#I think I just flushed every headcanon I had for that and Solitude down the drain bc. it's hard to do that in such fandoms as those.

[flannelfloofs]

Hiiii flannnn :]c please tell me about your iris hcs and/or some fun facts abt tmm, either one you want to ramble about is cool with me. Honestly just talk abt ur current hyperfixation because I love hearing people talk about them, it makes them happy and I get to learn stuff!!

yea sure 👍

Warf is entirely inspired by Will Ryan of DAGames, but design-wise, he was inspired by my first drawing of Phone Guy inspired by the DAGames song "Not Here All Night"...examples:

Levi was originally going to be simply named Flashdrive, based on the fact that I created them after listening to the finalized album of Flashdrive (once again, made by DAGames); they were going to have the power to emit light from their hands and change their hair through the colors of the Flashdrive album before I settled more on the lightning bolt/bug theming for them (on top of revamping them completely for TMM)

I decided Emily will just die in TMM part 1 after being accidently gutted by Armada, since originally she was going to have a deep scar on her chest and still live while in pain; but due to the fact I wanted to explore her fear of death and the way she comes into contact with Wish post-death/resurrection which in turn, makes her more improved on how she spends the rest of her life upon returning to life...I felt her sudden death would be more impactful on her character and a great way to visualize dying and transitioning into The Draw (limbo bellow the mortal world). Dw she's fine.

Originally I was going to have the story turn towards an alternate universe world involving a kingdom with gemstone inspired people fighting a new war. This storyline also involved a plotline that tried to explain the reason of Armada's existence with a whole race of bio-engineered skeletons of extinct animals' fossils, but the last surviving one (Armada), only a pup, was sheltered and raised at the hands of king and queen, alongside their demon son, Prince Diamond (who was revamped for TMM as a gemstone deity named Jewel). Through something I don't remember, Armada's soul was preserved into the body of a mortal in another world..which turned out to be Warf, who finds out he's merged with the soul of the secondary prince of the war kingdom. And there was a ground of renegade fighters with cool designs I liked who aided both Warf and Emily upon returning to the kingdom. I did like this idea in hindsight but in the end, I scrapped it and modified a bit of its worldbuilding into what is now considered The Draw. Like to think back to the War Kingdom sometimes hehe.

I hope this is enough fun facts about TMM hehe

[finalfantasyxivwritings]

If you’re accepting them, could I get some headcanons about Urianger in a relationship with a hrothgar!wol?

Urianger is a tall man—it’s not that hard to be, considering he is an elezen. They are quite tall when compared to a lot of other races save for a few who are equal or taller yet; hrothgars happen to be one of them. So if the warrior of light happens to be a hrothgar, they would be of the very few members of the Scions who might need to look down when speaking to Urianger. This might not seem like an unusual detail—perhaps not even something worth noticing in most cases. But for a warrior of light who happens to *also* be Urianger’s romantic partner, this bit of information becomes a bit more developed, even if it might take a little while to notice.

It’s so easy to leave Urianger flustered when he has to peer up at you. Though the man can be a bounty of words beyond measure, all it takes is reaching your hand into his hair and tilting his head back for each and every word to be entirely useless. You don’t even have to kiss him! Just the notion, mayhap even the reminder that he is matched or more in terms of height alone…perhaps it is a form of comfort to him. It’s not often that Urianger is allowed to feel small, emotionally or otherwise.

Being a member of the Scions—and a long-standing one at that—can leave anyone feeling alone and without support in some respect. Urianger especially has been put in a position of solitude many times over. So maybe that’s why his cheeks flush and his words go soft whenever you curl a claw beneath his chin and turn his lips up to yours.

