#also she probably has a scar i just keep forgetting to draw it. right in the middle of her titties... how could you areelu | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mezzy-1 · 11 months

Text

VALORANT UNIVERSITY HEADCANONS

@eviethelesbian once again thank you for the Headcanon List. Also shoutout to @darthladyofillusions because I included ur OC :)

Harbor is a history professor dating Astra, the archeology professor. Both of them met on a trip to a site in India

Both of them reached for the same the brush at one point and they laughed it off later

Both of them are excellent teachers in their own way. Varun has a habit of going on tangents about stories and is super nerdy about his subject. Efia’s classes are fun and her energy is infectious

Cypher has a family and does cyber security for the University. Nobody knows his actual name.

Nobody knows him that well but when he comes out of his office he’ll say hello to anyone nearby. He goes home quickly though and usually avoids working late.

Cypher’s office is full of pictures of his family, drawings from his daughter, screens, and the scent of imported Moroccan teas

He and his wife and kid see the students off when they graduate, and all of the students are amazed to realize that this guy has such a good family life. (They thought he was a no-life kinda guy)

Liam ‘Brimstone’ Byrne is the university’s Dean and basically runs everything as much as possible for the good of the students. Tariq and him are the brains and guiding hand of the university

He retired from the military after he was given an educator’s license and became a professor of tactics at a military academy. He then took his skills elsewhere and turned the college into what it is now

Liam keeps the students at the forefront of any policy changes and takes an interest in professors that are considered brilliant but difficult to work with. He’s an expert of recruitment and reining in the right people

Has snacks in his office for students but they can only get them if they complete a pull-up on an pull-up bar he has in his office. One arm only.

Sabine worked at R&D at a pesticide company but is the only Organic Chem teacher that the Valorant U could get. Somehow is a good professor despite hating students and no general teaching

She doesn’t really hate them but it isn’t a good idea to get on her bad side. It’s rumored she poisons the students she hates.

Stared daggers into the first person (Jamie), to make a Breaking Bad reference and since then nobody brings it up

Classes with her are pretty tense but if a student actually tries and gives their all, she’ll notice and be kinder to them. Especially students who study chemistry. Double for O-Chem.

Sabine’s style of teaching could use work, but when she tries to explain complex ideas she’s genuinely in her element. She once explained how tetrodotoxin and nerve ion channels worked to Zyanya’s little sister

Zyanya is a professor for sure, probably the best Spanish teacher ever. Beyond terrifying to new students

She will not let students forget proper accents and grammar, and god help the people that do. Somebody once forgot their homework and Zyanna was literally this close to killing them

Her Spanish is specifically Mexican, and that extends to the class through some of the words she teaches. Especially bits in culture and authenticity

Zyanya’s idea of testing people is borderline an interrogation. 10 minutes of extensive and stern conversations and multiple pages of writing. People say it feels like their souls have literally been drained

Students come out of the classes fluent or scarred for life

Ling is a professor of medicine and completed her PHD around the same time Viper completed hers. They were amazed to see each other teaching

She does Tai Chi for relaxation but did at one point learn Kung Fu while living abroad in a monastery for a couple of years. She once broke a board in front of her class just to prove it

Hosts meditation hours during finals week and her office hours are always super useful for all of the medical and nursing students. Calming as hell to anxious people

Tala got a scholarship via cross country and another from basketball, and wants to major in physical therapy. She also got a job doing late night shifts at the library as security.

Hazal is in a band called Nightmare. Her and several other introverts got together and started one. Only perform in the most obscure venue. She can play bass REALLY WELL

Tala found out and now shows up to every performance the band has. If it weren’t for the lights flashing red and blue, you could see Hazal blushing when she spots Tala in the crowd

That’s how she met Hazal. Tala was approached by her because Hazal wanted to study late and the two became acquainted

Both of them love the late nights that they share and Hazal is always at one of Tala’s games. Tala picks her out of the crowd every time, and at the end Hazal always kisses her

Mateo is a veterinary student and is everyone’s friend. Except Iselin because some of his patients got into her office once and trashed her latest project model

He keeps fish, dogs, lizards, cats, and nearly everything else. At one point he was in charge of a project that kept some monkeys around at one point

The animal counterparts are a chameleon (Dizzy), a Chinese High Banded Shark (Thrash), a bullfrog tadpole (Mosh), and an Axolotl named Wingman

He has a crochet version of his (radivore) crew, courtesy of Omen being bored one day

Mateo is a Gen Z kid, and his vocabulary beyond salvaging

Jamie is an English major, I mean, obviously

Everyone likes Jamie, he brings a certain energy to everything he does and it resonates well with people. His writing has a level of power and rhythm that makes it both easy to listen and layered

He is a songwriter, and poet, and even has a collection of published short stories. His mums are proud. His scripts are also incredible and his goal is to get his own musical to Broadway

When Jamie is in a play, it’s usually as the protagonist or the main antagonist. It is wonderful to see him on stage, especially because he’s trained as a Shakespearean actor

Tayane is THE art student and the reason most of the faculty drinks. And also the reason why most of the students drink too

Absolute ragers getting thrown anytime Tayane is involved. This woman does not stop until the sun is up

Her graffiti portraits are inspired, colorful, and almost always on government property or university property. Brim started commissioning her in order to stop her from painting everything

The commissioned murals are a lot better for her, and gave her legal access to make huge projects on some of the older buildings

One of the walls is a silhouette of a woman with big circular glasses, geometric pink and yellow patterns around her, and surrounded by flowers

Vincent Fabron is the art teacher and Viper HATES him. He’s also that one teacher an unreasonable amount of people of have a crush on

He was a tattoo artist while taking art lessons in France, then moved into high class art. His gallery pieces gained a lot of attention and he gained a lot of money from them.

Now he teaches art, and has done graphic design for many upscale companies. His own business card has won awards from design and art societies though

Omen is a guy in a scarf and hoodie that is somehow in everyone’s classes. He crochets in the back sometimes.

Texts notes at 4am to anyone who needs it and is incredibly nocturnal. He doesn’t need sleep he needs friends

Students never remembered or learned his name, so they just started calling him Omen after the laptop brand he uses

Erik ‘Breach’ Torsten is a coach they brought in and actually manages a paralympic team. May have criminal past according to some of the athletes he manages

He will scream at people in Swedish during games, practice, going over strategies, and if he sees them in public. Friendly but so loud

His prosthetic arms were a courtesy of the university’s science program. They were partially a gift and partially a test to see what they could do. Erik made sure that he could flip people off with the arms

Iselin the professor of Industrial Design, and she is the most stern professor ever. At times she works for a wilderness recreation company and does product design for them.

She is very organized, and her lecture presentations are always available, she lists the pages to read, dates for every assignment are posted a month in advance

Iselin’s a professional and rarely eases up, but the few times she’s been out with the other faculty she’s been surprisingly fun. Especially with Ling for some reason

Kirra is a Biology professor that has so many plants in her room. Has a parakeet, dog, and fish tank at home too. Does wildlife photography on the side.

Kirra protested in college and was arrested once for sabotage. So she is totally chill with people missing class for stuff, and gives extra credit for students involved in causes

Goes on wilderness expeditions with some students for a class and memorized several survival books worth of information and knows every plant, animal, and fungus she comes across

Klara is an engineering major and Tayane just comes to those classes because she can. It usually results in the equipment being plastered in stickers and paint.

They met when Tayane decided to tag the garage that Klara was keeping her final project in. Both of them sort of caught feelings as soon as they saw each other

Klara fell so damn hard, and realized this while Tayane was doing a kegstand. Klara whispered ‘she’s perfect’ mindlessly and then realized Sunwoo was right next to her

Sunwoo finished what was in her cup, patted Klara on the back, and said ‘good luck’ before walking away and pretending she didn’t hear

Her final project has been her ‘Lockdown’ which is basically an EMP crossed with a massive DDOS hack. It went off once and downed the college’s internet for a week.

She’s going to switch it to something a little less destructive at this point, and Tayane is helping her brainstorm. Currently it’s a robot but she’s trying to figure out what to make it do

KAY/O is Tariq’s gamertag. The man is a CS:GO fiend and has crazy flashes due to muscle memory

Liam and him are MARRIED. I’m not budging on this one and you will find me dead in the ground before I let this go

Tariq’s good at a lot of random stuff and doesn’t help out too much at the college but is well-known as the ‘guy who Brim allows to help grill things’ because nobody else is allowed

Helps Liam plan out things for the students and assists in any sort of set up that he can do

Ryo is studying Japanese History and works as a mechanic at a chop shop. It is shady as hell over there but Yoru will hook people up if needed. They definitely steal parts though

He takes business classes and there’s a real chance he might double major. His business acumen and aggressive nature would make him the ultimate CEO

Sasha is the professor that most students simp for, and he teaches Russian Language classes. Throws things at students that don’t pay attention and rarely misses

He has an owl nesting outside of the window to his classroom, he named it Matrioshka after the nesting dolls. It had owlets so it seemed fitting.

His babushka lives out of the country but gets a continuous stream of gifts from him

Sasha is that one professor that has a weird story for everything in his room. The bow he has? killed a grizzly bear with it. Glass eye on display? It was a gift from a glassmaker that was caught with illegal firearms. Weird rock? It was at the sight of a historic battle and has a bootprint in it

Has SO MANY books from Russian writers he reads in his off time. Also does archery at a cabin he has in the woods.

Nobody could handle Novikov at the cabin, the sheer hotness of him splitting firewood, bow hunting, and chopping trees would send people into a simp coma

At the end of the year, he writes each student a short note in Russian telling them something worthwhile.

Sunwoo is an amazing sprinter and also amazing at darts. Loves adding photos to the corkboard she has in her dorm

She isn’t really sure what she wants to study at the moment or even if she wanted to go to college. Gotta love families pressuring college on their kids right?

It isn’t as depressing though, she shows real talent and enjoyment in studying Business but surprisingly is leaning towards learning Journalism as well

She writes stuff for the school paper, a blog, and even has a (somewhat inspired by people around her) science fiction story. She hasn’t thought of a name yet.

It’s about secret agents that fight against an alternate dimension that tries to steal a powerful crystal from them. It’s quite popular with the people who she let read it and people are constantly asking for updates

Sunwoo is trying, and hopefully she’ll manage to find somewhere she can feel comfortable

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Kayra is studying botany, and started a garden in one of the common areas. At first it was small but cute, then after a few weeks the flowers and bushes spread outside of the garden and overtook the common area.

It's now her favorite place to get away from people because trellises were added in and nobody can see through the vines. There’s a chance she keeps patio furniture in the garden too

Has been living in an apartment with Hazal. Tala has been the only one in there and says its overrun with houseplants and hanging lamps.

(@darthladyofillusions I hope this is accurate to some extent)

95 notes · View notes

jeffshusband6969 · 1 month

Text

MY JTK HEADCANONS CUS WHY NOT :DDD

(sfw/nsfw proceed with caution)

SFW:

-he's good at drawing and used to draw way before the incident, he switches art styles varying from 2010s anime to a more sharper cooler style

-hes done graffiti before and has tagged so many places he's lost count.

