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If Minimus were to ever have kids / mentor a young bot, I like to think that it would be an Ambus custom for him to make an insignia for them. The mentor would hand-make a mustache emblem for their student/child to wear. :^)

#🌸 minminrambles #Things that make me go :^)#Or should I say #:^{)

“ Maybe I will give my brother an ass kicking for snowdown, y’know as his present. It’s about time DRAVEN introduces his jaw to the floor. ”

#:^{)#◟ic ◦ ᵐᵒˡᵗᵉᶰ ᵉʸᵉˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵃ ˢᵐᶤˡᵉ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ʷᵃʳ

“ Power is in inflicting pain and humiliation. ”

Draven was no stranger to dancing with demons, literally and figuratively — he had plenty of his own, so truly one more was no conflict. He knew of her tricks and temptations, but never would Draven pluck a grape from her thorned vine, avoidant of pricking his finger to give her what she wanted.

He takes her hand in his own, calloused hands sliding along the edges of her claws for their palms to meet, and he tugs her closer to him — a pull commanding and directive, uncaring of the danger this woman held.

“ You foolish little thing, you don’t know anything about true power. “

The man laughed, teeth glistening in the gloomy atmosphere with their beastial grin. Men often said he rivaled the visage of the Devil himself — perhaps that was his allure to drawing demons in. Had he been a religious man, perhaps he’d agree with their assumptions, but as far as he was concerned… he was the Devil.

“ Power comes from those who kneel and beg for mercy and forgiveness. When the object of your interest is tangled in your web, and when you give them the hope of freedom, you throw them to the Harvest anyway. “

There’s a moment of silence, his hand coming around to ghost tender fingertips against one of the succubus’ lashers; even he could resist her charm, as he simply didn’t see the appeal. Draven leans forward, his lips close to her ear, warm breath lashing against the coolness of her skin as he whispers:

“ It’s why I’m crowned king of the game, darling. Draven never loses, and I’m the reason why they fear death. “

#agonizier #:^{)#◟ic ◦ ᵐᵒˡᵗᵉᶰ ᵉʸᵉˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵃ ˢᵐᶤˡᵉ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ʷᵃʳ #◟asks ◦ ʰᵉ ʳᵉᶠᵘˢᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʳᶤˢᵒᶰᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ʰᶤˢ ᵖᵃˢᵗ

#:^{)#◟music ◦ ᵖᶤᶜᵗᵘʳᵉˢ ᵖᵃᶤᶰᵗᵉᵈ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᵇˡᵃᶰᵏ ˢᶤˡᵉᶰᶜᵉ

“that is the most artistic thing i’ve ever seen.”

“ I know I am, thanks for noticing. “

#askdragonbladetalon #:^{)#◟ic ◦ ᵐᵒˡᵗᵉᶰ ᵉʸᵉˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵃ ˢᵐᶤˡᵉ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ʷᵃʳ

“You need to do better if you wish to meet your goal.”

Draven meets Swain’s gaze with a look of utter astonishment painted across his features. Such words were unwarranted and sudden, and while he understood the intention behind the advice, he couldn’t help but feel guilty. Worry over whether he’s done enough, too little, or too much floods his brain, like a storm seeking to level out entire cities.

One moment of silence passes and his confidence falters — drops entirely — and the mask shatters like porcelain. His mouth opens, and when words escape him, he closes it once more. Had he disappointed his general? Voices, several, began buzzing in his mind; they echoed off of the walls in dark corridors, nagging, accusatory sentences slung towards him like fodder, and yet he ate them up.

“ If I’m being honest… ”

The sentence trails off, and Draven worries the inside of his cheek in search of a proper response. There wasn’t one to give. Aspirations were lost on him, and the eagerness to pursue them died with his hope of ever discovering peace of mind and prosperity. A bittersweet laugh fills the void with a smile to match.

“ I don’t have a personal goal. I do what’s best for you, Darius, and Noxus; when I pledged myself to this great nation, I abandoned what I truly sought and chose fame and glory instead. Popularity will idolize my success, mummify my image in gold, and that is what I could hope for. So long as I’m not forgotten, I suppose I can be… content. Buf if you wish for me to do better, then so be it. I wouldn’t want to disappoint you. ”

#omendus #:^{)#◟ic ◦ ᵐᵒˡᵗᵉᶰ ᵉʸᵉˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ᵃ ˢᵐᶤˡᵉ ᵐᵃᵈᵉ ᶠᵒʳ ʷᵃʳ #◟asks ◦ ʰᵉ ʳᵉᶠᵘˢᵉᵈ ᵗᵒ ᵇᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ᵖʳᶤˢᵒᶰᵉʳ ᵒᶠ ʰᶤˢ ᵖᵃˢᵗ