Whenever he is taking the time to read, the urge to lay your head upon his lap may be strong, near-impossible to ignore. Whenever you do find yourself happily napping across the man’s legs, he’s one to idly start running his hands through your hair and fur alike in gentle shapes and symbols you never have the mind to think about. If Urianger is particularly enthralled in whatever he is currently reading, he’ll even start playing with your ears; tracing around the shell and feeling them flick softly against his palms. Perhaps the sensation grounds him, or perhaps he simply likes the excuse of having both partner and Oversized Cat(tm) to keep him warm.

That said, Urianger can and WILL use you for heat whenever the two of you share a bed. The man almost always runs terribly cold, and the fact is only made worse by the fact that he tends to favor aesthetics than function for his outfits. There have been plenty of times that you had woken in the middle of the night to find the man completely cuddled into you, limbs and all, and perhaps even then still shivering from a slight chill in the night air. Nothing another blanket and an extra-warm bed-partner can’t fix!

If you want to hear him go completely frazzled, just bridal-carry him. Offer Urianger absolutely no warning whatsoever; just pluck the man off the ground and listen as he suddenly loses the ability to form proper words entirely… while being very careful in not asking you to put him down.

[dorminchu]

15. anything you need [wip]

(A short (short??) scene from an upcoming AoT fic. Post-canon, VC!Annie, Marley AU, LOTS of headcanon. Yes that's a low roar reference in the title I'm a sap okay)

Three weeks together in tenuous silence and no alcohol have steadily eroded what patience he had left, and the sense of security brought within solitude; he’ll hear her moving around at early hours, possibly a leftover habit from their enlistment. Other times he’ll catch her staring at him when he thinks he’s alone, and the one time he had the heart to ask what she was doing she grew quiet, taciturn.

He ought to have been nicer, perhaps. But she ought to have given him a proper answer.

This is the morning where he swivels his head around and simply asks: "Why'd you really come back?"

She goes still, in the process of tying her hair up. Her jaw tightens. His eyes narrow.

“You show up at my door without an explanation. You look at me as though I’m going to slit your throat the second you let your guard down. Am I supposed to believe you aren’t a mole?”

She looks away. “I have no reason to turn you over anymore.”

"Why, now?” Her shoulders lock up. “Don’t avoid the question,” he snaps.

"My father is dead," she retorts, "and unlike you, I don't have anyone else to help me."

The quiet is thick. She looks at first like she’s going to hit something, but as he watches, she shrinks into herself.

“Dead?” he repeats.

“Of course, you wouldn’t understand, your parents have been dead for--”

The chair scrapes the floor and her eyes turn to him in the same moment he stands up.

“What do you think I wouldn’t understand?” His voice is low, very low. He crosses the space between them in three strides, leaning on his better leg. “That your tenure is up? You said it yourself, you have nowhere else to go.”

“What are you doing?”

His scowl deepens. “What?”

“There’s no war to fight, and you just wake up every morning like you’re going through the motions. You let me live here, for what? Company?” She’s sneering. “What do you think is going to happen when one of us starts to deteriorate?”

He goes quiet, but his eyes glitter with something she doesn’t want to face. “I’ll do whatever I have to.”

“You’d kill me?” His face falls. Not grief, but disappointment. “No, you wouldn’t. You can’t, and likewise I can’t put my life into your hands if you’re going to be--”

He grabs her arm with surprising force. She cannot back down. “You think I feel nothing? That I never wished there could’ve been an alternative plan? That it didn’t cross my mind what’s going to happen to us eventually?” His voice is shaking, the familar furrow in his brow an echo of the person she used to know. “I can’t protect you from that, no more than you could protect me. I don’t understand what else you want.”

Annie looks helpless, but not in a way he can assuage. Her mouth is set. “I don’t want your mercy. It never did either of us good.”

“Then--”

“You’ve done more than enough good, by allowing me to stay,“ she says in a voice tinged with agitation, “so why do you want to understand me? I don’t give you trouble. Do you want me to leave?”