-has an art desk in his closet to keep all his spray cans/art supplies

-hes actually really nice to people at the mansion, for newcomers he is a little tougher at first until he trusts you. He knows what it's like to be bullied mercilessly so he instead takes it out on his victims not other pastas

-he can play the guitar (sorta)

-he has a scar on his upper nose due to Jane and him getting into a huge fight and he has scratches on his arms from smile dog trying to jump up on him when he gets back from missions

-smile dog is basically Jeff's lap dog accept he's too nice to animals to tell him to get down even though he's getting crushed in the process by this big demon dog so he just accepts his fate

-body type wise he isn't a Twink or starving to death but I see him being fat, or at the very least built like Jason Voorhees he also paints his nails religiously and has a belly button percing he (attempted) to do himself

-he pirates everything he watches and if he can't he buys physical copies of whatever he watches because he quote "I refuse to give my money to those dipshit corporate bastards that will end up taking my media I payed for from me anyways."

-anarchist 100%

-actually doesn't mind Nina unless she touches him without permission then he has an issue

-stoner to the max, bro smells like weed, old spice and cologne. He even owns a bong and ashtray in his room for when he wants a joint or cigarette

NSFW:

-has a tramp stamp and a succubus tattoo, he's also thought about getting nipple piercings but the thought of getting them caught on his fishnet top one day made him decide not too

-sometimes wears tight bondage under his clothes because he likes the way it slowly gets painful over time

-gets off at least once a day, sometimes twice if he's bored

-has a drawer DEDICATED to sex shit (Toys, Handcuffs, lube ect)

-likes to pull hair, praise others and degrade others, mostly Dom but if you pester enough he'll probably submit

-CNC, bondage, knife play, choking, likes spitting into his partners mouth

-has a bad dragon sticker that he put on his car just to fuck with people

- v e i n y

-likes men with veiny hands

-likes women who have the balls to slap him around

-very v e r y kinky man, if he could he'd buy a moby huge just for bragging rights

-def has fucked himself with his knife handle on multiple occasions

-he likes to do body shots and has done one on EJ before

-shaven but not completely, he has fuzz just its not crazy

-likes to shotgun kiss (blow smoke into another person's mouth while kissing them)

Low-key I've found a liking to Tumblr that I've never found before, so I'm prolly gonna stick around for a few until I inevitably forget about this account again

#jeff the killer #creepypasta #creepypasta jtk #jeff the killer creepypasta #jeffrey woods #jtk #emo #jeff woods

15 notes · View notes

yakuzabrainrotlive · 2 months

Note

Name your favorite characters and why in absurd detail (if you want, or just name them)

Well, you asked for DETAILS, so have a sort of chatacter analysis/hot mess of ramblings for #1. This has a good amount of personal headcanons that I've built up and it's not 100% based on canonical facts. Also I HAVE only played 0, Kiwami 1 and Kiwami 2 (Majima saga is in progress) so I don't have all the facts. I AM NOT GOOD AT CHARACTER ANALYSIS, be warned. Also ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE.

1) Majima Goro! I find his truly kind nature masked by his 'Mad Dog' persona very fascinating and sad at the same time. The way he incorporated elements of Nishitani and Sagawa into that persona is interesting and telling of how much of an impact those two had in him deciding his path.

I'm entranced by his use kansai-ben (my beloved) and his playful tone of voice contrasted with the, at times, more serious voice that sends me right back to 1988. The way he switches from an almost mockingly polite speech style to his Kansai dialect in his introduction scene in 0 instantly made me curious about his true nature and backstory.

I think his way of showing off his tattoos by not wearing a shirt so civilians don't get involved with him (that's how I interpret it) is tragic and it's obvious his past has left him with deep scars and a fear of the people he cares about being hurt. He'd rather be alone than build bonds and then potentially lose more people.

The way he still loves Makoto deeply in Kiwami 2 after all these years, and how he sings about truly not wanting her to forget him, but regardless "not minding" it if she forgets him as long as she's happy, hurts me in a whole new way. The way he sings/screams those "I DON'T MIND"s as though he's desperately trying to make himself believe what he's saying, rather than directing those phrases at Makoto in his mind, breaks my heart.

His pretty much absent fear of death sends chills down my spine and makes me wanna cry because he was already saying he's been ready to die for a long time in a flashback from BEFORE he events of Yakuza 0. I dread possibly finding out more about his past.

He's witty and charming and his confidence draws me in. He dresses how he does and meets Kiryu as Goromi and pole dances for him as well with no problems, and all in all just doesn't care what people think of him. I know it's probably because of something tragic like him having given up on life so "might as well go out with a bang", but I want to believe he feels at least somewhat liberated when he does all that.

I'm obsessed with how he wants to witness Kiryu's journey down the path he could never follow himself. And he seems to genuinely want to support Kiryu's decision to follow his own principles. Their first conversation in Kiwami tickled my brain because in that moment he seems to "lock it in" that he'll place his trust in Kiryu's unwavering will to make his own path and wants to witness it. He wants to see if it would have been possible for himself as well, had the circumstances been different. Is it truly possible to stick to such "soft" values in the cruel world of the Yakuza?

When he saw Kiryu coming back after his decade in prison, he whipped him right back into shape because he wanted to keep witnessing Kiryu's journey and also keep Kiryu's principles alive by keeping Kiryu himself alive. Because he himself wouldn't be able to live by those values, he's in way too deep, he has a reputation to uphold. So when his brother returns to kill him (if he will try to kill him, Majima himself seems to think so), it'll be an achievement worth letting Saejima back in the family. Killing a legend and all that.

Majima seems to feel like he can let Kiryu in a tad more than others. Even if it's just fighting against or beside him and openly enjoying those interactions. Probably because he knows Kiryu can handle himself in a fight and he's near indestructible physically and mentally. Kiryu is, in a way, his equal when it comes to dealing with it when shit hits the fan. He's definitely at least fond of Kiryu imo, with him giving in very easily when Kiryu asks him to help the Tojo clan survive in Kiwami 2. And also with how uncomfortable he got when Kiryu bowed his head when he was asking Majima for help.

Majima also highly values the promises he makes; he fought those invading Sengoku thugs until he was battered and bleeding and barely able to stand because he promised Kiryu he'd be there to help. Weird move from a man who seems hell-bent on pretending not to care about anyone or anything besides his own interests, hmmm? He gave his word and he KEPT it. Because he doesn't make empty promises.

I love watching him when he's "on a break" during the Majima Everywhere storyline. It truly solidified the fact that the 'Mad Dog' is a mask for me. He's all hyper and "crazy" when others are around and he really lays it on thick, but on break? He's contemplative. He looks almost sad at times. He lets the mask drop for a second. The fact that he lets Kiryu see that instead of immediately masking back up is a whole other can of worms. Point is, the Majima from before is still there, underneath it all.

The way he thinks back on his time in Sotenbori is interesting. There's definitely trauma and anger in there, but the way he wonders about how his team is doing nowadays almost wistfully makes me happy. He had SOME light to hold on to in those dark times. He truly did care for his team and was fond of them. Also... him saying it wasn't in his nature to make a living using women like that made my respect for him soar. He truly respected everyone in his team, including the hostesses.

Also, just... ugh. The Doll Girl substory. The DAMN DOLL GIRL SUB STORY. I- THAT- 😭😭😭😭 O UG H

TL;DR: Majima because he's everything to me and he makes me experience thought spirals beyond anything I've went through before. He's tragic, he's fun, he's silly, he's hot, he's confident, he's strong, he's interesting he's kind and he's just... Majima.

2) Kiryu because he's sweet and wonderful and makes me weep and I wish he'd take better care of himself and I wanna hug him and give him soup and bring all his loved ones back to life. Please let this man catch a break.

3) Nishitani because he makes me feral and I want him carnally

4) Dojima Yayoi because... I mean... DAMN. She's fierce and extremely loyal, she handled herself extremely well in an environment that was probably rife with people who questioned her ability to lead. I'd bet my left boob she faced a lot of misogyny (direct and/or indirect) during her time as a chairwoman. But she kept going, head held high, with conviction and pride. Simply incredible.

5) Haruka is a sweet angel and I wanna protect her and I hope she will be happy forever. She stayed strong and still has faith in people even after seeing all the horrors of Kiwami 1. She's so resilient and brilliant.

#if you want a detailed thing like majima's for the others. send an ask!#besides nishitani. i said what i said #i might be totally overcooking and letting my emotional meow meow-looking side take over #but like. LEAVE ME BE ABBDKSBWNW these are my personal interpretations of majima for now #i'm trying okay? my chatacters analysis skills are very shallow and very basic. i basically don't have that skill #i analyze characters based on vibes and that weird state of mind when you've been awake for 30+ hours #if later games prove me wrong? that's okay! cool!#long post #like. a massive one. I will think you're crazy if you read the whole thing #yakuza spoilers #yakuza thoughts #yakuza #Majima goro #kiryu kazuma #yakuza kiwami

11 notes · View notes

the-owl-tree · 10 months

Note

not to be cringe but do you have any advice for running a character ask blog? Aiming for something kinda lowkey like with Bean (also I love bean. I love to see what she’s up to)

not sure how helpful some of these will be since they're just what i do for my personal projects but for sure!!!

uuuuhhh basic overview stuff

if you're doing an oc blog, chances are it probably won't receive as much attention as a canon character/story blog. just sort of the way things go! if you want to draw some attention, you might want to think about non-ask related stuff you can post (clangen blogs do this with the mini event posts, keeps the world moving!)

even with canon character blogs, giving pieces of character lore, worldbuilding, mini stories can help keep the world more alive. but that's when you got time and if it seems fun, you should just do things if you want to tbh

i keep all my stuff in a doc and add and edit whenever i put new info on the blog to keep things consistent. i just put them in little sections to help me find things (beanie lore, worldbuilding, spirits, etc.) but simple bullet points are easy.

if you're doing an original character and world, i would highly recommend giving your readers some worldbuilding and lore to help them invest themselves. people don't know the boundaries of things and while you can have them ask, a little nudge definitely helps.

for a canon blog, i'd pick a specific time period. it'll save you grief if you know who's alive and who isn't, as well as the grief that comes with trying to figure out what you want to change (if you want to change things that is. i like fucking with canon but it really is up to you and the story you want to tell).

you can improvise it as you go, but i do recommend jotting them down somewhere after the fact so you can keep things consistent. up to you though, i just have a piss poor memory lol

figure out if you want to try and do an overarching story, mini stories, or no stories. you don't have to decide right away and you can even decide after you start the blog and get a vibe of what people are interested in, but sometimes it is good to jot them down if they come to you right away.

you're supposed to have fun if you're not having fun don't do it, take a break from the blog or steer it in the direction you want. no one is paying you (i think) so everything you do you should do because you enjoy doing it.

art for an ask blog (if ur doing art if not skip this)

your main character should be easy to recreate on model and most importantly: fun to draw!!! overly complicated character designs are fun in the beginning but after five or more you're going to start to hate them.

i'd also recommend against doing too many tiny "floating" bits, keeping things attached to a body part or in proximity to a space easy to recreate them will save you grief. i learned this the hard way after i kept forgetting all those damn tiny scars i put on my fallen stars!firestar design. in comparison, beanie's design for the blog has a few scars but the placement makes it so they're easy to recreate and draw.

