweats while he waves at you.

You can’t help but gape at him.

“I see you’ve surrendered to good company instead of a zoo.” Yena greets Namjoon first with a snort.

Namjoon rolls his eyes, and you gauge that they’re at least well-acquainted. Acquainted enough that Namjoon subtly tries to flick her off, but you catch the gesture as soon as it comes.

“Promises are promises.” Namjoon shrugs as if he wasn’t aware that you were still gaping at him. Mouth open like a fish out of the water.

“Well—be nice, captain.” Yena whistles, throwing her camera into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder before she turns to look at you, a gentle nudge with her shoulder to yours as she levels you with an intentional look in her eyes.

“Don’t start any fights, Yena.” Namjoon gently chides, but his tone is joking.

Yena waves him off, then waves at you one last time, leaning down to whisper something into your ear that has you flushing.

“Tell me how it goes when we hang out.”

And she leaves you with a keen sense of excitement on the prospect of a new friend like her to look forward to hanging out with.

Namjoon looks over at you, and gently reaches for the tote bag you’ve slung over your shoulder as he tugs it off you with a soft pull.

“Let me.” His smile is all teeth and dimpled grins when you reluctantly let him take your bag from you.

“Thank you.” You murmur, eyes attempting to look at him but his gaze is so focused on yours that you find it difficult to make eye contact.

“We’ve got an exhibition to go to, don’t we?”

You nod your head enthusiastically as he chuckles, allowing you to lead the way as you find a little prep in your steps. It was nice. Having a friend like Namjoon.

“Captain’s not coming?” Yugyeom groans, ruffling his hair with a towel as the rest of the footballers filter out of the changing room.

Jimin snorts in response. “No. He’s got a date.” The emphasis on the word date is obvious in the immature sense, evoking wide eyes as responses.

“He bailed on us for some pussy?!” Yugyeom cries.

Jungkook has to clench his fists by his side when he hears how his teammate casually referred to you as just some pussy. You weren’t just … that.

“Watch your tone,” Jimin growls, and Jungkook’s thankful that Jimin was more of the confrontational type and didn’t allow shit like this to slide easily. Especially when it came to you. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”

Yugyeom’s eyes widened before gawking at the blonde boy.

“You mean Namjoon is going on a date with _____?” The rest of the footballers murmur in response, possibly out of confusion. “How did they—doesn’t she not … date?”

Jimin sighs, already ready with a response on the tip of his tongue but Jeonghan, the keeper interjects.

“Wait, I was under the impression that she and Jeon were a thing?”

At the mention of his name tangled with yours, Jungkook, who has been relatively silent throughout, freezes as his hands stop rummaging through his duffel bag while he tries to ignore the inquisitive stares he’s receiving from his teammates.

“W-What?” Jungkook stutters caught off guard.

Yugyeom narrows his eyes at the boy, while Jimin silently observes with an unreadable expression.

“Now that you mention it …” He trails off, head tilting upwards as if he was deep in thought. “I did always see the two of them alone with each other.”

Jungkook clears his throat as he lets out a nervous chuckle, his hand reaching to scratch the back of his neck.

“We’re friends,” Jungkook says stiffly and he hopes it’s believable, despite his hoarse voice. “Friends hang out.”

Jeonghan snorts. “Or she’s a two-timer.”

This time, Jungkook can’t keep his face neutral.

“Talk about her like that one more time and I’ll make sure you never speak again.” He growls to the other boy, whose eyes widen in response.

“I was kidding—” He raises his hands in defense but Jungkook is shoving the remainder of his belongings into his duffel bag before hauling it over his shoulder and storming out of the room, ears burning in both frustration and anger.

“You don’t joke about this type of shit,” Jungkook mutters under his breath right as he leaves the rest of the members brewing with confused expressions as they look at one another with concerned expressions.

Namjoon, as expected, is a museum enthusiast. That much you could assess when he was excitedly chirping about how much he appreciated all types of art, abstract, modern and contemporary and vintage—you name it and he could likely give you a break down of the nuances behind styles and techniques.

He is also great company. Namjoon is a comfortable line between involved and chivalrous, never pushing farther than what you were able to offer but engaging you in insightful discussions that you found yourself being intrigued by.

While you expected more … forward gestures, Namjoon is respectful and you’re surprised but not really. He was mannered encompassed into human form.

So, when the security guard informs you that the exhibition was over and that the two were the last guests in the hall—the two of you reluctantly had to bring your night to an end.

“That was fun,” Namjoon says once the two of you exit the hall, just two figures in the night who have thousands of words to say about the masterpieces you’ve witnessed.

“Honestly, I was already looking forward to it but seeing the pieces the art students curated in person was just another type of euphoria.” You confess.

Namjoon nods in agreement. “I totally agree. You can just tell that they’ve really dedicated all their free time to the work they’ve displayed.”

“Art is beautiful, isn’t it?” You mumble, eyes looking back to the museum as you grin up at Namjoon who’s already looking at you.

“Yeah.” He breathes, and the way he’s looking at you under the dim moonlight makes you irrevocably flustered. “Beautiful.”

You clear your throat as you shift on your heels, hoping the blush on your cheeks isn’t too apparent. The night was still wondrous, and you feel a type of comfort in Namjoon that you haven’t felt in a very long time. But there’s still a lingering thought in the substandard part of your mind that reminds you of doe-eyes and a bunny smile.

“Thank you for your time, Namjoon.” You say shy, fiddling with your thumbs.

When you find the courage to look at his face, he’s already beaming at you.

“No. Thank you.” He reassures. “I know you’re super busy so for you to find time out of your schedule to hang with a virtual stranger really means a lot to me.”

Your eyes widen, but then your face neutralises as you flush.

“I’m not that busy …” You mumble.

Namjoon chuckles. He doesn’t even snort or offer a sarcastic remark in response. He just acknowledges it with a kind smile and doesn’t comment further.

He’s different from what you’re used to. A challenge. A burst of rebellion that loved to roll remarks off his tongue.