"Of course I don’t want you to leave,” he retorts, “I just--”

He doesn't know what he ought to say. There's too much time to fritter away without a war on the backburner, and her eyes are boring into him. Every time they look at each other he gets that same, absurd itch in the back of his mind that sharpens his tongue and makes him want to do things he doesn’t think he should attempt whilst sober.

So of course, he does the sensible thing, leans down and kisses her. Annie goes rigid. She doesn’t kiss back or kick his ankle out from under him. She doesn’t do much of anything except stand there, breathing unevenly.

He pulls back, realising his mistake. In a brittle voice, he repeats: “I don’t want you to leave.”

Her hands slowly rise and fist in his jacket, pulling him down to her level. She looks at his mouth and then back to his face, terse. Her eyes widen when he closes the distance. Her tongue slashes at his jaw and he groans, biting her lip; she sucks on his tongue.

It’s not warm outside, this time of year, but all of a sudden he’s itching to get her out of her jacket about the same time as she scrambles to undo his shirt. In a few seconds he's guiding her back against the counter without thought, shedding his jacket and unbuttoning her shirt.

He gets down to the second button before patience fails him; scattering buttons, baring her shoulders. Annie's eyes snap to him, her chest heaves. Military-grade brassire.

"Ah," he says, snapping out of it. "You can have one of my—"

Her mouth collides with his, her arms locked around his neck. He gauges this for a second before bracing on a hand behind her, tugging the remains of the shirt down her belly, kissing down her chin, the pulse in her throat.

"Wait," she murmurs, palm on his chest, "Jaeger."

She reaches behind her back to undo herself. At first he's a little impressed, vaguely envious, until her brow furrows and she mutters fucking hell under her breath.

Eren smirks. "Need a hand?"

She scowls. "I only have one of these." In a moment she tugs it down.

Whatever scarring has become more pronounced with time, not unlike a lye burn. She doesn't smile, exactly; her eyes are dark.

"Take off your shirt," she says.

Eren stops. "Are you sure?"

"You're just like me," she says, unimpressed.

He scoffs. "All right. You have to promise you won't faint."

Annie rolls her eyes. "Just take your goddam shirt off."

He obliges. He looks intact from the front, but there's a more evident, gnarled patch of damaged skin running from the nape of his neck down his spine where he'd once been disconnected. It's a good enough reason to keep his hair up.

She goes quiet, wide-eyed. "How long have you been like this?"

He shrugs. "About a year. It hasn't gone away since then." He's not about to elaborate. "Are you…?"

"I'm the same as you," she reiterates, looking at him intently.

He can live with that, he thinks, and kisses her breasts. A pleased hum works out of her throat and she lets him have a bit of fun before she tugs him up and rasps: "Get up here."

He restrains himself somewhat with her chinos, drags them down in a bunch and she's kicking them off as he straightens up, teasing her through her underwear until she's properly flushed, and he pulls it aside.

By now, she's made sure his trousers are unbuttoned, fishing out his erection and givng him a good pump before he can get his bearings; Eren hisses through his teeth. Her mouth curls against his throat and she works him over. His knees collide into the counter.

He catches her wrist. "You better stop that."

"Oh, am I that good?"

Five years ago he might've scoffed; six, he would have brushed her off for pride's sake. But now he just kisses her hard, hungry, murmuring: "God, yes, you are."

She hums curiously into his mouth. He cannot stand to make her wait another minute, another second another year so he takes himself in hand and kisses her jaw, knowing there will be time to do this again, knowing it surely as she throws her legs around his waist and he buries himself to the hilt.

She's quieter than him; a subtler grunt overshadowed by his answering groan. He fills her bit by bit, watching her brace on a hand, jaw clenched, a pretty mess atop his counter. With his brow against her cheek he glances down in time to see her take him in.

"Eren." She's panting, burning up under his fingers, brow furrowed. He wonders for a second if he's done something wrong but then she grunts: "Move."