(how i style my reference sheets. do not be me. do not fall into hubris and add so many damn floaty scars to a character that is the main damn character of your goddamn big ass au blog. fucking icarus move lol)

if you introduce a new character, make an easy quick ref sheet for yourself. it'll save you grief and keep things consistent.

i'd also figure out if you want to do colors or no colors. no coloring means you have more time to put effort into sketches and can just move faster if you're looking for something breezy and easy. but colors look good, they make it easier to tell cats apart and are just much nicer on the eyes. if you also have a bigger cast in mind, you can rely on colors a little more than body shapes to make sure everyone can be told apart

i color my sketch lines different colors for different characters on the beanie blog but there are plenty of other ways to make sure characters are told apart! @/askcinders does distinct shapes and different base colors for different characters and lines distinct markings so you can tell whose who.

backgrounds are...difficult. i'd recommend simplicity over complexity and save big backgrounds for "big moments", but it's up to you if you like them! i would just say go simple since the focus of these blogs are the characters.

theeeeennn speech bubbles or no speech bubbles. i like doing doing speech bubbles within the text because it gives me more control of the order the reader will read the dialogue, how they read it, the emotions i can elicit from it, and more fun with how i can place the dialogue. buuuuuut that does mean spacing them, and spacing dialogue bubbles can be a pain since it takes up room if you forget to sketch their placement in the original sketch (which i do. a lot).

so the other option is art and then dialogue underneath directly in the post. this saves you room, makes art probably a lot easier, and circumvents the issue of difficult to read speech bubbles! i do both but it's up to you, both methods are tried and true.

aaannnndd that's all that comes to mind? really it's just about having fun. as you work at it, chances are you'll probably figure out your own individual work style. best of luck (and i'm very excited to see what you come up with)!!!!!!!

#deer rambles

11 notes · View notes

airawisteria · 2 years

Text

See, Kairi might not be my favourite character from KH (though, she's really fun to draw), but, like, the way she is so insecure about her friendship with Sora (I would say Riku as well, but let's be real here, those two could barely be considered friends, maybe acquaintances by this point, honestly) is something that would be so interesting to explore. I'm assuming it's probably from the trauma of losing her home world and everyone she cared about, like her Grandma, when her world was consumed by darkness—but, wow.

Even in KH1 where she and Sora are, in my opinion, the closest they've ever been shown to be, she's going on about leaving alone with Sora, the way that she immediately gives Sora a good luck charm the second she knows he's about to leave again, the way that she reaches out to Sora so desperately as if to say, "Please don't leave".

Then, in KH2, she straight up just forgets (not that it was her fault) about him and goes on with her life perfectly content. Once she realises, however, she immediately tries to remember him with such desperation that you have to wonder—why does she care so much for Sora but was perfectly fine staying on Destiny Islands instead of looking for her world or desperately trying to hold onto her memories of her Grandma? I think, at this point, some people would brush this off as 'her romantic feelings for Sora', but, like, is it really just that? I think it's more so about how she doesn't want to lose Sora completely as she did with her home world. She almost lost Sora completely, memories and all, and I think that after you've experienced losing your loved ones and the world that you've grown to love/have always loved almost completely at the ripe old age of a nursery kid. That leaves scars (obviously). So, when she realises she might lose someone she knew she was close with—she does whatever she can to get him back. Kairi wasn't able to do that with her home world, but maybe she could with Sora?

So! She immediately writes Sora a letter, puts it in a bottle and lets it float away. It's also probably why she takes such an active role in KH2, especially compared to KH1 where she was passed out for most of it and when she was awake she wasn't really doing much (like, Nomura, mate, couldn't you have had Kairi at least try to fend off some of the heartless??), but here she might still be getting kidnapped and stuff, but!! She's actually actively searching Sora out, trying to find him, fighting Axel, fighting the heartless with her keyblade, she's even the entire reason Sora even fucking found Riku, in the end. Now, let's fast forward to the end of KH2, Riku and Sora are stranded in the Realm of Darkness while Kairi is in Destiny Islands. She's alone, again. Imagine, finding two of your closest friends in the past, and then, bam! They're gone, again. And, again, you're helpless to do anything about it. That has to do something to your self-esteem, right? You've almost lost your friends twice, lost your world twice (kinda) and you couldn't do anything about it both times. It's like you're destined to be the only one left behind, the only one who can't take part in the Mark of Mastery exam, the only one who isn't in the Realm of Darkness or fighting Xemnas, the only one in the Realm of Light, and, the only one who will never be able to catch up with your friends.

So, the Mark of Mastery happens and Kairi's busy learning how to wield a keyblade with Lea/Axel. Just like how Sora's failures are getting to him, Kairi's incompetence is getting to her—I mean, have you heard her voice lines? She even fucking cuts her hair not because she thinks it's getting too long or something, but because she thinks Sora might like her more with short hair. It isn't about her, it's about how she needs to keep up, how she needs to be someone the others can turn to, how she needs to be on the same level as everyone else—because if she isn't, how will she ever be able to be there for her friends? How will she ever be able to stop being the 'damsel in distress'? She doesn't send her letters to Sora anymore, probably because she thinks she and Sora are no longer the same friends who could connect easily and talk to easily—she thinks Sora and her have gained some distance. Distance that could probably be shortened over time, maybe, but distance that is stopping her from being able to open up to him. Then, there's the whole paopu fruit thing where she gives Sora another good luck charm because, like in KH1, she's scared to lose him, again. So, she intertwines their fates, because what other reassurance does she have?

And, then, the whole thing with the Keyblade Graveyard happens where Sora has a mental breakdown, and Kairi isn't strong enough to be there for Sora—but, Riku is. I don't think she remembers that bit, but during the first timeline, she reaches out to Sora specifically. Maybe it's romance, or maybe it's her trying to be with him so she won't lose him again.

But, anyways, onto the second timeline. Sora loses Kairi again cause Xehanort's being an asshole as he does. This time, Sora has to sacrifice himself for Kairi to return—and so, she loses him, again. Only this time, it's all her fault (not that it really is, just what I think she thinks about the matter). And within seconds, her self-esteem probably crumbles—she's lost someone again, someone precious again, someone she couldn't save, someone who had to save her, just like how it was with her Grandma.

Okay!! Rambling about Kairi over, but, like, I could go on and on about how much losing her home world was like for her and all that jazz.

#kairi #kingdom hearts #riku #sora #just me rambling #thoughts about Kairi #kh #kh kairi

28 notes · View notes

justsomeoneintoomanyfandoms · 11 months

Note

Hii!! I saw your requests and was hoping to jump on the train:>

Could i get matchups for sk8 the infinity and/or genshin impact? (I'd love to see both, but please know just one is okay!! I'm grateful for any work you're willing to put in)

My pronouns are she/her & I'm pansexual!! If it helps any i do tend to prefer more dominant/intimidating types

My zodiac is Capricorn & my MBTI is INFP:> (a goofy mix, right? Hehe, it often throws off a lot of people, saying i don't seem like your stereotypical capricorn.)

For my appearance, I'm 18 so pretty young XD

My hair is long and a light dirty blonde, reaching down to my lower back, I prefer to keep it down. I'm white, and my eyes are hazel (green and brown mix, since I know theres a few options there).

I'm pretty tall! I'm 5'8, and I'm also really slim! I can't help it, my metabolism is very high and i also dance a lot. I have a lot of piercings too! For facial piercings, i have snakebites & my left eyebrow pierced, all with small silver jewelry (if your curious to my jewelry, my lip has small silver horseshoes, and i have a small silver barbell in my eyebrow.)

My ears are, of course, pierced too. On the left side i have two piercings in my earlobe and on my right side i have two ear lobe piercings and a cartilage piercing near the top. (Fun fact! I had an industrial bar on the left, but after it came out one time i never put it back in. The reason being a keloid scar i have there.)

If you'd also wish to know my typical daily wear, i usually wear leggings and a comfy tee. I usually only have my facial piercings & cartilage piercing in lately because I don't have any discreet jewelry for my ears:> no makeup here!

Personality is pretty cheery, as you could probably guess lol. I actually have really bad social anxiety though! Luckily, with my new meds & years of therapy, I'm starting to be a little better. Unfortunately, I'm still essentially agoraphobic.

Once i get to know someone though I'm super happy to chat! Whether that be me rambling to fill the silence (i do this a lot, i can enjoy a comfortable silence but i often find myself sharing small, insightful stories.) I get pretty silly once we're close, too. Although, only within the other persons comforts (eg. I might play fight more with someone who isn't sensitive to touch than someone who is, although i don't actually play fight much lol just needed an example.)

I'm stubborn too! My thoughts are my own and i will not allow someone to force their opinions on me (yes, i will still take advice and criticism, just not a senseless "the way I feel is the only right choice.")

Another note is that I'm often told I'm very kind! I care deeply for those around me, and if i think it's warranted I'll easily lend my help, even to a complete stranger. I also often choke down my anxiety/panic to compliment people when I'm out, just to brighten their day a little

On mental illnesses that may provide you insight on my personality: i also have ADHD! i forget stuff a lot, and i get distracted easily when something catches my eye

For likes/dislikes, I've been doing ballet since i was 2! Now, I'm also doing so many other styles, including lyrical, jazz, hiphop & tap! I'm also teaching acro to young children:)

I write as a hobby, and i enjoy drawing/art!

For dislikes, I'm super sensitive to others emotions, an empath. Large crowds are easily overwhelming, and i can become overwhelmed if too much is happening at once too

My hobbies also include reading! And playing the flute, i think I went to about pre- professional level classes. Now, i play in my free time for fun

Sorry if this is really long!! And tysm if you get to this🙏

Have a good day/night!! Be sure to rest lots and eat well<33

Hi Ilayda! Thank you for your request! Sorry it took so long. I hope you like your matchups!

In Sk8 the Infinity, I match you with...

Joe likes that you’re talkative and cheery. He deals with Cherry’s stoic attitude so much, you’re a nice change of pace.

Also likes play fighting with you. He banters with you the same way he does Cherry and doesn’t mind gently roughhousing on occasion. He won’t go much further than hair ruffling though. The last thing he wants to do is actually hurt you.

Since you’re good with kids, please help him out with Reki, Langa, and Miya. Sure, they might be a bit older than the kids you’re used to dealing with but they like you and Joe isn’t going to say no to having a bit less on his hands.

Please play the flute for him sometimes. He would love it if you provide the musical ambiance for his restaurant but won’t pressure you if you feel too shy to. He’s more than happy to have you play just for him as well.

Joe will help you avoid large crowds. If you want to watch him at S, he’ll find a nice quiet spot for you where you can watch the race.

In Genshin Impact, I match you with...

Social anxiety? Itto’s never heard of it. Please explain to him what makes you anxious and how you feel so he can better understand how to help you avoid those situations.

He certainly understands what it’s like to be easily distracted. But you have different things that distract you so most of the time, if one of you gets distracted, the other will be able to pull them back on the right track.

Please teach him how to dance. Itto has shocking rhythm and he’ll never be great at dancing but he wants to dance with you so teaching him the basics will help with that.

Dancing with Itto would be a wild time. WHat he lacks in rhythm and coordination, he more than makes up for in enthusiasm.

Loves that you like helping others. He’s got a tough exterior but in his heart he’s a sweet boy and he’s so glad you’re the same.

#writing #fanfic #matchup #matchup request #sk8 the infinity #joe #kojiro nanjo #genshin impact #arataki itto

4 notes · View notes

achillieus · 3 years

Text

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, don’t kill me because of the ending, sebastian and reader are the definition of right person wrong time, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning, also this part has some funny moments but overall it’s a big SOB

part: 6/6 (there will also be an epilogue)

(other parts) (masterlist)

This is how it ends: broken hearts from crashed dreams.

Sebastian holds you until his muscles ache and your lungs burn from the feeling of too little oxygen. It is cold and dark, almost midnight, too dark, a starless night.

No more stars for you and I.

“Here,” Voice hoarse, eyes heavy-lid and itching from almost crying. He gives you one of the rings he wore in the movie. “I want you to keep this.”