You don’t want to think of him just yet.

“Regardless. You’re here. And I’m grateful.”

You nod your head lamely, clutching your bag into your chest (after relentlessly whining to Namjoon to allow you to hold it yourself when you felt a little useless).

“I should—I should head back.” You cock your thumb towards the direction of your apartment.

Immediately, Namjoon steps forward and is ready to head the same way you are.

“Let me walk you back.”

“I can’t possibly—”

“I’m not asking this time, ______.” He frowns.

You snap your lips shut. Though you did feel a little bad, it was late and the rational part of you knew that it was best if Namjoon walked you home.

“Okay.” You say softly.

Before you can begin walking, he tugs you by the elbow so gently, but firm enough for you to nearly stumble into his chest.

And he’s so tall, so you’re peering up at him with wide eyes as you gauge his nervous expression.

“I-I’m sorry if this is a little forward but—” Namjoon clears his throat. “W-Well I think—I really think you’re nice. And great. Like—good company, you know? So I’d r-really—I’d enjoy—”

You blink at him as he attempts to find his words.

“Namjoon.” You whisper gently, tugging the hem of his shirt.

At your gesture, his mind blanks but he remembers that you’re still looking up at him with a confused gaze.

“Okay. Fuck.” He whines as a giggle escapes your throat when he peers at you with an exasperated expression. “I’m not usually this much of a mess. You just make me nervous.”

“O-Oh.” You breathe, “I do?”

Namjoon sighs, rubbing his hands over his face.

“I don’t know if it was obvious but I’m kind of into you.” He says softly, rubbing his hand over his neck.

You don’t expect it, not at all. So you can only muster gawking at him at his sudden confession.

“And you don’t need to—you don’t need to say anything about it. We can pretend like I didn’t just confess to you. We can just be friends.” He rambles, eyes wide. “I just wanted to let you know … yeah. So I really hope we can still continue to hang out even though you might think I’m a creep and I really didn’t offer to walk you home because I had intentions. Really just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

You continue looking at Namjoon with wide eyes. Because you’ve never been on this end before. The one receiving the confession. You’ve never really given a confession either, and you try to suppress the bitter memories of the confession you tried to give Jungkook that wasn’t verbal but with your presence.

With you giving up certain parts of yourself for him so he could see you.

“Please say something.” Namjoon chuckles nervously.

“I—…” You choke. “I don’t know what to say.”

“We can pretend like I didn’t just say that.” He winces.

You shake your head. “No. No. It’s fine, Namjoon. Really.” You reassure him gently. “I really appreciate it … I just didn’t … expect it.” You finish lamely.

“You’re a very interesting person,” Namjoon tells you, lips twitching in an attempt to lighten the awkward atmosphere.

Interesting? You don’t think you’ve ever heard anyone call you interesting before. Not outright, at least.

“I’m really not.” You say sadly.

Namjoon furrows his brows but doesn’t reach out to you further, his hands still remaining limp by his sides.

“Hey.” His voice calls out. “You are. You’re definitely one of the most interesting people I’ve met in my life.”

You blink.

“T-Thank you.”

He waves you off, gesturing towards where you gestured towards earlier.

“Shall we?”

And somehow, Namjoon has a way of making everything feel easy. Like a temporary space for you to feel safe, to feel wanted.

So why doesn’t your heart flutter?

545 notes · View notes

mythicamagic · 3 years

Text

Boxes: a Sesshoumaru & Rin father/daughter oneshot.

Summary: Sesshoumaru and Rin discuss their bond.

Made in response to today's events. I needed some catharsis.

---

"Sesshoumaru-sama?"

Golden eyes slid open, drowsy at first, before blinking and sliding up to Rin. He arched a brow, noting the distress in her scent.

"What ails you?" he uttered, shifting against the tree he was currently reclined against that overlooked the village.

Rin fiddled with her hands and chewed her lip, scuffing a bare foot against the ground. Even as a teen she hadn't lost some habits.

"Its just that I'm confused about some things people were saying in the village, so... I was wondering if I could talk to you about them."

Sesshoumaru gestured elegantly to one side of the tree, inviting her to sit beside him. Rin plopped down and hugged drawn up knees to her chest.

Noticing the silence and slightly concerned by it from the normally talkative girl, Sesshoumaru took it upon himself to prompt answers from her. "What did the fools say?"

His ward huffed and pouted, "that's not a nice thing to call them, Sesshoumaru-sama," she mumbled, soon sighing and reluctantly continuing. "Well, it was mostly some older women. They were talking about how I'm 'of age now.' I tried to say I wasn't interested in anyone but then... they started talking about marriage prospects."

Sesshoumaru listened quietly, feeling distaste mar his lips into a faint sneer. The girl was no more than 15.

Rin picked at some lush grass, gaze averted. "They mentioned you," she said off handedly, causing him to stiffen. "I got confused. Sesshoumaru-sama doesn't call R-Rin is his daughter," she slipped up, reverting into her old trait of referring to herself in third person. A fresh wave of confusion and distress rolled into her scent, sickly and rotten like dying flowers. "So maybe they're right? They said that it's natural since we've known each other so long and have a bond. You're kind to me. Protect me. You're a man and Rin is a woma-"

"Enough, Rin."

He hadn't meant his tone to slip into one so biting. Youki spilt through his hair, making it flicker slightly, markings emboldening. He closed his eyes to snuff out a burning red gaze. Taking a calming breath, he gave a measured response. "I do not outwardly call you my daughter, no. And correct, we have a bond. Perhaps I am 'nicer' to you than most," he allowed, finally looking down at her and meeting her teary gaze. "But why should that automatically mean romance for us?"

Rin rubbed at her eyes, blinking. "They said its considered 'normal' for humans to marry young and that you wouldn't have protected me for no reason."

Sesshoumaru's claws twitched at his side. Somehow he mercifully kept hold his patience and didn't immediately fly off to have a word with these people. "Perhaps it is normal for them, but that has no bearing on us. This one protected you because you are pack."