And why deny her? Why deny himself the very thing that's been itching in the back of his mind for weeks? She's alive, beautiful and whole. With his tongue thick in his mouth, he thrusts, slowly; no need to speak. Eyes fluttering, she groans through bared teeth. He touches her face, and her eyes flicker to him.

“Jaeger." He can't help but kiss her. She murmurs: harder, and he obliges. She's moaning his name and it pierces his thoughts; he hauls her into his lap, crushing against the wall, confidence turns to ravenous want. He wants to go slow, watch her come apart, and then she's at his ear, moaning, "harder, you coward," and he will have many more times to do it properly but this, this is for the both of them and so he pins her, dragging her hips forth and fucking her as she likes.

She's biting her fist; he takes that wrist and puts it around his neck, worries her lip with his teeth until she's groaning, rocking slower, slower as she tightens up. Her jaw slacks; he shunts her to the wall and starts drawing noises out of her he's never heard before, keening and sweet. He's definitely not going to last much longer, kissing, nipping at her breasts, her collarbone, tonguing a stripe up her throat. She rears back, squeezing him with a brusque cry and he can’t last after that, grunting sharply, jostling her in the next second when his bad knee gives out.

He apologises for this, once he can speak. Annie kisses him.

[indianamoonshine]

Okay so I have some serious baby mania right now and I’m also craving some Ben Solo in my life so here’s some preggie!reader x Ben Solo headcanons:

♡ you’re yearning to be a mother, but you understands that pregnancy isn’t the wisest choice when your partner is a famous smuggler with a not-so-small price on his head. you don’t speak to ben about it because you’re desperately afraid of what he might say.

♡ but whoops! one night the two of you get a little too heated and ben doesn’t pull out in time. you both lie in bed, stare at the ceiling, and catch your breath. with chest heaving, ben says, “well, shit.” and the two of you glance at one another seriously before chuckling stupidly. while the mistake was life-altering, it wasn’t unwelcome.

♡ one month later, after missing the start of your menstrual cycle, you decide to visit the medic just to ease your mind. ben solo is, quite obviously, very well-known throughout the resistance base, so your appointment is secure and in total solitude from others. when the test results come back positive, the medic smiles and shakes their head. “how will the general feel about this?”

♡ ben is working on his ship - the amidala, named after his grandmother - when you confront him. the hangar isn’t empty, but instead rather busy and scurrying with pilots:

“hey,” you say to him, arms crossing themselves against your chest.

ben lights up upon seeing you. he’s covered with oil, his face shining with sweat, but his smile is pristine. “hey yourself. what are you doing here? i thought you had shift.”

“i took a sick day.” you sift some dirt with your boot.

ben looks concerned. he takes a rag covered in grime from his workbench and wipes his hands with it. “what’s the matter? you okay?”

you shrug. while you’re ecstatic about the news, you’re wary of his impending response. “it’s something i think we should talk about privately.”

ben’s eyebrows are furrowing as he stares at you, inspecting you from head to toe. “no one can hear us, babe. what’s going on?”

of course he’d brush it off. you sigh. “ben, i really think we should...”

a mechanic - female, with red hair, and curveous form - approaches ben with a tablet in her palm. “captain, these are the results of the latest flight test.”

he nods at her and takes the datapad from her hand. “thanks, polly. appreciate it,” he mumbles, scanning the information.

“ben...” you say.

he laughs sardonically while reading the statistics. “can you believe wyatt’s test drive faltered again? i stuck my neck out for him to my mother and what do i get? shit results, that’s what...”

“ben,” you say more firmly.

“mom’s going to have my hide if i can’t gather a stronger team. hell, i’ll have my own hide if I can’t...”

“ben, i’m pregnant!” you blurt out.

the man before you blinks once or twice in sheer silence. at first you think he’s in shock and become anxious that he might faint before you, but then he smiles brilliantly.

