He hadn’t been doing anything of note — just shuffling through paperwork he could’ve easily dumped on Reim, who’d probably lecture him about “responsibility” and “not passing off your work” before giving up and letting himself be dragged off for wine. Break knew the routine by heart, and didn’t much care for the scolding.

          The only reason he’d stepped away from the desk was because he’d thought he’d found a perfect excuse. Now, staring at whatever Gilbert had decided to place in front of him, Break kind of wished he’d just stayed put and finished those dull reports. This? This was not an improvement.

        Was Gilbert actually serious? Break eyed the food, it didn't look bad. If anything, his cooking had improved since he was young. He still remembered the time Ojou-sama had convinced Gilbert he was at death’s door — what a little devil she could be, all innocence and cunning. Where she attributed those traits, he'd never know. Probably took after her mother. Annoyed, Break wrinkled his nose, stealing a glance at Gilbert, who stood there with that anxious look in his golden eyes — those eyes that always seemed to hold too much, and if Break wasn’t careful, could drag him under completely.

ask the novelist / accepting.

--- ❝ You think so? ❞ Though her query had an INNOCENT lilt to it, as if she were an angel of PUREST quality, the way in which her gaze was half - lidded & peering up at him through SWEEPING lashes sang a different tune ; amber orbs bright with what could only be described as PLAYFULNESS on the very cusp of desire, held back only by the fact they were in public ( & her darling Gilbert was still so timid with regard to their newfound tension ). The hanger held aloft in her grasp was adorned with a LACY number ; which was a hue of blue that reminded her entirely of the man before her, the fringes having a CUTE frill to them but the pattern of both the brassiere & panties leaving very little to the imagination. Browsing for lingerie was one of her DELIGHTS ; the novelist often paying a pretty penny for a sets of silk, satin & lace.

This would be one of the occasions where she bought something a little more RISQUÉ.

Batting her lashes in a COY manner, Emily couldn't help but grin at the sight of that adorable shade of red that blossomed upon his countenance -- going so far as to hold the lingerie set up against her frame & jutting her hip out in a gesture that only ACCENTUATED them. ❝ Would it suit me? I've never owned lingerie quite so revealing as this before - perhaps I should try it on. ❞

/ @ravenhe

Thematic Headcanons. A series of subject-specific headcanons you can ask your favorite blog and muse. || @ravenhe || accepting

hc + 😶 for a headcanon about a secret they know of / keep

The Memory of Fire and Ash

There is a truth Hanzo Hasashi carries like a coal that never cools; he remembers the face of every soul he's taken.

Not just their final moments - the fear, the defiance, the acceptance - but everything. The wrinkle between a merchant's brows when he laughed at his own joke. The way a Lin Kuei assassin tucked his hair behind his ear before a fight. A rival clan member who hummed while sharpening his blade, the same melody Hanzo's mother once sang.

He remembers them all. Hundreds of faces, thousands of details, an entire gallery of the dead catalogued in perfect, merciless clarity behind his eyes.

It is not remorse that makes him keep this ledger. Hanzo has walked through fire - literal and metaphorical - and emerged with purpose hardened like folded steel. He does not flinch from what he has done.

But he refuses to let vengeance make him a monster who forgets that each life he ended was a life. That each belonged to someone. That each contained multitudes he extinguished in a breath of hellfire.

On quiet nights at the Shirai Ryu compound, when his students sleep and the training grounds lie empty beneath the moon, Hanzo sits in meditation. And one by one, he recalls them. Every face. Every name he learned. Every detail he noticed in that final moment before the kunai struck home or the flames consumed.

It is his penance. His anchor. His promise that Scorpion's wrath will never fully consume Hanzo Hasashi's humanity.

He tells no one. Not Takeda. Not Kuai Liang. Not even the memory of Harumi, though he suspects she would understand.

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 & 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒

@ravenhe : 🍾 + are you crushing on anyone right now? :3 I live for the drama Send 🍾 + a question for my muse to answer your question while drunk.