Rin thought about this for a moment, "like Jaken and Ah-Un?"

"Hn," his lips twitched. "And you do not see me offering marriage proposals to Jaken, do you?"

A shaky giggle escaped her, "well I haven't seen any, but maybe in private..."

Sesshoumaru huffed with amusement and placed a palm on her head, messing up wild hair and eliciting a squeal that ran into a whine.

The amusement abated however, and Sesshoumaru found himself gazing down at her soberly. True she was no gaped toothed child anymore, but he could not see her in any other light than as... Rin. Rin who liked flowers. Rin who cuddled with dragons. Rin who walked around with mud caked onto her feet and hair. Rin who sang songs. Rin who was small, frightened and sobbed from nightmares featuring sharp toothed creatures tearing her limb from limb. Rin who had died twice before the age of 8. Rin, who needed a guardian. A protector. One stable thing unchanging in her life of confusion, upset and trauma. More than anything. He doubted he'd ever be capable of seeing her as a woman no matter how she changed, nor did he wish to.

"Perhaps it is my fault," he rumbled quietly. "This one is not in the habit of stating things out loud. I should have explicitly said that I see you as...part of my group."

Rin suddenly beamed, sniffing. "You're not to blame, Sesshoumaru-sama. That's just how you are. You like Inuyasha a little better now but you still don't call him your brother."

"Hn, half brother," he said, cutting his eyes to the sky and stroking her head of dark hair.

"I will change my habits, if only to silence those wagging tongues spreading rumors. Or I could rip them out," he mused casually, tone deceptively soft.

Rin winced, "that's a little far," she said, shifting and removing his large hand from her head, studying it. "... I don't think I... see you in a romantic light," she concluded on her own. "Maybe that's weird. They seemed to think that I should. "

"It is not weird," he stated firmly. "How do you think of me?"

Rin was still impressionable, but now that she'd spoken her thoughts aloud, they'd become unclouded. "Like a Papa, but not quite. It's hard to say," she hummed. "My guardian," she settled on. "Definitely someone who will protect me like a Papa."

"Humans often like to box relationships into something they can understand. Familial or romantic," Sesshoumaru uttered, squeezing her fingers. "Demons are not that way. Platonic relationships come easier to us to recognise. Perhaps I should not have left you in the village after all if this is what they're preparing you to think."

Rin quickly waved her hands, "oh no! I still enjoy the village! Kagome-sama seemed angry with the ladies and told me not to listen. I just... wanted to ask you. I trust you."

She trusted him to tell her what was right. To do the correct thing. In the wrong hands, that trust could be manipulated. Become something dark.

Sesshoumaru gentled, nodding. He then leaned back against the tree. "Rin," golden eyes slid to her, serious. "You can marry someone else, if you wish to. If you do not, don't. What do you want?"

Rin pursed her lips and frowned, "I'm not sure. Maybe I'll be a herbalist. Maybe I'll be a demon Slayer!" she gave a cheeky grin, showing her dimples. "But I don't think I'm ready for marriage and babies yet."

Sesshoumaru felt a mild wave of relief wash over him. "And you understand that nothing will change our bond as it is now? You are my ward. There is... Happiness, to be found in that. Far more than some might think. It is not a downgrade from something romantic."

Rin nodded in agreement, giving a smile and hugging his side briefly.

As she stood and removed a leaf from her hair, muttering a thanks in preparation to leave, the demon formulated some words on his tongue. They felt strange and foreign to speak aloud, but they were necessary. As he'd said before, humans needed to place relationships into boxes. He would willingly put himself in the appropriate one, if it meant bringing her comfort.

"Farewell, daughter."

Earthy brown eyes swung to him. Rin froze, looking younger then, childlike, wonderful joy brightening her face. Something seemed to visibly settle over her, a blanket of ease and comfort. Like she'd found the thing needed. It wasn't a bereavement to be rejected by him. To reject the notion of romance. Their happiness and bond as ward and Lord, was more fulfilling than any humans trivial assessment of their relationship.

"See you later, Papa," Rin gave a wave, hurrying away with her long legs, gangly form drawing away.

Sesshoumaru closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the rough tree bark. There would perhaps come a time when he would watch her dance with her partner barefoot at her wedding, or maybe she'd never be wed. Whatever Rin chose to do, a certain silver inuyoukai would keep vigil over her life. She had suffered greatly, and brought him quiet joy, the way only a pup could.

Thin lips curved, and Sesshoumaru lazily sunbathed for the rest of the afternoon, watching over the village silently beneath the refuge of his tree.

#inuyasha #Sesshoumaru #Rin #Anti Sessrin #Anti Yashahime #Sesshomaru #Posted on Ao3 if you want to find it

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safarigirlsp · 3 years

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Can you please do some Hcs about like a scale of how your men rank from Daddy to Sub?? 😋

Good afternoon!

So, I’m very not into Subby men, Daddy Kink, or extreme power dynamics on either end. As such, I’m probably the wrong person for this ask lol. I can refer you to some other writers who do a great job with these themes if you like.

I personally HC all my guys as having fairly dominant alpha personalities, but also as guys who will treat you like a Queen. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be writing for them lol.

Here’s my ranking of most to least dominant within those parameters. For me, it primarily boils down to who’s going to the the most outward or agressive.

Kylo

Kylo is as big and powerful as they come and he’s learned well how to use his strength to take whatever he wants. He’s agressive, violent, fearsome, and he revels in it. He knows his reputation and he loves it. He’s earned it, after all, through years of fighting his way to the top. However, with you, all of that strength and power is used to protect you, never intimidate you, and to give to you, never to take from you. You’re the only thing he values in the world and he’s happy to be your loyal knight, slaying dragons in your honor. He will delicately kiss your cheek after slaughtering men with his bare hands. He will exert himself as fully when it comes to making you scream as he will for hours on end raging through enemies. And he never feels more powerful than when he makes you shudder from his softest touch.