“are you serious?” he asks, all concern about the upsetting results forgotten.

you nod your head wordlessly, studying his features before making any sort of indication of your own feelings on the matter.

ben lets out a wild yell, grabs you by the waist, and spins you around midair. you laugh heartily, gripping his shoulders, and allow him to celebrate so publicly. the hangar freezes, watching as the two of you twirl.

ben sets you down on two dizzy feet and makes sure to steady you so you don’t fall over. then he shouts, “i’m gonna be a dad!”

an echo of cheers reverbates throughout the whole of the hangar.

♡ during your first trimester, you’re sicker than a dog. you spend most mornings hunched over the toilet, forehead glinting with sweat:

“baby?” ben raps gently on the refresher door. “baby, are you okay?”

you lift your head from the seat of the toilet and groggily call back, “i’m fine.”

ben sighs heavily. “can i come in?”

“sure.”

the look on ben’s face kills you. he’s so concerned that you can only laugh a little, but it’s so weak it’s barely noticeable. he steps forward and kneels so he’s level with you.

“how you holdin’ up? do you need anything?” he takes your hair and brushes it out of your face; you didn’t have time to put it up before the vomit bubbled in your throat.

“maybe some ice?” you pant.

he nods, and within five minutes he’s back with a bucket of ice. he places a cloth he’s wetted upon your forehead and then starts gathering up your hair into a pony tail.

“thank you.” you sit up and lean against the wall when he’s done. “don’t know what i’d do without you.”

he starts unrolling some toilet paper and then dabs it upon the corners of your mouth. gross, you think. how ben had the stomach to wipe away vomit from your lips, you couldn’t be sure. you were thankful all the same.

“well, i did have a hand in this.” he grins, reaching over you to flush the toilet. “how long did the medic say this would last?”

you tilt your head against the tiled wall and sigh. gods, you were exhausted. “it depends. my mother was sick throughout her entire pregnancy.”

ben rubs a circle in your thigh. you relax in his touch, wiping the droplets of water from the cloth away from your eyes. “we’ll figure it out. bacta gloss, black ointment...anything.”

“i appreciate your candor, i really do. but...”

“but?”

“i can do this.”

he smiles in agreement. “i have no doubt.”

♡ the two of you wanted the gender to be a surprise. that was leia’s idea, really. she said it makes it “so much more exciting” - it’s what she did with ben, she said. you liked the idea more than expected; it just felt natural.

♡ initially, the idea of having sex while pregnant seemed disappointing and embarrassing, but you’d never felt more invigorated during. ben wasn’t rough with you, but found you so incredibly beautiful that keeping his hands off of you proved almost impossible.

“stars, you’re so gorgeous,” he says, brushing a hand down your neck. “how did i get so lucky?”

“i’m only with you for your money,” you tease, pressing both hands against his chest. you stand on the tops of your toes and pucker your lips for a kiss.

♡ ben falls asleep pressed up against you with a hand cradling your belly. he snores lightly in your hair. he also has a conversation with your stomach every morning.

[vanderlindemangofarm]

please,,,,, beau gray headcanons,,,,,,,,, please maam im starving,,,,,,,,,, im so gay for this man,,,, maybe him n a male reader if u could? id imagine itd be a similar situation as him with penelope, having to hide it from his family and all,, thank u!! and no worries if u dont write for him since hes not a major character or anything!! he wasnt on ur list, but u might have just not thought to put him!

You know what? I absolutely adore Beau. I didn’t take much notice of him the first time I played the game but after my second playthrough, I think he’s precious. I really hope you like these headcanons! 

Beau Gray - Romantic Headcanons (male reader) 

It’s just Beau’s luck that he’d fall for you, a Braithwaite. But a Braithwaite and a man? It felt like the universe was laughing at him.

You’d locked eyes when you were out in Rhodes with your family. They’d hissed at you to keep your guard up. These were Grays. Not to be trusted or indulged. But then there was Beau. This solemn yet doe-eyed boy who smiled at you even when you blushed and looked away.