Keep it close to your heart. Forget me not.

He takes a breath and a step back, tries to regain all the strength he still has, steady feet and shoulders fixed. He digs his nails into his palms, red marks in his skin, air catching in his throat, he’s on the verge of falling but he stays standing.

He remembers tears glistening down his cheeks, maybe they were yours not his, and the cold autumn wind hitting his face and he remembers feeling like he’s dying.

And then he closes the door of Argyris’ car and looks at you.

And his heart stretches and stretches and stretches and then somehow splits in half.

It goes like this:

There’s a ghost that lives in your apartment from now on. In the living room. Sitting on the couch. And it has steel blue eyes and a familiar heart. And it whispers a love story, half-finished, and you cannot make it stop.

The ghost touches your collarbone and he’s gone but there’s a ring in a golden chain around your neck and a white shirt forgotten in your laundry. And it smells like him. The clinging scent of his aftershave sticking to your pores. Eucalyptus. And no matter how hard you try to wash it off, it still lingers.

How could I ever forget someone like you?

The ghost lives here, but the place is empty, so empty. And it’s hard not to cry.

Sebastian calls and texts a lot.

He tells you he’s tired but excited because he started filming a new movie. It’s very indie and experimental, I can’t wait for you to see it. He tells you he’s missing his days in Greece like hell and that one night he dreamt of you. Didn’t want to wake up. What he doesn’t tell you is that he’s coming back in a month, Argyris needs him for some extra scenes. It’s nearly killing him but he doesn’t tell you. He wants to surprise you, see the pure light in your eyes when they’ll meet his.

You try sexting. It doesn’t go very well.

23:50, sebastian: if you were here in my bed right now what would you be doing

06:51, you: probably falling asleep hahaha

06:51, you: oh fuck was i supposed to sext back

06:51, you: sorry seb i just woke up and i have a class in an hour, love you <3

23:52, sebastian: fuck timezones

(three weeks and 10 seconds later)

“I can’t believe she doesn’t know you’re here,” Argyris shakes his head as he’s driving home from the airport, “If I were her, I’d kill you.”

“Good thing I didn’t fall in love with you.”

Sebastian laughs and looks out of the car window. The stars. There are so many stars tonight. He holds his breath; he’s finally feeling whole again. His heart isn’t split in two anymore.

You don’t know how long you stand there at your door, staring at him, but it feels like a century before he grins, almost laughs, takes your hands in his and you start considering that perhaps this isn’t a hallucination. Perhaps it’s real.

“Surprise?”

Something inside of you bursts, your organs twitch. You can’t think, you can’t speak, but you can move. You don’t lose any more time, you take a step forward, attach your bodies, your face buried in his neck, your fingers clutching into the rough fabric of his jacket. You breathe him in like an antidote.

“How?”

“Does it matter?”

“No.”

You kiss him and it’s like poetry, like art, like honey and you can’t separate yourself from him, not even hours later.

(looking back, these were the golden days)

You pretending to be mad at him for not telling you he was coming back and him pressing his lips on your skin, drawing patterns on your naked shoulder. A feathery touch.

Sebastian always touches you like you’re something made of gold and porcelain, something cherished that constantly needs to be treasured. And nobody has done that before. And you love him for it.

You try to decorate your Christmas tree together. He messes with the lights for a while, eventually gives up and goes on to eat too many reindeer shaped cookies.

He massages your muscles when you write a boring essay for college.

You go with him when he has to shoot a “driving a motorcycle naked in the centre of Athens” scene and you bite the inside of your cheeks to stop smiling like an idiot.

He gives you a dress he bought for you in New York.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know, but I wanted to.”

He calls you sweetheart in the mornings, still half asleep and later joins you in the shower.

“Why are you so hot?”

“Climate change”

“Oh, shut up”

It’s tender and it’s soft and it’s human.

And that’s the saddest part.

Soon you realize that him leaving two months ago was merely a rehearsal and you still haven’t said your actual goodbyes. Your chest starts to feel as if it’s full of crushed glass.

And it’s ridiculous because you fell in love with Sebastian sometime between the first ten days you spent together.

Who falls in love in ten days?

Ridiculous or not, you know you are in love with him just as you know that sooner or later, whatever he is feeling will fade and wither. Maybe it’ll be in a week, maybe it’ll be in a month, maybe in a year if you’re lucky. But there will definitely come a day when he will step out of a gala or a party or a fancy gym in New York with a beautiful model in his arms and two paparazzi’s following him around.

What will you be then?

A past small cameo in his life. A side character. Will he remember your name?

He is your whole world.

(a bottle of cheap prosecco helps you decide that)

He is your whole world.

And yet, there will come a day when he won’t even remember your name.

It was difficult. No, it was the most difficult thing you’ve ever done. Telling him how you think it’d be better if you didn’t talk after he leaves.

“I don’t agree with this.”

“Seb, it’s for the best.”

Your body doesn’t feel strong enough to carry your heart. And you’re certain it will only get worse once he’s away. The world around you will melt. You’ll obsess over a phone screen and his messages. You’ll start chasing ghosts again. You can’t handle that.

“Why?” He says urgently and his fingers dance over the flesh of your palms.

“Because this”, you motion your hand between the two of you, “is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever had in my life and I don’t want it to become ugly.”

He nods, he understands.

“I love you, you know,” he says smiling and tugs you closer to him, “And I may not be here to show you but I think I’ll love you for a long time.”

Your hand grips his waist right to the bones and something flares in your eyes, something wild that wrenches you around.

“I know, I’ll love you the same.”

“Maybe we’ll meet again.”

“Only if I’m the luckiest girl on the planet.”

He laughs and you look at him, fully aware he’ll be ripped out of your life like a page from a cheap leather notebook. And when you kiss for the last time, there’s a hole forming in your soul.

And just because endings don’t leave visible scars to one’s body and soul, that doesn’t mean the scars don’t exist. You know they do, because you feel the aching pain of every single one of them.

(every night when you close your eyes you see him)

(every night you look at the stars and think of him)

A month passes and Argyris asks you if you miss him.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop.”

“He said the exact same thing.”

You tell him not to mention Sebastian again.

Two months pass and you need to stop stalking his instagram profile.

Three months pass and you almost text him.

Four months pass and you go to watch Endgame with some friends and you cry. You cry when Black Widow sacrifices herself and when Iron Man smiles at his wife while dying, and when Bucky Barnes appears on screen.

The others don’t understand and you don’t blame them.

Five months pass and Argyris’ girlfriend wants you to meet someone. A charming boy your age with blonde hair and a lip piercing.

And he's cute but you compare him to Sebastian even before he has the chance to say his name. His eyes are not the right shade of blue and he doesn’t look at you like you’re made of the world’s finest jewel.

And he doesn’t know any constellation names.

And then more than a year passes in a second and you learn to not look for him. Not anymore.

It’s early March 2020 and despite the rising fear of the upcoming pandemic, you’re doing well. Scars are starting to fade. And after spending two weeks in Prague, your best friend being there with an exchange program, Sebastian Stan is the farthest thing from your mind.

Until he literally comes crashing into you. At the airport.

No, it can’t be him.

You have your suitcase on one hand and a bottle of antiseptic gel on the other. He has two bodyguards on his sides and a black hoodie on. And while half of his face is hidden behind a mask, you can see his eyes perfectly. A frozen lake in December. You would know those eyes in your deathbed, at the end of the world.

Your vision gets blurry and suddenly you feel cold.

He won’t recognize me, he can’t.

But then he looks at you and every memory you had buried inside of you resurfaces.

He motions to his guards to wait for him and he starts walking towards you. You breathe slowly, one breath at a time. He takes his mask off and you hesitate to take yours, not sure if you truly want him to see you.

You exchange the typical and very awkward hi, how are you, i’m glad you’re doing okay and then he smiles and it feels comfortable. Familiar.

It’s the whiff of another time that you always kept around. A reminder that you were once loved by a god.

“What are you doing here?”

“Filming Falcon and the Winter Soldier”

If you hadn’t unfollowed him on instagram, you’d known.

“Ah yes I heard about that, congrats.”

He nods a thank you.

“And you? In Prague?”

“I was at a friend.”

He looks conflicted, hurt, turns his gaze to his shoes on the grey cement. You want to say something, but you feel like throwing up.

And then he laughs.

“I was right.”

You’re confused, he notices.

“Back in Greece,” he swallows, “I told you this would happen.”

“It would have been an airport, different gates for each of us, but same waiting hall. Or a Greek island, where we’d both be for the summer.”

“I would have found you.”

You remember and you cannot help but smile. He was right. He found you.

“I didn’t believe you then.”

I barely believe you now.

He touches your hair. And his touch is like a knife. And you want to cry. Magnolias under your tongue. A love long lost is whispering in your ears until it hurts to listen. He’s like a magnetic field and you feel yourself drowning in him.

“I bet they’ll ask me a hundred questions about you later.” He says and looks at the two men waiting for him.

“And what will you tell them?”

“That you’re most probably the love of my life.”

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

“There’s no way we’d meet here if you’re not.”

“Sebastian,” His name sounds like a prayer coming out of your lips and you're ready to tell him you love him and you can swear he looks like he’s ready to faint, “I-”

The guards yell his name. And it's the same feeling people have just before a car crash.

“I’m sorry, I have to go.”

One last look.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

You repeat it over and over again. But you fail.

“No, don't cry” He smiles, one last smile, “Just look at the stars and wait for us to meet again, because we will.”

He caresses the back of your palm for a second and you think your ribcage is shattering but it’s only your heart drumming frantically. Pushing your fragile bones to break.

You want to stop him, wrap your arms around his torso, never let him go. Not again. But you don’t.

You just watch him leave, one more time, your knees weak, your head heavy and dizzy. For the split of a moment he turns and glances at you but then he’s nowhere to be seen.

Perhaps it was all in your imagination. Perhaps it was nothing but a wonder.

You get into your plane and you silently sob.

And then it’s summer.

And you overhear he was seen with a girl, the day before your vacation starts and you find a picture of them together a week later, a pretty blonde girl clinging to his side with a colorful bikini somewhere in Spain. And he’s smiling. And you feel so ashamed. And so stupid.

They say time heals all wounds but they must be wrong because you can’t forget how he used to smile at you or how he used to call you the love of his life.

Was he joking when he said you'll meet again? You bet if you asked him now, he wouldn't even remember saying it.

I’ll love you for a long time.

So long for nothing.

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged :) also i’m really sorry if you asked me to tag you and i didn’t but i lost a lot of asks and the urls of the people that sent them :(

tagging: @lharrietg @awkward117 @dannaloureen @broccoligf @cutestfangirlvevo @caitdaniels @arymb @buckybarnesishot310 @roguesthetic @itsaliceheree @sara-1705 @dorothea-hwldr @freshfreakoaftrash @drinkfantasy @christinamcdonnell @partypoison00 @90ssantiago

#sebastianstan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan imagine #letyoudown #monday the movie #sebastian stan angst #sebastian stan x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader

529 notes · View notes

elriell · 3 years

Text

Two Mates? Elriel & (El)ucien Theory.

These are just a few of my thoughts compiled together regarding having two mates, the signs and breadcrumbs Sarah has incorporated. If you know me you know am a Lucien fan so this is nothing hateful towards him and we will be looking at his place within it all as well, that being said this will have bond rejection/misalignment talk so if that is not your cup of tea I understand and you can skip this! As always I would love to hear everyones thoughts so long as we are all respectful ♡

Let's start by discussing the where the two ships align and parallel mates behaviour, and then we will discuss where their arc's veer from each other...