Flip

Flip is the ultimate alpha male. He’s a very straightforward no bullshit kind of guy. He can walk into any situation and take control effortlessly. Whether it’s a gang of bikers, a roudy barroom, a bickering police unit, or the bedroom, he just naturally commands respect. He’s very capable of being agressive and using his size and strength to get things done, but he rarely needs to because he exudes dominance. It takes a special kind of idiot to look at Flip and want to challenge him. If someone is stupid enough to push him over the edge, they’ll find out real quick that he has a hell of a temper, a mean right hook, and he’s more bite than bark. However, because he commands respect and authority so innately, he very rarely has to demand it. He loves that you stand up to him, he loves playfully sparring with you, and he loves knowing that when he gets his hands on you, he always makes you incoherent with pleasure. You’re all too happy to lay back and let him take care of you.

Clyde

Clyde is ex special forces, which means he’s seen a lot of pain and hardship and he was tough enough to handle it all, in addition to being trained both to kill and to restrain himself. He runs a rural bar, which means he’s seen plenty of drunk and rowdy corn-fed country boys trying to start trouble, and he can handle it single-handedly. Pun intended. It’s a mistake to assume that Clyde is nothing more than a cuddly teddy bear because he’s soft spoken. Sure, that’s what he is behind closed doors with you most of the time. But let some poor bastard make eyes at you or, worse yet, do something that poses even the slightest threat to you, and the grizzly is quick to jump out growling. He’ll always treat you just right, too, whether you want a soft cuddle or you want to be mauled like an animal between the sheets, he’s equally adept at both.

Pale

Pale is outwardly agressive to almost everyone. He rants and yells and hollers even when he’s in a good mood, usually intimidating the hell out of everyone in the vincinity. He is in a position of authority in most of his interactions because he’s the manger, the boss, the high roller, so he rarely has legitimate challenges to his dominant position and has little need to throw his weight around more than he does inherently. He’s not afraid to bust some heads if he needs, but it doesn’t usually get that far. He loves to spoil you, lavish you with gifts, pretty things, and copious orgasms, like no other man could. He’s just as brash and agressive with his affection for you as he is in every other aspect of his life.

Charlie

Charlie loves being in control and having things his way. He can be downright domineering. However, he rarely if ever allows things to escalate to something physical. Not because he’s not capable- he’s a big strong man and he knows it. Rather, it’s because he feels he’s more dignified than having to resort to physical methods of de-escalation. Such things are beneath him. However, he craves authority and he always secures it. Sometimes that’s by mentally jousting some arrogant psuedo-intellectual into stuttering shame. Sometimes it’s by smacking your ass until you’re dripping all over his lap through the fine lingerie he gifted you before reminding you exactly why you want him to be in charge just as badly as he wants it for himself.

Dan

Dan isn��t shy about taking on an entire branch of government by himself, working tirelessly to ensure his work sees the light of day. He goes toe to toe with committees, politicians, and agents. He’s no shirking violet. He’s not afraid to do anything and everything that’s necessary to get results. He even plays by the rules because he’ll always be the bigger man, and he’ll still win in the end. Even when constrained by rules and procedures, he still gets heated and passionate. He loves that with you there are no rules. He can be completely unrestrained and he never has to hold back. And he never does hold back with you. Whether he’s slow and passionate or taking out a day’s frustration in your body, he always gets the reward of your sighs and moans, knowing that pleasing you is one of his greatest talents.

#my writing #writing requests #best #fic #kylo #flip #clyde #charlie #pale #dan

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d3-iseefire · 4 years

Text

Little Swan Lost Chapter 36

“Well?” The king’s sharp voice broke the silence and Bilba jumped. She hadn’t realized that she’d frozen, her mental faculties completely abandoning her.

It shouldn’t have surprised her, she thought bitterly. This was how it always went, wasn’t it? She was so certain she could handle things, so confident of any confrontation and then it happened and she just…. fell apart.

She’d almost had it, once. A month ago, now, though it felt like an eternity. Back when she’d so boldly marched into her grandfather’s office to demand an explanation about why he’d dragged her away from her performance.

Time spent away from her family had blurred the pain of her past, softened the sharp edges and pushed the worst of it deep inside where her mind could more easily pretend it never happened. The woman who’d marched into her grandfather’s office had been a product of those years, so close to the person she might have been had her parents never died.

So confident, and all of it had been stripped away in an instant.

Every time she tried to stand up, step out, be someone else, there was always something, someone waiting to knock her back again.

“Are you mute, girl?” Thrain pushed to his feet and slapped a hand on his desk in irritation.

Bilba dug one of her fingernails into the joint of her thumb. “I’m not sure what you’re asking, Your Majesty,” she managed to get out, her voice soft. She could almost feel the bars closing about her again. She liked to think she’d escaped them, but they were always there, not gone, just pushed a little out, ready and waiting to close back in again when she least expected it.

Thrain’s eyes narrowed. “Have you been frigid toward my son?” he demanded. “Have you refused your duty?”

Heat flooded Bilba’s face, partly from humiliation and partly from irritation that Thrain simply assumed the fault was entirely hers. Thorin was the one openly running about with his ex-fiancée and yet she was somehow the problem?

A calculating look entered Thrain’s eyes and a shiver ran down Bilba’s spine. The expression was reminiscent of her grandfather, never in public of course, but in private when it was just the two of them and there was no need for the mask.

“You are capable of conception, are you not?” Thrain asked curtly. “I have heard of your…antics in Shire. Either you are more careful than your character would credit, or your grandfather has sent me a defective princess.” His voice, if possible, grew colder and a strange, almost manic look entered his eyes. “Is that it, then? The reason your grandfather was so adamant about this marriage? Did he seek to undermine my throne by ensuring I would have no heir?”

Bilba’s breathing grew short as the scathing words pierced her like blades. She desperately wanted to point out that she’d only been married to Thorin a month, that he was the one causing problems not her and, the most obvious fact of all, that Thrain had no less than four male heirs at his disposal which meant his throne was anything but in jeopardy.