When a fistfight had broken out between some of your siblings, you’d stolen yourselves away down a side street, out of sight.

You tried not to look at him, but when he took a peek around the corner to see if the fight had simmered down you couldn’t help but gaze at his golden locks and admirable physique.

“Madness, don’t you think?” he’d piped up, his eyes ablaze. You blinked.

“All of this, it’s madness. Insanity. They don’t even know what they’re fighting over anymore.” he said exasperatedly. He looked you in the eye. “I’m Beau. Beau Gray.”

“Y/N Braithwaite.”

Beau nodded, looking you up and down as if for the first time. “I’ll never have any quarrel with you, Y/N.”

He pauses for a moment, wetting his lips. “I…I like your shoes.” he mumbles, before rushing off to rejoin his family.

When he writes to you, weeks later, you’re so surprised you turn pale at the breakfast table. Your Aunt Catherine snaps at you, asking what the hell’s the matter. You excuse yourself and run to the lakeside to read the letter properly.

He hasn’t signed his name, but you know it’s from him. The language he writes with has the same flair as his voice.

He asks for you to reply, if you’d like. And for a long time you can’t bring yourself to.

It’s not just because of the feud. It’s because you’re inexplicably attracted to him.

You know you’ve always been attracted to men. But the way Beau had looked at you in Rhodes made you feel that, maybe, your attraction was reciprocated. And you had no idea what to do with that.

So when you shakily write your reply and drop it off at the post office, you ask if he’d maybe like to meet. Somewhere discreet, of course.

When you see him appear in the dense, swampy woodland days later, glancing around, looking for you, you take a moment to watch how beautiful he looks.

Your conversations are awkward at first. There’s lots of silences, and shaky laughter, and coy glances that lead to nowhere.

“We can’t tell anyone. I mean…our families. We can’t tell them that we’re, that we’ve…”

“I know, Beau. It’s alright. We’ll be…secret friends.”

“Friends?”

“Sure.”

“Sure. Friends. Unless you, you wanted…”

“What?”

“What?”

And that’s it for a while, for almost a whole hour. You sit together under the trees, not saying much, but saying enough. It’s peaceful.

When the sun is setting and you decide you’d best be getting home, Beau takes your hand. For a split second you instinctively want to move it away but his skin is warm and so soft.

“Y/N…”

He kisses you and it’s like you’ve been born anew.

It’s a sweet kiss, not one to sweep you off your feet. But his hands rest on your hips and you find your fingers stroking his silky hair. He smiles into your lips.

As you depart you whisper frantically, often over each other, not quite hearing what the other is saying but somehow understanding all the same. You promise to see him again. He promises to write. You bid each other pleasant dreams, a little coyly.

And you do dream of him, of stealing him away into the night and acquainting yourself with every inch of him. The dreams linger in your head and turn to pink flushes on your cheeks.

Beau writes, as promised. His letters aren’t as passionate as you’d hope. You realise they’re written under the risk of being found out. But it doesn’t lessen the sting of “your friend - B”.

So when you get to see him, his kissers are all the sweeter.

He presses you back against a tree and you feel him press his body against yours.

You explore each other slowly, deliberately.

When you scale the balconies of Caliga Hall one night and slip into Beau’s bedroom he stares at you, open mouthed, for a full five minutes.

To just able to lay next to him in a bed is worth all the bruises and scratches from the climb.

When the dawn breaks you have to tear yourself away from under the linen sheets. Beau is still kissing your fingertips even as you descend the walls and his butler bangs on the bedroom door.

You argue too. Sometimes you just want to shake him, to beg him to grab his horse and ride away with you to freedom.

But then there’s the issue of money. Of which you have none of your own.

And so it continues. The letters, the secrets, the lingering stares across crowded streets and stolen moments in the solitude of the woods.

It feels like you’re waiting for a miracle. And yet your miracle has already found you.