“TOUCH HER, SMELL HER, TASTE HER– THE INSTINCTS WERE A RUNNING RIVER.” (Lucien in ACOWAR about the mating bond.)

“Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture.”

“Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.”

“They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. ”

“He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent. ”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. ”

“He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like.”

“This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it.

“Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. ”

Now you can easily parallel this to any of SJM's mates, like Feysand or Nessian. But for the sake of brevity I will leave you with the original link to the wonderful @suelky post where it was pointed out w/ Feysand quotes as well. [source]

Also "The instincts were a running river.” sounds a little like “Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea."

The Bonus POV has a lot of typical "Mates" behaviours manifesting between Elain and Azriel, and it would make sense this would be a extreme POV shift as we have never been inside either of their heads before so we were bound to have a major learning curve, especially with Az who is so reserved with his emotions.

“But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with. A low snarl slipped out of him—”

“So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her." Azriel snarled softly.”

There are countless main trio parallels but most of you are aware of which one is my favourite...

“Knelt on those stars and mountains inked on his knees. He would bow for no one and nothing— But his mate. His equal.”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.”

"Every instinct in his body came roaring to the surface, so violent he had to choke them with a brutal grip or else he'd find himself on his knees, begging her for touch, for anything."

And on to where they go their separate ways from a textual perspective;

"Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.”

“Rhys kissed the hollow of my collarbone, and my core went utterly molten. “My brave, bold, brilliant mate.”

“You can give everyone that I Will Slay My Enemies look—which is my favorite look, by the way. You can keep that sharpness I like so much, that boldness and fearlessness. I don’t want you to ever lose those things, to cage yourself.”

“And he had the nerve once his powers were back to shove me into a cage. The nerve to say I was no longer useful; I was to be cloistered for his peace of mind.”

“Remember that you are a wolf. And you cannot be caged.” He kissed my brow one more time, my blood thrumming and boiling in me, howling to draw blood.”

I think finding freedom and power from within is something that the books have emphasized through Feysand and Nessian's journey's. Which is so interesting considering Lucien and Elain are both feeling tied to each other, as if in a cage of sorts.

Elain herself has been stuffed in to a box of other peoples making throughout most of the series, it quite prevalent she might feel caged by their opinions of who she is.

"Maybe she was never given a chance to be that way." I whipped my head towards him. "You think I stifle her?" Rhys held up his hands. "Not you alone."

“Nesta had been right. It was like a prison, this place.” [Graysen's Manor]

“Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers. Our mother made sure we knew it. Or she just cared so little what we thought or did that she didn’t bother to hide it from us.”

And as for Lucien I think his duty and honour to her is what is caging him;

“I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes. I can’t stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back.”

“Why are you here?” Cassian asked, unable to help the sharpness. “Where’s Elain?”

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.”

“Why?” Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I waited. “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

Godbless Azriel for respecting Elain's privacy.

I think we would see/understand a lot more if we got a chance inside their heads but the one time we did see Lucien's POV we got a good glimpse at how he feels about his situation with Elain and it wasn't particularly positive and reminded me of Rhy's parents.

"She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him.”

“...to remember that she picked it. Picked me. That it’s not like my parents, shoved together.”

Not using the word cage per say but the implication isn't much better.

“You know them better than I do. But I will say that Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.”

“So is Azriel.”

I don't think the debate is really whether Lucien is deserving of her, or even Azriel for that matter, it is a question of who is actually right for her and vice-versa, who has she been consistently written to thrive and smile alongside. And that is Azriel.

Why does Sarah constantly put Azriel in the picture, from day DOT. She was screaming "hey look Azriel is here, and they would work magically together"

“And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together.”

There are several instances/evens that occur throughout the series that set both Elucien and Elriel's relationships apart, and I think it is highly intentional on Sarah's part...

“I said quietly, “We will get her back.” But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.”

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

Or we can look at both Solstice's and the clear differences in how their relationships are growing, and also how well one and other know each other.

“Tell me when you knew,” he demanded, his knee pressing into mine. “That Rhysand was your mate. Tell me when you stopped loving Tamlin and started loving him instead.”

“He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option of leaving if it became too much. Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that.”

“I want to see her. Just once. Just—to know.” “To know what?” He hitched my damp cloak higher around us. “If she is worth fighting for.”

“Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.”

GIFTS REFLECTING THEIR RELATIONSHIP MILE MARKS

“Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we …” Unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?”

“I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy.”

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” “And torn up by thorns,” I mused,”

“I didn’t dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all.”

“He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

Not only is she visibly uninterested which is painful to watch, it also highlights how little he knows about her. SJM is creating a visible gap in their dynamic.

“The golden necklace seemed ordinary -- its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. “It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. ”

“My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen … You shall wed for conquest.”

“I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer,” I said, sawing and sawing. “Little roses and begonias and irises. And for Nesta … ”

“She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

“I led her into the sitting room, where Cassian had a bottle of amber-colored liquor in each hand, Azriel was already rubbing his temples,”

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year -- a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there.”

“Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid. Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, "You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...”

See yet again a very thoughtful and funny gift on her part. Now at it's core even just simply comparing their general reactions says a lot about the story Sarah is putting forward.

"Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.”

“He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. "No wonder you didn't want me to open it in front of everyone."

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. "Nesta wouldn't appreciate the joke.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly."

"Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. "

The writing is nothing if not clear about the discomfort both Lucien and Elain feel in regards to each other, though they lay under different reasons.

We are given multiple incidents in which we are told about how mating bonds are not perfect and we are given clear examples of it repeatedly, about woman enduring out of obligation, and do not forget this is heavily discussed literally in regards to Elain and her circumstances.

“She’d been revealed as his mate, and endured the miserable union mostly from gratitude for her unharmed wings.”

“You said your mother and father were wrong for each other; Tamlin said his own parents were wrong for each other.” I peeled off my dressing robe. “So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. "

“She glowed with good health. Except … Her brown eyes were wary. Usually, that look was reserved for Lucien. The male was definitely in the family room,”

“Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around,”

“Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.”

“That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.”

“Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.”

What if ”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden—“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

“Can you truly fly?” He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, “Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.” “That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“ I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them.”

“This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

“Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.”

The romantic subtext is there and has been for quite some time, they prove it book after book when SJM continues to grow their bond and nurture it whilst breaking her connection with Lucien further apart, and for what reason?

“A mating bond can be rejected,” Rhys said mildly, eyes flickering in the mirror as he drank in every inch of bare skin I had on display. “There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some… preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls.”

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?” [...]

“I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?” Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …”

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

“Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.”

“The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.”

It is remarkably interesting to me that we are told about what Rhys suspects/believes is responsible for mating bonds, paralleled alongside Azriel questioning it all, I also think it is abundantly clear from his answer to Feyre he doesn't truly know for sure.

We also have several lines of dialogue talking about the sisters and fate, their reason for entering the IC's life. Not only that but we get a glimpse at Azriel's personality and how despite the world (Rhys and the mating bond in general) telling him to despair, he still found it in him to have hope the Cauldron could be wrong.

This is so significant, and she has carefully woven his character throughout the series to make this incredibly plausible.

“If I had not met a shadowsinger, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair.”

“And then he said to my sisters, “We have not known each other for long. But I have to believe that you were brought here, into our family, for a reason, too. And maybe today we’ll find out why.”

“All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own.”

“Even after the bond is rejected, they see her as belonging to them. Sometimes they return to challenge the male she chooses for herself. Sometimes it ends in death. It is savage, and it is ugly, and it mercifully does not happen often, but …”

“Oh, I can, and I will. If Lucien finds out you're pursuing her, he has every right to defend their bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the Blood Duel.”

As you can see even back in ACOWAR she was weaving the web for Elriel's journey and an upcoming Blood Duel/The threat of one.

“Many mated pairs will try to make it work, believing the Cauldron selected them for a reason. Only years later will they realize that perhaps the pairing was not ideal in spirit.”

I think it is pretty clear from all the quotes above that Lucien is no her ideal spirit and vice-versa to be frank when you put it side by side his budding relationship with Vassa or hers with Azriel they are clearly very different.

“On the continent, there are territories that believe the females literally belong to their mate. But not here. Elain would have our full protection if she rejects the bond.”

“Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut. Offer and permission. He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers. ”

Elain is choosing Azriel, choosing their bond over the one assigned to her time and time again... Back to mating bonds;

“The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.”

“The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.”

"She pointed at Lucien as she saw herself out. “Try sitting down with her. Just talking—sensing. See what you pick up. But don’t push.”

“Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.”

"Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he’d been standing long after he was gone.”

“Should we—does she need …?” “She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

“It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.”

“But Azriel nodded. “You knew,” he said to Elain. “About the young queen turning into a crone.” Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in.”

Are you telling me that Madja saying a mate would know, would sense whatever is going on with her, and as it turns out Azriel was the one to sense and uncover it is solely what, a coincidence? Also to emphasize what she said about "A bridge between souls..." Where else have we heard that terminology? The Truth-Teller scene.

“I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.”

Not to mention this scene is simply iconic for a multitude of reasons, how poetic Feyre describes them, the clear soulmates/ying-yang subtext and him giving her something he has given no other but that's another story.

Azriel has also been displaying some very protective fiercely so mating vibes towards her,

“Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. ”

“Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.”

“Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.”

“Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.”

I think there are some mixed opinions on Lucien and whether he deserves her (and vice-versa in this fandom) but I don't think that is what this comes down too, they are both handling it in the way they think best/following their instincts.

Lucien is hurting throughout this process as well, but I think ultimately it is honor and loyalty binding him to her not any genuine emotion for her as a human being fae. I think realising they are not meant for each other and supporting each other developing true bonds with other people will be their journey. And it would be a completely fresh and new view of a mating bond.

Smaller pieces of dialogue that need little explaining and a rather oddly specific choice of words in the latest book that is meant to set up the next one in the series:

“You’d know if she’d died,” Azriel said, pausing his work and looking up at Cassian. He tapped his brother’s chest with a scarred hand. “Right here—you’d know, Cass.”

“Elain and Feyre—that was the new status of things. The bond Elain had chosen.”

"I'd never do such a thing. you must be thinking of your other mate."

Honestly? At this rate I have no doubt Elriel are endgame and everything within canon text spells that out but I truly believe he will be her second mate/the will form a bond via some circumstance that shall arise due to these little hints.

I would love to hear your thoughts and/or additions because I by all means didn't do a massive deep dive and there are most likely tons more examples to add but I didn't want it to become overwhelming to read!

Hope everyone has a spectacular and magical evening <3

#elriel #elain archeron #azriel #elain x azriel #azriel x elain #acotar #acosf #acowar #acomaf #a court of thorns and roses #elriel mates #elriel theories #elriel metas #anti elucien #tb safe and all that #dont want it falling in the wrong tag #c

264 notes · View notes

asmrtist-brainrot · 3 years

Photo

This is my Redacted OC!!

An old-age vamp!

I made them look really soft here - didn’t mean to but they do -

They basically a mum to her few progeny! Their boyfriend(whose name is also Will) is an OC made by my buddy @starchaser-the-prophet (who you’ll probably see soon).

I’ve been sitting on this character for a while but I recently finished with their backstory. I’ll draw their progeny and maker at some point too but for now, have my baby.