She wanted to say all that, but the words froze in her throat, because all she could see was her grandfather. His face, his voice, and the actions he’d taken to ensure she never crossed him. There had been no one to help her back then, and no one to help her now.

At least in Shire, horrible as it had been, she’d known where she stood. She’d known that no matter what, her grandfather would at least stop short of killing her. He needed her, for his audience and, later, for this farce of a marriage he’d forced her into.

She had no such assurances of safety here. Misstep, forget her place, falsely believe she’d escaped as she’d so stupidly let herself think in Shire for those few short years…and the consequences could be a thousand times worse than anything her grandfather had ever done.

She clasped her hands in front of her, careful not to clench them into fists, and lowered her eyes to the surface of the desk. “I know of nothing in my personal, or family, history that would suggest an issue with…conception.”

She stumbled over the last word, and felt her face grow hot again as humiliation flooded her. This was the last thing she wanted to be discussing with someone, let alone Thrain.

At the same time, her mind couldn’t help but catch on the word conception. Conception meant a baby, Thorin’s baby. A baby who would have a father that openly loved another woman. A baby with her grandfather and Thrain as family. With relatives like Beatrice and her aunts on one side, and the Durins who couldn’t stand her on the other.

With her as the mother.

“Could you be any more stupid?”

“Trust Bilba to screw up the simplest things.”

“Take some pride in your appearance. You dress like a commoner.”

“That dress is far too short. You dress like a tramp.”

“No one will want you if you don’t shape up, Bilba. Why can’t you be more like Beatrice? She at least makes an effort.”

Her aunts had been wrong on that last one at least, Bofur had wanted her.

Or, at least…he had.

The words wormed their way into the base of her brain, spoken in a tone that sounded suspiciously like that of her Aunt Lobelia. Bofur had wanted her, before he really got to know her…

Would he have gotten tired of her? Had he gotten tired of her, and simply been too kind to say so?

Was he relieved she was gone?

Thrain had gone completely still, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. “Were you not checked before being chosen?” His voice was deceptively calm, and Bilba felt a chill run down her spine. Her grandfather would get like that, outwardly calm when he was inwardly seething.

“I’ve had medical exams before.” One very recently, in fact. Thrain seemed unaware of the injuries Thorin had sustained rescuing her, a fact for which she was extremely grateful. She didn’t want to know how he’d react to such news.

“Is this it then?” Thrain asked. “Why your grandfather was so adamant I marry one of his granddaughters to my heir?”

Bilba gaped in confusion. “Your Majesty?”

Thrain made a slicing motion with his arm and then slammed the desk a second time. “Gerontious!” He roared, face nearly purpling with sudden rage. Bilba tensed as he rounded his desk and advanced on her, pushing a finger in her face. “This is his plan, isn’t it? He seeks to undermine me, prevent my line from continuing!”

Bilba crossed her arms and tried not to look like she was leaning away from him. A low sense of panic began to beat in the back of her mind. This wasn’t her grandfather; she didn’t know how to navigate his rages. The right words to say to placate him.

She didn’t know the ways in which he would take out his anger on her.

Thrain spun away from her suddenly, and she flinched at the sudden movement. An almost otherworldly sense of detachment began to fall over her, allowing her to observe the scene almost as if she were somewhere else.

She really wanted to be somewhere else.

Thrain dropped into his chair and slapped a button on his desk. A voice that sounded vaguely familiar answered, and Thrain began speaking in rapid, clipped Khuzdul, the native language of Erebor.

The other voice answered in the same language and the two began to engage in what sounded like an argument, words flying back and forth so fast that Bilba doubted she’d have understood even if she’d been fluent in the language.

Thrain slapped the button again, cutting the other person off mid-word and settled back in his seat, the wood cracking loudly in the silent room. “Go to Oin,” he said flatly, that strange calm once more draping over him like a shroud. “He will establish your suitability.”

Behind her, the door opened with a rush of air and Bilba turned to see two guards she didn’t recognize step inside the room.

Thrain must have summoned them somehow for he waved a hand at her as if shooing an insect. “They will escort you in case you attempt to circumvent my command.” His eyes darkened and he barked an order that had Soren appearing from somewhere in the corridor as if he’d sprouted from the floor itself.

“Escort her to Oin,” he ordered. He glowered at her. “Nori will meet you there to witness and ensure my orders are followed.”

A mix of both hot and cold washed over Bilba at the mention of the palace Spymaster. Images of a small, dark room and a deep, hollow voice stirred in her mind and she had to bite back a whimper.

She barely noticed one of the guards taking her by the arm to lead her out of the room. The guards always took her by the arm to lead her places she didn’t want to go. It barely registered that it was even happening to her, like she’d stepped out of her own body and was watching things happen to someone else.

It wasn’t until they were halfway down the hall that her head began to pound, and her stomach clenched with nausea. Her heartrate spiked, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. She pulled away, or perhaps staggered away from the guard holding her and collapsed against the wall, mouth open as she gasped for breath. She sank to a crouch, arms wrapped around herself. She couldn’t seem to stop shaking, and black spots swam in her vision.

She didn’t want to be here. They were going to hurt her. They were going to lock her in the tower again. She’d have to go see the Spymaster. She hated the guards, hated them. They were supposed to protect her, but they never did. Not once. No one ever did. It was just her, always just –

Hands grabbed her shoulders, and Bilba jerked. She’d put her head down on her knees, arms wrapped around her legs, and her head snapped up so fast that she cracked it into the wall behind her. Pain bloomed through the base of her skull, and tears rushed to her eyes as her emotions proved entirely unable to handle it.

Ori, she recognized through her blurring vision, it was Ori in front of her. The other woman was talking, but Bilba couldn’t hear her through the roaring in her head. Ori gave her a light shake and Bilba focused on the movement of the other woman’s lips.

Look at me, Bilba. Come on, look at me. All right, now breathe, okay? Just breathe. In, and out, in and out. That’s it, you can do it. Just focus on me and breathe.