"Crushing? Oooh, I don't knooow. I mean, I have a lot of friends that are good looking but I don't think I have a cruuush. Like Kurama, he's so handsome. Everyone knows it. He has really nice hair and eyes and he's so gentlemanly, like really polite and so well spoken! Totally different from the others! And, well, he's actually this big scary demon, I got to see his form and... I just really wanna pet his ears! They look so soft and he always smells so nice. I'd never ever ask but.... a girl can dream.

From above: "🌿🍒" ☞ . . .

  @ravenhe ,

Days  spent  working  bleed  into  midnight-casted  evenings,  each  seemingly  darker  than  the  one  before,  and  far  more  exhausting.  Delivery  this  time  of  year  is  a  real  pain,  but  the  overtime  benefits  that  build  his  paychecks  are  undeniably  appreciated.  Lately,  it's  been  longer  workdays,  weekends,  and  more  time  covering  extra  routes  for  those  who  have  gotten  sick  from  weather-affected  or  compromised  immune  systems.   Corporations  be  damned,  but  he'll  take  any  form  of  compensation  he  can  get  his  hands  on.  The  moments  in  his  route  where  he  fits  in  a  P.O.  Box  Office  or  a  Central  Box  Unit  are  often  his  favorite,  as  the  task  becomes  a  slight  deviation  from  the  norm,  even  if  it's  repeated  daily.

All  feelings  on  the  matter  aside,  he  tosses  a  granola  wrapper  beneath  him  (  which  will  be  cleaned  at  the  end  of  his  day,  as  per  his  routine  )  as  he  parks  his  ordinary  truck  against  a  familiar  curb  and  readies  all  the  different  letters,  advertisements,  coupons,  and  packages  from  within.  His  sorting  hands  have  become  quick  with  muscle-memory,  learned  skills,  and  the  memorization  of  each  recipient's  name  that  he's  begun  to  recognize  as  the  years  have  passed. 

After  preparing  everything  for  delivery,  he  pokes  his  head  out  to  observe  the  surroundings  that  await  him,  and  sighs  audibly  when  he  sees  a  stranger  standing  amidst  the  boxes  where  he's  soon  to  begin  his  sorting.  He  hates  when  random  people  wanna  start  a  conversation…  not  more  than  he  hates  the  dogs  that  run  amok  and  chase  him  through  the  streets,  of  course,  and  not  everyone  talks  to  him,  but  the  risk  always  stands.  Regardless,  he'd  like  one  night  when  he  gets  to  return  to  his  bed  at  a  decent  hour  and  decompress  from  the  previous  month's  unrelenting  chaos.  It's  the  only  thing  that  pushes  him  through  the  coming  days.

So,  with  a  false  and  projected  confidence,  he  hops  out  of  the  vehicle,  still  running,  loudly  so,  and  hopes  his  feigned  irritation  and  dismissal  of  the  world  around  him  might  keep  any  bystanders  from  unwanted  approach.  His  feet  hit  the  ground,  and  he  begins  fiddling  with  the  keys  he's  come  to  learn  quite  well.  The  stranger  glances  his  way,  and  when  he  glances  back,  neither  of  them  make  any  eye  contact.  Weird.  He's  not  sure  he's  ever  seen  this  guy  around  before,  so  he  breathes  quietly  through  whatever  that  was,  but  can't  shake  the  feeling  he's  being  watched  (  even  if  it's  not  true  in  the  slightest;  social  anxiety  and  mind-born  paranoia  are  no  joke  ).  Blue  eyes  look  to  the  other  with  suspicion,  gathering  information  on  their  current  surroundings  as  if  he's  not  already  entirely  aware  of  his  every  exit  point  and  every  escape  route  possible.  In  his  reassessment  of  the  area,  his  eyes  do  a  double-take  toward  the  “decoration”  that  hangs  from  atop  the  weather-resistant  canopy  that  shrouds  them  in  its  shadow.

PROMPT:     PROMPTS FOR FAKE DATING & GOING UNDERCOVER.