~ Dari

Redacted OC Bio Template

GENERAL

Full Name: Delanie Ruger Hadlock (their first name is Irish, meaning "competitor's child" - their last name goes all the way back to Anglo-Saxon and is best translated as "heather", their middle name is adopted from their maker out of respect)

Nickname(s): Lanie(their boyfriend), Del(usually left to their friends), and Haddie (William insisted after they started calling him "Willem")

Alias(es): Mother of the Hadlock Clan (their younger progeny, few as there are, usually refer to them as their mother so they took it in stride and adopted it as their title)

D. O. B: December 20, 1908

Age (Appearance): 26

Age (Actual Age): 113

Gender/Pronouns: Nonbinary (they/she, uses they/them more often but doesn’t truly have a preference)

Sexuality: Pansexual

Race/Ethnicity: Mixed Race

Appearance: About 5′ 10″, slim, and delicate in appearance, eyes are silver and red as what comes with being a vampire. More akin to what a traditional vampire looks like; elegant and somewhat ethereal. Hair is long and black, usually worn mostly up - with m shaped bangs. Fingers are long and skinny as well. Black cat tattoo on their wrist, ears dotted with dark piercings. Has one, big facial scar that spans from their temple, over their left eye, skimming down over the right side corner of their lip

Fashion: Dark academia, somewhat gothic. Sticks to darks and neutrals. Has a preference for turtlenecks and long coats, prefers gold to silver. Loafers, dress shoes, and boots - doesn't favor any over the other. Always wearing promise ring. Eyes are sometimes done in heavy liner and mascara with red eye shadow in the corners, lips are either painted black or red.

Personality: Though seemingly intimidating, Delanie is quite gentle and personable. Being generally soft spoken and just polite, a courtesy extended even if someone is being openly hostile or insulting. Their patience is seemingly endless. They're actually kind of air-headed, often being forgetful, scatterbrained, and naïve. Not really much of a talker upon first meeting, though is referred to has a blabber mouth by their loved ones. Is actually pretty observant and cautious, careful in their repose and not the type to trust easily. So it makes it somewhat hard to get closer to them even if your intentions are good. But once you get past that, they're more genuine in their bubbly kindness - fiercely loyal and protective. A good judge of character, a bleeding heart, through and through and usually always willing to lend a helping hand to those who need it. Let it be known that they're brutally honest and don't really feel the need to hold back when it comes to telling truths.

INFORMED OR UNINFORMED

Magical Race: Vampire, previously an Air Elemental

Magical Knowledge: Humanborn before Turning

Magical Proficiency/Proficiencies: Taxonomy/Taxology, Psychokinesis

Magical Weaknesses: Most other Elemental Magics

Occupation: Operates as a clan head for their progeny and those they've turned, also as somewhat of a representative for England's council. Their clan is essentially an event advertising business, considered a big name in empowered and unempowered circles.

Covert Levels: No one unempowered is aware, they're careful and keep their progeny close and educated, even if it means they'd have to do it themselves.

RELATIONSHIP(S)

Biological Parent(s): Gunter Hadlock (father)[deceased], Unknown Mother[deceased]

Sibling(s): Rich Hadlock (elder step-brother)[deceased]

Significant Other(s):

Cain Hadlock [deceased] (their first husband, a man they’d been betrothed to for the sake of business hence him taking their family name - while they didn’t love one another, they were good friends up until his passing; they were married up until his death in 1950)

Will Sharpe (current boyfriend of nearly 2 years, their anniversary is in March - the pair are essentially parents to their youngest progeny)

Friend(s):

William Solaire (they met long after they'd turned, not aware of the importance of the other right away - are somewhat close due to how they feel about their clans. pen pals that send letters often)

Other:

Tobias Ruger (their maker, he’d saved their life after learning they’d been poisoned so they care deeply for him and vise-versa - he cares about them like his own child... they are also the only person he’d ever turned)

Isaac Hadlock (the first person they’d turned, forever serious and intense - he’s awkward but loves everyone in their clan deeply)

Rue Hadlock (the second person they’d turned - she’s a realist with a foul mouth despite her sweet appearance, while resentful initially about the reason of it, is thankful for the new lease of life)

Heron Hadlock & Jett Hadlock (a pair of twins turned recently; the boys are a little rowdy and constantly having to be invoked for causing mischief that goes a little too far... But they love their maker to death)

BACKSTORY

Delanie Hadlock was born December 20th, 1903 out of wedlock to Gunter Hadlock and an unnamed woman. A humanborn air elemental that decidedly kept their abilities under wraps from those outside of their family. From the beginning, they were considered a more worthwhile heir to the Hadlock Company and so passed over their elder step-brother for the role.

From early childhood to adulthood, they’re somewhat of a scholar with an inclination for knowing everything there is to know about everything. To learn everything they can about empowered and unempowered history for all the world could teach them. Tobias, as their tutor, fed into this hunger for knowledge and encouraged their curiosity.

Delanie’s relationship with their father was distant, more professional than anything having to do with any familial bond. But they did try their best to show him and their step-brother, Rich, that they’d cared. Unluckily, their father died before they were even to be married to Cain; a boy they’d been arranged to marry.

Eventually, at the age 26, they’d started getting sick. Sudden and without warning, leaving them in their bed for days - floating in and out of coherency. Much to the worry of their husband and tutor turned friend... The latter of whom had eventually had made the decision to turn them once he’d felt his dear friend was simply too close to death. It isn’t long after they found that this sudden sickness was because their dear step-brother had been poisoning them. It was enough for them to finally cut him out entirely.

So they lived somewhat of a peaceful life, using the empowered government to continue holding the seat of their company through the years and grow it as time went on.

In 1950, Cain died due to complications with polio. It is out of respect for his wishes that they hadn’t turned him and allowed him to pass on.

They moved to America in the 1990s, mostly to expand the Hadlock business. Eventually coming to Dahlia around 1997 and settling there due to the pool of empowered population, under the suggestion of William Solaire.

Isaac Kinsley(now Hadlock) was turned in 2015 at age 23, being a former earth elemental that had simply been at the wrong place when he was attacked by another vampire.

Rue Walsh(now Hadlock) was next in 2019 at 17. She was a dreamwalker with a clinical disease that had the potential to start eating at her brain, Lanie simply saved her the fate after she’d asked.

They met their current boyfriend, Will Sharpe the shifter, in early 2020 after first meeting him while the both were working.

Then there were the unempowered twins, Heron and Jett Osbourne(now Hadlock) (both currently 21), turned at the tail end of 2020 after an accident that had occurred on Hadlock property. They were orphans before being turned so it was a given they’d latch onto Lanie as a maternal figure so easily.

They’d waited so long to turn anyone because the people in their life were content with just passing, nor had they felt the need to do so despite the long line of mortals that they’d endeared themselves to.

Now, they live in ownership of a thriving company and living a peaceful life with their beloved boyfriend and pseudo-children.

Quotes & Trivia

Hypothetical Video Title(s): Forgetful Vampire S/O, Sweet Vampire Partner

To Will Sharpe: “I've loved several individuals before.... But I don't think I've ever loved them the way I did you.”

To William Solaire: “We live long, my dear friend, it is customary to focus on what we have and protect it while we can.”

To Vincent Solaire: “Loving mortals is a short and difficult venture, but it does not take away from how deeply you feel.”

To Isaac Hadlock: “I reached out to help because I could do something.”

has a preference for formal nicknames such as “dearest” or “love”, saved for mostly Will

even though they’re technically dead, Delanie does not do surgical needles and will absolutely just run if they’d have to be poked with one - amusing as they’d had quite a few piercings and a tattoos (nor would it really do anything)

of mixed race, their mother being Korean - of which they’d learned once finding out of that particular origin

speaks three languages; English, Korean, and French

their scar was an accident from their youth; after falling off of a horse on a hike

was allergic to shellfish as a human but after being turned, it no longer has that effect on them

did not have a pass-lock on their smartphone when they’d first had it, only having one after meeting and dating Will

has an affection for dad jokes and puns

kinda bad with technology in a social media standpoint, cannot understand most memes to save their life

familiar with most of the Solaire Clan; holds affection for most of the newborns because of their internal parental instincts

also has brushed shoulders with the Shaw Pack on occasion as they’d run security for the events that the Hadlock Clan had organized or advertised, hadn’t really spoken to any particular member personally and knows them only on a business/surface level

holds contempt for D. U. M. P. for their rather jilted system, though Rue works for them, Delanie simply does not have great feelings about them as a whole due to their preference for protocol as opposed to anything to do with actual justice

enjoys painting and dancing, does either when it suits them

adores Kuromi from Sanrio, has a collection of small little trinkets and items surrounding her

had attended D. A. M. N. for a short amount of time, mostly to feel out their classes and if it was suited for any progeny they’d have in the future

#redacted asmr #Redacted OC #redacted asmr oc #dari art #dari's ocs #delanie hadlock #redacted ocs

43 notes · View notes

redorich · 4 years

Note

For the canyon au, what would happen if one of the hermits got hurt during a scout? Like, if etho is out scouting, something happens, and he’s unable to message the hermits or get help. Would he be willing to be seen? Would any smpers besides Puffy help him?

Zedaph didn't mean to leave the canyon, honest! He was just looking for a sheep of his own for a completely ethical experiment involving pistons and a perfectly reasonable quantity of peanut butter, thank you very much. He wasn’t about to steal a sheep from someone else’s farm, and for some reason sheep don’t tend to spawn at bedrock level. So really, he had no choice!

Zedaph is rethinking a lot of his decisions. He’s also wondering if he left the jump-powered stove on. Then he remembers that it’s jump-powered, and as he is not currently jumping on it, it is most likely unpowered. Unfortunately, it seems as though Zedaph is going to be eating a lot of cold food for a while if he makes it out of this alive, because he’s not going to be jumping on anything with a broken leg.

Despite his punishment for trying to take a cross-section of something that he now knows is probably sentient (oops), he can’t help but want to go back, to learn more. What is the rate of growth of those red vines? Are they all from the same plant? Are they actually sentient, or is the crimson kudzu in possession of an automatic response to attempted harm? Did the vine know it was hitting him off a ledge which would break his leg, or did it just know “whack human away from vine”? Would the vines taste good in soup? Are they flammable? Could Zedaph theoretically knit a fashionable sweater out of them, and if so would the sweater be capable of independent movement?

He is torn from his musings of a wriggly evil sweater by another thrum of pain. He hisses. There’s... more blood than is advisable. Outside of his leg, that is. Inside his leg is likely less than the advisable amount of blood, and come to think of it, his head’s probably a bit empty as well, seeing as how he’s having so much trouble thinking straight-- well, straight for him. His jumps in logic are incomprehensible to most on a good day, but right now even he can’t follow his own thought process. What was he thinking about again?

Ah yes. The overwhelming pain from being yeeted off a ledge. Come to think of it, the ledge he fell off-- the one he’s sitting leaned against-- is shaped awfully unusually. It must be manmade. Whoever made this is not a good terraformer. Zedaph should bake Scar some cookies. Is Scar allergic to peanuts? Ow. Ow. Ow. Zedaph will need to borrow Impulse’s oven-- or he could set up his own oven with an armor stand that jumps for him?

“Hey there, who are you?” says a female voice. Zedaph looks up. He doesn’t have to look very far up.

Standing in front of him is a woman with a cool pirate-looking coat (red, of course; all self-respecting pirates wear red), with long fluffy hair like white wool and rainbow fringe! Oh, and she’s, like, half sheep or something. That’s cool too.

Wait. There’s something about sheep he’s forgetting... How could he have been so stupid?! He came to the surface in the first place in search of a sheep, and now he’s (kind of) found one!