Slowly, the roaring in her ears lessened until she could make out the actual words Ori was saying. Her breathing began to even, and her heartrate started to settle.

She became aware of the fact she was in a hall she didn’t recognize, one that was completely clear of any other people except her, Ori, and Cerys standing several feet further down the hall. Even the guards and Soren were gone, though how Ori had managed that she couldn’t begin to imagine.

“Are you okay?” Ori asked. “What in Durin’s beard did Thrain do to you?”

Bilba didn’t answer. She struggled to her feet, using the wall as a brace. “It’s nothing,” she whispered in a shaky voice. “It’s fine.”

She didn’t want Thrain thinking she was complaining about him. Her grandfather used to accuse her of that, regardless of if she’d done it or not. He’d scream at her and insist she was lying until she broke down and admitted to things she hadn’t done just to get him to stop.

“Sure it’s fine,” Ori grumbled as she wrapped an arm around Bilba’s waist. “That’s why you’re having a panic attack in the hallway.”

“I have to go see Oin,” Bilba mumbled, eyes fixed on her feet. She did her best to not think about why she had to go see Oin, or who else would be there when she arrived. Instead she tried to focus on the faint hope that maybe, just maybe, she would end up being unable to conceive.

If she couldn’t, then the marriage could be annulled, and she could go to Gondor. Her grandfather would never allow it, but she could get there, she was sure, before he ever knew. Thorin would let her. He wouldn’t care where she went, so long as she went. Arwen would let her come, and then maybe she could finally feel safe…assuming her grandfather didn’t come after her and…and…

Her mind derailed as she realized they’d been moving while she’d tried to delude herself, and now they were standing outside the doors she recognized from that last time she’d been there, just after nearly getting Thorin killed.

Funny, how when she’d gotten up that morning, she’d thought the worst she’d have to deal with was breakfast with Ori, and the soreness in her side. Ori’s fingers were accidentally pressing into the bruised area, sending dull bursts of pain cascading through her, but Bilba didn’t comment on it.

The door slid open and they walked in, Ori alongside her and Cerys just behind her. The first person Bilba saw was Nori, standing in the center of the room and, without thinking about it, she unwound her arms to wrap one of them around Ori.

Bilba was surprised by her own reaction. Ori was Nori’s sister, and the wife of the Captain of the Guard. She was the last person Bilba should ever want to turn to. Ori had all the power she could want through her husband and brother, but Bilba seriously doubted she’d use any of it to help her.

All these people, Thorin and Kyra and Ori, had all grown up together. They’d been through the exile, the retaking of the kingdom, through experiences and memories that had bonded them together in an unbreakable way that would never, ever include her.

Perhaps Ori was supporting her right then, but if it ever came down to a choice between an interloping princess and someone Ori had known her entire life, Bilba knew she would lose every time.

“Why are you here?” Ori asked in surprise, eyes narrowing at her brother. “Do you know what Thrain did to upset Bilba?”

“You know how the king can be,” Nori said mildly. He inclined his head toward Bilba. “Your Highness, if you’d head right through that door,” he nodded toward the room where she’d had her original exam. “Dr. Belarius is already waiting.”

“Belarius?” Ori asked in surprise. “Why did you call her in?”

“Her?” The tiniest burst of relief raced through Bilba. She’d rather not do any of this at all but, if she had to, she’d prefer it be a woman.

She hesitated and pulled free from Ori and stepped forward. She started to move toward the door, but stopped again, unsure as Nori stayed where he was.

She wasn’t entirely sure what to make of him. Shire’s Spymaster would have already made some remark or another, innocent on the surface but with some barb so cleverly hidden it was impossible for anyone to say if he’d really intended it.

Nori gave her a surprisingly reassuring smile. “Go ahead, Your Highness. I’ll wait out here.”

Bilba didn’t know how to respond to that. Sure, it looked as if he was doing her a kindness, but she’d lived far too long in the shadow of her grandfather to take anything at face value. The Thrain had ordered him to witness her being tested, did he plan to blackmail her with the fact he hadn’t?

Yavanna, but she’d forgotten how it was to be around royalty and their retainers. It wasn’t just watching everything she said and did, but everything everyone else said and did as well. It was like a chess game where she constantly had to be five steps ahead, and every misstep was punished.

It was exhausting. She wanted to go back to bed. It was the only time she could truly escape from it all, off into a dream where royalty and her grandfather didn’t exist, and she was back with Rosie and Bofur again.

Nori didn’t appear inclined to give her any indication of his motivation so, with a sigh, she turned and walked through the doors into the small room beyond.

The faster she could get through this the sooner it could be over with and behind her.

And maybe, just maybe, she could start packing to go to Gondor.

Or just…go back to sleep.

For just a little while.

***

Ori smiled brightly as Bilba vanished.

The second the doors slid close the smile dropped off her face, and she whirled to face her brother. “Start talking.”

Follow on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1743620/chapters/3723188

#Writing #My writing #fanfiction #fanfic #LOTR #Hobbit #Tolkien #Female Bilbo #Female Bilbo Baggins #AU #Modern #Angst #Arranged Marriage #Bagginshield #Romance #Slow Burn

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senjuushi · 4 years

Note

Hey, can you give me a introduction on the characters personalities? I really want to ask some stuff, but don't know the characters enouth. It doens't need to be long, just a small introduction! (:

OwO Absolutely!!! I’ve explained the characters in my writing Discord before, so I’ll just copypaste what I wrote there. The explanations are pretty long, but they’re detailed, so I like ‘em~

Long post below!

This is F. He's a flamboyant, eccentric sadomasochist, and deviant with a princess-type personality, who kind of never quits saying horrible, horrible things. He's very girly and over-the-top, and expresses a distinct crush on one of the other guns, who he refers to as "Onii-sama".

He has MAJOR masochistic tendencies, like licking the barrel of his gun while it's still hot, but he shows sadistic tendencies too, such as treating his lowest-ranking soldiers horribly. It's very likely that these behaviors have been learned from others, though. One thing that I think is of note is that, despite his extremely sexual behavior and tendencies, he's not showing any more skin than his upper neck and a little bit of his wrists.