     ❝     you don’t like it?     i had to call you something,     they don’t let you try these if you’re not planning a wedding,     ❞     &͟.     it’d worked,     if the reaction that term had elicited from the bakery owner had meant anything——     the tell-tale expression of someone who has realized that oh,     they must be serious if they’re resorting to such disgustingly affectionate diminutives.     (     he lacks the experience that comes with the usage of pet names but     …     he’s watched movies involving couples     &͟.     snookums had come up more than once.     clearly it’d worked because the woman that had approached them had appeared convinced,     all smiles     &͟.     pleasantries to exchange in order to congratulate what she had believed was sincerely a pair of lovers planning a future wedding.     )     at this point he knows now that he went way over his head,     all of this trouble for such an unnecessarily selfish indulgence——     they don’t hand out samples of wedding cake to just anyone     /     &͟.     well,     they’d had the bright idea of involving someone else in their scheme,     in their master plan to try each     &͟.     every gourmet flavor because they were a sucker for cake     &͟.     the like.     it’s not every day that they get to try a slice of raspberry lemonade cake,     or strawberry champagne or     …     floral pistachio.     (     it’d been worth it,     however.     ) 

     he’s decided that wedding cake is particularly far more flavorful than the average cake he’s bought from the grocery store     /     perhaps he will continue to borrow gilbert in exchange for favors,     if only it will allow him to try far more fancy palates that were safeguarded behind significant progressions in life.     ‘sides,     it is rather     …     amusing seeing the other squirm like that,     to be so evidently bashful     &͟.     awkward whilst they played the part of doting significant other so perfectly.     he’s got the bakery workers hook,     line     &͟.     sinker,     smug     &͟.     self assured as ever.

     ❝     try this one,     ❞     a hand is placed ‘neath the utensil that they bring up towards the other’s mouth,     as a precaution in case any of it happens to fall so it would be caught ‘pon their palm.     he continues to play up the charade of someone genuinely in love by resorting to offering the other forkfuls of cake himself,     like one would expect from the average couple.     ❝     i think this one is hazelnut praline.     tastes good.     ❞     as if that means much of anything,     everything involving sweets has always tasted good to them,     no matter the combinations in flavoring.     regardless,     he decides to up the ante,     with a grating,     ‘baby voice’     to match,     like one would use when speaking to their beloved dog.     ❝     say aaaaah,     love bug.     ❞

🖤 MUNDAY: THE CHAOS EDITION 🖤 || @ravenhe || accepting

💥 – What’s your muse’s most unhinged trait and do you relate?

Hanzo's most unhinged trait is his absolute, reality-warping refusal to let anything go. This isn't normal stubbornness. This is "I will literally drag myself back from Hell, murder an entire clan, spend decades as a vengeful specter, and burn down everything I've ever known" levels of stubbornness.

When Hanzo believes something, when he commits to a course of action, when he decides someone has wronged him - there is no talking him down, no reasoning with him, no cosmic force that can redirect him. Quan Chi manipulated him? Hanzo murdered Sub-Zero and slaughtered the Shirai Ryu's enemies without question. Found out he was deceived? Spent another eternity seeking revenge on Quan Chi. Tried to find peace? The second someone threatens what's his, he's ready to immolate the world again.

It's unhinged because Hanzo's stubbornness operates on a binary; complete devotion or total destruction. There's no middle ground. He cannot do anything halfway. When he loved his family, he was the perfect husband and father. When they were taken, he became Scorpion - pure vengeance with a flaming skull. When he rebuilt the Shirai Ryu, he poured everything into it. When betrayed, he burned it all down again.

I see this trait mirrored in me, though perhaps in less literally murderous ways. When I commit to something - a belief, a project, a relationship, a principle - I don't just dip my toes in. I am all in, and getting ne to change course once I have decided something is like trying to redirect a forest fire with a garden hose.

This stubbornness is both my greatest strength and my most exhausting quality as well. Like Hanzo, when I believe I am right or when I have been wronged, I will hold that position with both hands and refuse to let the universe itself pry my fingers loose. I will argue your point into the ground, I will pursue what matters to me with single-minded intensity, and I will remember slights with crystalline clarity.

But here's where it gets complicated, just like with Hanzo; this trait has probably saved me and ruined me in equal measure. That refusal to quit has often times pushed me through situations where anyone else would've walked away. It's given me resilience, determination, an unbreakable core. But it's also probably kept me locked in battles that didn't need fighting, holding onto pain that should've been released, defending positions past the point of reason.