The cool pirate lady says something, but Zedaph-- well, he does hear it, but it doesn’t process. Words are just mouth-sounds. He is in pain.

“Found a sheep,” he mumbles, “Come back to the canyon?”

“You’re hurt, man,” the sheep-pirate-lady says. She has pretty rainbow hair, and the white parts look like clouds.

She laughs. “Thanks.”

Clearly, this woman is a mind-reader! As well as a sheep. Really, two for the price of one. Zedaph isn’t quite sure what to do with a mind-reader, but his head will be much clearer and therefore able to dream up wacky hypotheses once he respawns--

He gasps, jerking forward and choking on his own breath when he remembers the cold truth. Xisuma won’t be able to respawn him, not for several days. Zedaph doesn’t want to spend that long in the void.

“Woah!” the woman exclaims, rushing to steady him. “You look pretty bad, dude. Let’s get you home or something. Where do you live?”

“Canyon,” Zedaph rasps. “I’m not supposed to tell you that, I don’t think. Can’t remember why.”

The nice woman goes very still. “Hey. My name’s Puffy. I’m gonna take you to the canyon. Do you think you can stand if I help you?”

“Puffy..?” Zedaph squints off into the middle distance, trying to remember something. “She’s the person who keeps coming back to that barrel, isn’t she?”

Puffy pulls Zedaph’s arm over her shoulder and gently pulls him up to his feet. “She is,” Puffy says softly.

“I hope she liked the enchanted diamond shears,” he mumbles.

“She did,” Puffy says softly. “She didn’t even know diamond shears were a thing.”

“I was going to make an emerald flint and steel,” Zedaph rambles, “but it turns out that items made of flint and steel aren’t conducive to being made of not-flint and not-steel."

"Who would have thought?" Puffy laughs, then trips over a vine. Zedaph makes a pained noise at the jostle to his leg, which is dragging a bit on the ground because Puffy is so much shorter than him. She notices this, and rethinks her strategy.

"At this rate, we'll never get back to the canyon," she gripes. "Climb on my back instead, I'll carry you."

Zedaph obliges, but warns, "Tango says I'm heavy.”

“I’m stronger than Tango, I’ll bet.”

The Hermit is actually a bit heavy, but this is a matter of pride now. And also, quite possibly a matter of urgency. The Hermit isn’t responding anymore. He’s still holding on, so he isn’t dead or completely unconscious; still, he’s not in a good state.

As soon as the elevator down to the bottom of the canyon comes into view, Puffy books it. Surely, in the canyon base, the Hermit will have healing potions? He (They? Multiple Hermits?) gave her a whole beacon, so obviously he/they are late-game enough to have plenty of potions.

Stepping into the elevator, Puffy presses the button, then puts her hand on the Hermit’s neck. It’s a bit of an awkward position, since his chin is hanging over her shoulder, but it makes her feel better to have a hand on his pulse. He makes a pitiful noise as the elevator descends.

“Easy there,” Puffy says, “you’re almost home.”

The moment the doors open, she ventures out into the village. The only safe place she knows is the barrel where she leaves her items for the Hermit(s), so she takes him there. Now that she’s looking, she spots shadows, eyes, movements, throughout the supposedly empty village. One such person comes out of the woodwork, sprinting.

“Zedaph!” exclaims a tall, musclebound man. His face is twisted in naked worry as he meets Puffy at the barrel, which she sets Zedaph down on.

The large man, who wears a black shirt with a creeper face on it (does that mean something, Puffy wonders?) scrutinizes the blond man on the barrel for a moment before springing into action, splashing potions and bits of lapis and-- holy shit, is that a Totem of Undying?! When the blond man, Zedaph, seems to come back to himself enough that he could reasonably eat a golden carrot with minimal choking hazard, the new man hands him one. Finally, he turns to Puffy.

“Thank you,” he says. The relief in his voice is tangible.

Puffy shifts awkwardly. “I was just doing the right thing. I noticed, uh, his bracelet.”

They both look to Zedaph’s wrist. It’s got a woven bracelet on it. The textile isn’t astounding, but the pattern on it is intricate. Puffy would know, she made it herself as a gift for the Hermit. As Puffy and the other Hermit look at each other, she realizes that he is also wearing something she made: a pair of fingerless gloves which are now stained with redstone dust.

He catches her staring. “We all have one-- oh, uh, my name’s Impulse, and this is Zedaph--”

“Impulse,” a new blond man hisses from behind the two. Puffy jumps. She didn’t hear him coming.

“Tango!” Impulse greets, suddenly nervous. Why a man as big as Impulse would be nervous when facing anyone, let alone a normal-looking guy like Tango, is beyond Puffy. Maybe Tango’s red eyes have some sort of significance?

“Impulse,” Tango repeats, looking around for anyone that isn’t a Hermit. “You’re not invisible.”

Impulse’s eyebrows draw together in a frown. “I had to see Zedaph.”

“Yeahhh,” Zedaph slurs.

“Besides, if we can trust any of the natives, it’s Puffy,” Impulse insists. He crosses his arms in what should be an intimidating display, but truthfully looks more like a pout.

“You know what Xisuma said,” Tango says. “I’m grateful to have Zedaph back, but...”

“Xisuma would agree with me,” Impulse says stubbornly.

Tango sighs explosively, full of nerves. “Alright, fine, can we at least get out of sight? Anyone could come wandering across the surface and spot us.”

“How many of you are there?” Puffy breathes. Everyone’s eyes snap to her.

“Twenty-four,” Zedaph says happily.

“Zedaph!” Tango admonishes.

Rolling his eyes, Impulse scoops Zedaph up off the barrel like he weighs nothing. He carries the dazed blond man down the path and into a cottage-style house. As Tango goes to follow, he catches Puffy’s eye.

“Sorry,” he says, “nothing personal. Just trying to avoid being explodificated, which means not being seen by the people who live on this server. You get it, yeah?”

He jogs off to catch up with Impulse, and Puffy hurriedly follows. Tango’s got a bracelet like Zedaph’s, but it’s one of the ones Puffy made out of different shades of red. She wonders if all the Hermits wear something she made.

The inside of the house is a bit cramped, but it’ll do. It’s got a bed, at least, so Zedaph’s got somewhere to keep his leg off the ground. This all feels surreal.

“So, uh...” Puffy says into the stuffy silence of the room. “How about that, uh, bedrock?”

Nobody has anything to say to that. Fuck.

Out of nowhere, yet another Hermit shows up. There’s a trapdoor in the wall that, now that she looks at it, Puffy realizes that Tango was hiding intentionally. That’s all gone to shit, though, because a man with white hair and a mask over his face peeks his head out from the hole in the wall.

“Hey guys, what--” The man takes a look around, spots Puffy, and freezes. “...On second thought, I’ll come back later.”

“Wait!” Impulse says to the man. “Get Xisuma, or at least tell him Puffy’s here if he can’t make the trip right now.”

“Karl thinks you’re Mothman,” Puffy blurts out to the white-haired man.

The man looks very self-satisfied for someone who’s only showing a quarter of his face. “Oh? Where does he live? For absolutely no reason, of course.”

“Etho...” Tango groans.

“Oh, alright, I’ll go get X.”

The man leaves. Oh boy, thinks Puffy, this is going to be interesting.

#mcyt #hc x dsmp #hermit canyon au #captain puffy #zedaph #zedaphplays #impulsesv #tango tek #xisuma #xisumavoid #ethoslab #me.cpp #me.txt

585 notes · View notes

battlemastercoffeeco · 3 years

Note

For more angst: does fennec ever get body dysmorphia bc of her stomach? Like she knows she’s not what she’s used to be, she doesn’t look the same, can’t even eat the same— she’s confident most of the time but sometimes late at night her partners find her staring at a mirror with a cold look on her face when she should be in bed

this ask got me all up in the feels, man 🥲 also got me thinking:

thus far, Paz is probably the only one who doesn't have some level of dysmorphia

like, we've got a trans character here; he has days where his body doesn't feel quite right tho for the most part he's gotten past that and is comfortable and happy with it

we have Fennec, who was modded (it was to save her life, but it was still non-consensual body modification). she passed out, probably expected to not wake up, then next thing she's got mechanical guts and all the complications that come with

we have Boba, who has lost his reflection, not just to time but to damage. he looks in the mirror and no longer see his father (if we're honest, that was always going to happen if he got older that Jango lived to be. but he could still see the similarities, maybe subconsciously pretended it was how his buir aged, too)

this was a really good ask, and definitely a topic I will be revisiting again bc its very relevant to Fennec's own bundle of angst (something i am obviously weak for 😆)

anyway, writing that idk how I feel abt yet below the cut 😕 I may scrap it entirely, or at least rewrite. def add more and more depth if I keep it.

"'shuh be'in beh..." Din says as he leans against the doorframe to the fresher. Fennec's eyes shift to his reflection into he mirror; sleep-mussed hair, face creased from being smushed into sheets or pillows or skin, eyes more shut than open. Din's arms are folded loosely, keeping himself contained and balanced upright rather than hiding, defensive.

The pose barely hides the age-faded scars on his chest, angled almost like echoes of his armor. Fennec's eyes trace them--so familiar and foreign.

"'s weird, huh?"

The words drag Fennec's gaze back up to meet brown eyes, more open now. Analyzing her, even half awake.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, glancing away. Her eyes catch on her own reflection again.

Din's sigh is soft and then arms are wrapping around Fennec, a chin settling on her shoulder.

"'s'kay," he mutters, head tipping against Fennec's. "I forget sometimes, too."

It's late. Din is still asleep enough he might not remember this conversation come morning. Fennec allows herself to settle into his arms, tilt her head against his cheek, almost a nuzzle. "How?"

"Mmh," is all she gets at first; the arms around her tighten, drawing her closer to the strong chest at her back as a cold nose tucks into her neck. A kitten lick, snuffling. A crackling, unpracticed purr.

"'s'like... a dream, I think," Din says, tone considering as his nose shifts up into Fennec's hair. She almost fits under his chin, like a child seeking comfort. Almost. "Sometimes... doesn't feel real. Like... like 'spect a'see s'mthn'else, still. Brain f'gets... body changes. Scars, wrinkles... changes." His shoulders barely shift, but she knows it's a shrug. "Y'r body'sa--a thing. Ship. Don' notice the dents 'til you do, 'n then s'all y'see. Flaws, faults. Self image... s'diff'nt n'a 'flection."

NOTE: this is NOT equating any dysphoria Din feels/felt to Fennec's non-con body modding. it's someone who has experienced brain-body dissonance to someone in the middle of working thru the same, and is reflective of some of my own experience. no one has the same experience, so if you personally feel differently, that's fine! you're welcome to discuss it in the notes, even. but don't come at me over this. this is me writing what I know from my own experience with both dysmorphia and dysphoria.

#ask&answer #feels #ouch #pazbobadinfennec #dinfennec #fennec shand #trans din djarin

26 notes · View notes

hansoulo · 3 years

Text

whisper scarcely breathing

part four of “Pillar of Salt”

Pairing: Boba Fett/Princess!Reader (she/her pronouns, no Y/N)

Warnings: NC-17, NSFW, explicit language, mentions of canon-typical violence, fluff, hurt/comfort but without the hurt, bathing and/or being bathed, choking, female-receiving oral, loss of virginity, unprotected M/F intercourse

Word Count: 6.1k

Image Credit: (x) by @/365filmsbyauroranocte, not meant to be a representation of the reader

A/N: this one is for the boys with the boomin’ system 😩💦

༓ series masterlist ༓

The datapad that you’d left in the garden was thrust back into your possession one morning by the hurried hands of a maid. Truthfully, you had forgotten all about it. The mind, when faced with matters as pressing as the press of a mouth, tends to forget about inconsequential objects.