He's an attention-seeker who struggles to stand out in the shadow of a remarkable older brother, and it's implied that he's pretty desperate to be loved. He values his appearance a lot, going out of his way to look good and be presentable, such as through doing his nails and wearing perfume.

I think he's a very needy person who just wants people to look at him and care about him in any way, so he goes out of his way to stand out. There are a lot of implications that he's been through some pretty awful stuff, considering that his sadism and masochism are most likely learned.

. . .

This is Belga. He's a loudmouthed idiot with a violent streak and a love of shooting everything in sight. Based on his face and calculated height, he's probably only like 13-15 physically, 16 at max.

He's very childish and immature, is either ridiculously ignorant or pretty darn stupid, and has a horrifically foul mouth on him. He was described to me as a "laughing maniac". That said, he's got a major soft side, and cries easily at things like sad stories and his pet fish dying. The fish themselves are most likely a measure to control him by, with letting him gain an attachment just to threaten him with them.

He's very manipulable and gullible, and gets called "birdbrain" by 89, a gun who shares the same superior as him. Overall, he's a childish moron who can probably only barely take care of himself.

. . .

This is Mikhael. He's... kind of a mess. Outwardly, he seems like a calm, collected character who lives only for his music and his passions. When looked at closer, however, there are some very bad signs.

First of all, he's blind. His eyes are bandaged over, which... does not imply good things. He also has what's almost definitely a brace on his leg, suggesting that he's kind of broken. Also worth noting is that in the art above, his gun is pointing at his head.

Mikhael has a fixation on "beauty in destruction" which to me implies that he's trying very hard to cover for how broken he is. He does nothing but play his piano when taken to battle, basically leaving himself open to getting shot. I see him as an older, broken-down gun who's acutely aware of how horrible his situation is, as well as being passively suicidal. He won't do anything to kill himself, but if something happened, he certainly wouldn't complain.

I think he's very sad, finding joy only in his music, and taking every chance to drown himself in it. Because of his physical flaws, I doubt the WE treats him very well. He's broken enough that he could be gotten rid of at any time, so he's struggling to make himself seem useful and good through his obsession with beauty in ruined things.

. . .

This is Ninety. He's the "holy shit this is fucked up" one. Ninety is literally referred to as the WE's dog... and he acts like it.

He's the youngest of the guns in terms of summoning order and has a mindset somewhere between a child and an animal. He can't speak, most likely trauma mute and connected to something like conversion disorder, is only barely literate, and communicates with a signboard. Do note that this boy is not wearing pants.

He's sort of feral, going so far as to bite the soldiers under him when he doesn't get fed enough (they're probably starving him). He's known to be a "panic shooter", implying a nervous personality. Also worrying is that he has another mask under his gas mask. A lot of fans theorize that he has a slit mouth.

All of that said, though, Ninety is surprisingly mature and probably a lot more intelligent than he acts. He comforts Belga when his fish die, and honestly, I think he's just acting the part of a stupid dog because it's been drilled into him enough. There's intelligence in there, he's just not allowed to show it. Also, he's tiny. My height calculations put him at somewhere in the 4' range.

. . .

This is Ghost. His gun is an experimental weapon that was never actually released, and he's got issues because of that. He's a person with no presence who always goes ignored by those around him. His bullets are ridiculously expensive to produce, and thus, the only person who's ever given him a chance is Ashley, to whom he's ridiculous levels of grateful and loyal.

He's got major abandonment issues and considers himself to be a difficult to deal with reject. He's very passive, cynical, and pessimistic. He has a very childish side, "cursing" people who upset or ignore him, and "blessing" the rare few who give him the time of day. He latches onto anyone who treats him kindly with an unrivaled sense of desperation. It's implied that he might be rather sickly, and he seems to have a poor physical presence.

He feels like he's a failure who no one should waste their time on, and struggles a lot with believing that anyone could ever find him worth the effort to use or keep. He's always teetering on the fear of being abandoned and forgotten.

. . .

This is 89. He's a dead-inside gamer otaku who's catchphrase is "Are you serious?" He's something of the straight man (in the sense of the comedy term) of the lot of them and is definitely the most "normal".

On that subject, he wants to be normal very, very badly but doesn’t have a shadow of a chance thanks to his status as nothing but a gun and a weapon of the WE, so he forces himself to look down on everyone who does get a normal life. He’s so depressed and done with life that all he does is lock himself up in his room and play whatever violent fighting games he’s allowed as an escape from the misery that is his life. He's got a ridiculously obvious crush on Mikhael, and also very obviously just wants someone to love him. Belga calls him "virgin", and in return gets referred to as "birdbrain".

89 is just tired and done and exhausted with life, and honestly, he probably doesn't get much attention. He slacks off from missions when he can (which he definitely gets in trouble for), and even his favorite foods are cheap things that sound like they've been shoved onto him out of sheer neglect. He's a little bit tsundere and a total softie inside. He's also my favorite of all of them.

. . .

This is Eins. He's the powerhouse of the modern guns, and definitely the strongest person there. He's the highest-ranking of all of them, and his battle style/gun type is a sniper.

He's a serious person who takes his job equally seriously and always produces exceptional results. He acts rather normal, and could probably pass for human if he tried. That said, he's also got major empathy issues, showing very little remorse for hurting people. He takes orders way too far to make sure he's gone far enough, in the sense that he'd kill 100 people if ordered to kill 1. He has his soft side, though, down to gardening, impressive cooking skills when it comes to the others, and considering many of the other moderns to be his "family". F has a crush on him, which he's totally oblivious to.

Fal is his loyal right-hand man, and Ghost is ridiculously fond of him. He's merciless when it comes down to it, but probably just sees what he does as doing his job and not getting hurt. He definitely sees himself as nothing but a weapon and a tool.

. . .

This is Fal. He's F's older brother, and most likely the reason why F is Like That. Fal is an insanely capable, efficient, skilled person– one who comes off as perfect in every way. His gun, the FN FAL, is known as "the right arm of the free world" and has been one of the most used firearms in history.

Fal himself is a calm, collected sort who always seems poised. He's Eins's assistant and has a lot of responsibility, which he handles extremely well. He's polite, subservient, and soft-spoken, despite being very close to Eins in power and skill. He's well-spoken, eloquent, loyal, and basically embodies the perfect assistant. He's also very intelligent, and expresses a particular fondness for torture. He has a unique power in that he's able to manifest prehensile, thorned vines, which sets him apart from the others in strength and skill.

He's basically the ideal modern gun, which gives F and everyone else a LOT to live up to. He does seem like a very stressed, worn-down person, though, and likely is almost crushed under the pressure of the expectations placed on him.

. . .

This is Kirsch. He's a sadistic spoiled brat who's almost definitely been sexually abused. He's downright desperate for attention from Ashley, resenting Mauser (Ashley's personal weapon) viciously for taking that attention away. Creepily enough, he refers to Ashley as "Papa".

He's sort of obsessed with being cute and attractive, emphasizing his charm and trying to play up how lovable he is. That said, he behaves like a spoiled child, down to throwing tantrums when he's angry. Kirsch is also a major sadist (a behavior which is definitely learned), and loves torturing people for the sheer fun of it. He's described as "sick in the head" by one of his superiors. Even so, he tries to paint himself as a harmless victim who can do no wrong, kissing up to and demanding attention from anyone he looks fondly upon.

He's ridiculously immature, insanely clingy, and probably also has major abandonment issues. He acts like a love-starved child who acts out in order to get attention. There are also a few implications that he's been sexually abused, including his aggressively "touchy" behavior, personal-space invading sadism, attitude towards his superiors, and revealing outfit (short shorts and garter on his leg).

. . .

This is Hokusai. He's an animated, wild-natured person with a major childish streak. He uses the pronoun "Boku-chan", which sounds straight out of the mouth of a kindergartener.

He's something of a mad scientist who's associated with the science sector of the WE, and has honestly probably been the brunt of more than a few experiments. He has a massive fixation on the color blue that goes all the way to an obsession, and he's so dedicated to this that he keeps trying to dye his human self blue... which also keeps killing him. He's killed himself like this a bunch of times, but fortunately, Ashley can keep bringing him back somehow. He has a massive aversion to the color red too, straight to the point where he loses it if he sees his own blood.

He has a number of visible scars (rare for anime art), including one across his throat and one on his wrist, implying that he's been through some shit. His behavior also says to me that he might have some form of brain damage, probably of the nature that impacts his decision making and sense of consequences. He's very reckless and has little regard for his own life. Despite this, he's also a cheerful, sunny person who never really seems to be down.

. . .

This is Love1. He's... a mess. His gun is majorly defective, and known irl as one of the worst and most useless firearms in history. Reflecting this, L1's body is kind of a mess. His gun jams constantly, which gives him nosebleeds, he's implied to be physically fucked up in general, and in the game, his bigger attacks did damage to him too.

Personality-wise, he acts like an utter idiot. He's loud and goofy, with a lot of presence and seemingly no dignity. He's cheerful, explosive, and trigger-happy, acting like he doesn't have a care in the world. However, his real personality is very different. L1 is a massively intelligent and strategic individual. While Fal specializes in physical torture, L1 is the psychological torture master. He knows how to absolutely break people. He has a little brother, Like2, and the two of them are both in the "defective" boat. L1 loves L2 dearly, no matter how rude the other is to him, and gushes over his "cute baby brother" constantly.

On the dark note, L1's life is kind of hanging by a thread. He's worthless enough that he could be gotten rid of at any time, and with the whole world seeing him as a failure, he's definitely got some major issues. He could be replaced at any time, and he's definitely living in fear of when that day will come. Since his physical body is shot, it's also likely that he's constantly in a lot of pain. No one is really very nice to him either.

. . .

This is Like2. He's an effeminate, bratty tsundere who wants to be spoiled and loved. He's in the same boat as L1 in that his gun is sort of useless, but he's still quite a bit better off. He definitely shares the same worries about being replaced, but instead of covering it up with a smile, he fixates on making himself pretty and strong.

He's a bodybuilder who focuses a lot on strength training, and is surprisingly tough for his looks. He loves fine things and getting attention and spoiling, and is pretty much desperate for people to like him. Because of his status as a rejected, mocked weapon, he's frantic to make himself useful and avoid being disposed of. He values his personal security massively, can't stand any form of discomfort, and is willing to turn traitor as soon as his safety is on the line. He's an aggressive, abrasive tsundere who constantly berates his brother, calling him "worthless" and "soon to be replaced".

That said, he loves L1 dearly underneath it all, and winds up as something of his brother's caretaker. He's a fragile person who's desperate to be cared for an accepted, no matter what he has to do to get it.

. . .

Last is Mauser. He's Ashley's personal assistant and weapon, and is honestly a thousand levels of worrying. Mauser is the first gun Ashley summoned, and despite his size and young appearance, his gun is the oldest model as well, being made in 1896. He teeters right on the verge of modern and antique.

He's an obedient doll to Ashley who seems to lack any form of personality or will of his own. He's empty and emotionless, only capable of expressing his loyalty to his Master. This lack of personality could be attributed to being a faulty summon, but more likely, Ashley has broken him of anything that made him a person. He's blindly devoted, endlessly loyal, and doesn't really have anything to live for beyond Ashley. His character is worrying because something must have left him so broken, and the implications with what Ashley could have done to mess him up so badly aren't pretty.

His personality is rather flat, but his interesting side comes in what made him the way he is. He'd have nothing to live for without Ashley.

#F #Belga #Mikhael #Ninety #Ghost #89 #Eins #Fal #Hokusai #Kirsch #Love1 #Like2 #Mauser #Info #Meta

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