You’d never met the girl standing in front of you before, and she avoided your eyes while passing over the small screen. She seemed eager to be rid of it. You couldn’t say you blamed her. “‘S yours, miss. The bounty hunter said you’d lost it.”

Did he, now?

“Thank you,” you replied sincerely, careful not to let the datapad drop to the floor as you tucked it back into the deep brocade of your gown pockets. You didn’t have the wherewithal at first to ask her when he’d found it or found the time to return it. But you also didn’t have the common sense to keep your mouth shut. “Could I ask when he gave it to you?”

The servant ducked her head. “This morning, your Highness. I- I was in the loading bay when they left, think he was tryin’ to get a hold of you but didn’t have the time, told me- told me to keep quiet ‘bout it.” A bob of her throat signalled a nervous swallow. “Princess.”

Poor girl, you thought to yourself absentmindedly. Boba probably scared her half out of her wits.

“Really, I can’t thank you enough.” You touched a soft hand to the servant’s shoulder in an misguided attempt to soothe. She returned the action with a nervous smile, eyes still downcast and trying not to shy away.

You never realized how afraid they all were. Of you.

The realization made your tongue tangle in your throat, tripping over some lie about a fever and champagne-induced amnesia as explanation for your exchanges with a man so ill-acquainted.

Hopefully, the maid didn’t make a habit of gossip.

Hopefully, you stopped making a habit of Boba Fett.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

A chaincode, a datapad tracking number, and the rest of your life flashed in backlit neon. You silently cursed yourself for not putting an opening passcode on anything, including the datapad that you now held with slightly tremoring hands.

In your defense, it’s not like it held anything of interest. Mostly just holonovels and some pictures of things you found intriguing enough to want to paint or draw.

But now there was a thing of veritable interest stuffed into a new folder titled “Your Highness” and glowing in galactic basic.

BF-18378-3263827

You stared at the numbers until they morphed into a strong, stern-featured face, muddy in your imagination against the ink night invading your bedroom. Boba left his tracking number there for you. If you wanted to, you could use them to message him or comm him or leave a holoprojection message. Whenever you wanted. Right now, even.

When did he even find your datapad? Why he found it (and why he returned it with the aforementioned numerical contraband) was probably a more apt question.

There was quite a lot to think about. Best to take stock of the present moment, lest you lose your head and go completely mad. As if you hadn’t already.

The facts repeated themselves in a half-conscious mantra, screen slipping out of your hands and onto the pillow beside your head. Facts. Facts were good. What were the facts, again?

Boba Fett was arguably the most dangerous bounty hunter in the galaxy.

Boba Fett was not much of a talker.

Boba Fett was a piss-poor dancer.

And Boba Fett was an unfairly good kisser.

The beginning three points held little negative sway, with the first adding much more appeal than it should, the second a welcome relief, and the third being… sort of endearing.

It was on the last point that your mind lingered the longest.

You didn’t even realize you’d copied numbers into the screen’s communications system until its microphone crackled to life.

One breath, two breaths, stuck in your sleep-thick throat. No words from either side yet. Did you get the tracking code wrong? Maybe. Maybe.

Maybe you were dreaming already, imagining the wind outside to be the quiet, husky inhale that sounded from the other end of the receiver.

“Not falling asleep are we, princess?”

Your eyes shot open. “No. No, I’m…” the words croaked themselves out as you fought down a yawn, “I’m awake.” His low chuckle. “I called you didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Boba assented. Quiet amusement colored his accent. “And you called because…”

“I wanted to,” you said simply, without room for teasing. You were too sleepy to be ashamed of admitting you sought out his company, as foolish as doing so was. No use in hiding what both parties knew to be true.

He let out a noise of soft approval and it rumbled a pleasant sunburst between your ears. “You seem to want a lot of things, don’t you?”

Makes me want… want…

Want what, Princess?

Want you.

You can have me.

The memory snaked a fever flush down your neck, over the still-tender skin and lightly mottled marks. Boba was remembering it just as well as you were. You knew he was.

It gave you a rush, a weird sort of power trip. Because as stupid as you felt doing this, wanting this, he wanted it too. Enough to let your hands thread through his hair and around his arms, then to the scar above his left brow and across his mouth. Enough to let you do it again at the risk of being caught. Enough to leave you his tracking number, like you were two teenagers trading love letters and not legal adults with judgement better enough to do otherwise.

You stayed on the comm for two hours, and only went to sleep because Boba threatened to cut your link off if you didn’t.

⫸———————————————— ⫷

It had been almost five standard months since the first time you’d spoken. Typed words continued to be exchanged under your covers, day after day, night after night. Sometimes you’d fall asleep talking, peppering him with questions about his ship and his job until your throat ached with the effort of keeping yourself awake. Sometimes you did more than talk.

He never fell asleep. Never seemed to sleep, period.

What a strange man. Strange, dangerous, interesting man.

You often missed each other by a hair’s breadth. Courtly flurry and galactic bounty hunting didn’t make much space for private conversation. Boba was still taciturn. You were still naive.

And yet…

You liked him. He listened when you talked about botany and painting, neither of which you imagined interested him. He was arrogant and cocky and insufferable sometimes, but he listened. He told you about his job and regaled your sheltered curiosity with lurid, gory details. He told you about his father.

And one day he somehow, miraculously, had a set of Nabooan watercolors left for you in the garden.

Biting down a juvenile grin with every new message, you watched the quiet ping! of the datapad.

Hello

are you busy?

In a way

how so

Had a brush with Hutt’s rancor

poor thing

Don’t get soft on me now

wasn’t talking about you

Very funny

I’m very, very sorry

Should be. The bastard nearly tore up my flight suit

… show me?

⫸———————————————— ⫷

BF-18378-3263827 HAS ATTACHED 3 FILES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

HOLOCALL DURATION: 02:45:35 HOURS

SAVE CALL RECORDING? PRESS YES/NO TO CONFIRM

Your damp hands tremored.

YES

⫸———————————————— ⫷

Six months, four days, and 20 hours. That’s how long it took for you to see Boba Fett again.

You’d started to think the entire ordeal was a mirage, an illusionary experience your brain conjured up for you as a one-time brush with what your life could have been. Who it could’ve been with.

But you did see him again. Foolhardy, reckless, and unplanned.

You didn’t listen to his explanation about having to leave in the morning, taking some third-rate bounty as an excuse to come back to Quas Killam for the first time in what seemed like ages—practically eons since his mouth had last been at your neck. He appeared on your bedroom balcony near midnight like an apparition, mounted by a still-burning jetpack that shut off with an arc of smoke.

You’d been sleeping, albeit fitfully, and woke the minute his knuckles rapped against the glass. You didn’t remember ever telling him where your bedchambers were, but given… everything… you couldn’t say you were surprised he knew. When he crouched down to shed the helmet, it made a soft thump on the plush carpet.

And then you kissed. And kissed. And kissed.

Boba’s fingertips dragged fire across your prickled skin with every pass. Whose breathing was whose didn’t matter. It was hard, heaving, and shared. Eyes closed, lips raw, every part of you dizzy. Dizzy.

The sneeze that left you was loud enough to knock his forehead against yours. Hard.

Feet stumbling until your legs hit the bedspread, you let your weakened knees carry you down into a sitting position atop the covers and tried to catch your breath. Boba only chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by the mild injury.

Of course your body had picked today to come down with a cold. And of course you’d forgotten to tell him.

In your defense (you seemed to do a lot of self-defending these days) you didn’t know Boba would be coming tonight. When you asked him a week ago—the last time you’d spoken—he’d said “soon.” Whatever “soon” meant, you hadn’t anticipated it being now. Your rumpled nightgown and deteriorating personal hygiene was evidence enough of that.

The day had passed in fitful naps, with you waving away all attempts at help until the servants who usually tittered about decided to give you a wide berth until tomorrow. They’d left the door locked and your curtains drawn, thank the gods.

“A hello would’ve been nice,” you mumbled. The lingering taste of him in your mouth mixed with the bitter medicine that you’d forced down a few hours ago.

Boba didn’t answer at first, only stalking forward with his silhouette glowing in light of the full moon. You brought your knees up to your chest to make room for him to stand in front of you. Every movement was bathed in slowness, in the reverence of caution and night-time silence.

His gloved hand brushed against your chin and tilted it upwards, thumb rubbing a small circle into your jawbone as he moved your face in one large grip. Left, inspecting a swollen mouth and puffy eyes, then right. Up to see the column of your exposed neck. Down to meet his bare, dark face.

He kissed you again, more gentle this time. “Hello.”

A soft whimper left your throat.

Oh, you hated it. Hated the way you sounded when he touched you, small and pathetic. Needy.

The balustrade doors were still open, and this fact was made known by a particularly biting gust of silver wind.

“You’re cold,” the man standing close to you noted with a deep downquirk of his mouth. Boba never had to conceal anything; his helmet did that for him. But when it was off, every thought flickered past his face in evening technicolor.

Your hands paused in their run up your arms to hold petulantly at your elbows, covered only by the thin fabric of your shift. Goosebumps rose against your neck with a new breeze and you fought down the urge to shiver. “M’not.”

“And stubborn.”

You glared at him, but it held no real venom.

“I appreciate the concern,” you sniffled again and your body trembled slightly. “But I’m the picture of health. I really have never been—” here you sneezed rather violently, crumbling any remaining sense of composure and making the final words thick with congestion, “—any better.” Boba hooked two strong arms underneath your knees and around your shoulders. “Wh- what are you doing?”

“C’mon,” Boba grunted and lifted you to his chest in one swift, easy motion. “Up.”

“I’m already up,” you grumbled, a headache you’d thought was all but gone now throbbing from the quick movement. Armor pressed to your cheek and you let yourself go pliant, curling up into Boba’s broad chest. He smelled nice. Like the outdoors. The real outdoors—not manufactured gardens or stone courtyards. No, dangerous things. Like deserts and leather and guns.

You queried him as he walked in long strides across the room. “Where are you taking me? Should have you—” another sneeze burned your airways, “—have you arrested for treason. A high crime or misdemeanor of some sort, kidnapping royalty...”

He only scoffed, shifting your slack body into his one-armed grip when he arrived at the entrance of your adjunct refresher. The door opened with a soft click. “You talk too much.”

Your head rolled back to face him, pressed so close already that the attempt made you cross-eyed. “And you,” a polished finger jabbed lightly at his chest plate, “are up to no good.”

You were only joking, but Boba didn’t deny it.

Green was your favorite color, even before you met him. It was the color of gardens. Of mint leaves. Of insects and jewels. Of him.

Gods, he was beautiful. Did he know that? Would he ever believe you if you told him? He was achingly, painfully, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The man set you down to your immediate protests. Funny how quick you seemed to change your mind. “Don’t whine,” he chided when you did just that, pushing you forward by the small of your back.

You walked into the refresher confused, that same confusion compounding when Boba strode over to the marble bathtub in room’s center with a surety that belayed the fact he’d never once stepped foot inside here. Were all bounty hunters this self-assured? Or was he just so full of bathroom bravado that your sprawling floor-plan didn’t faze him?

Whatever the case was, said bounty hunter was now crouched down on the tile floor and twisting the tub faucets until they sprayed out a gush of hot water, quickly filling the room with heady steam.

“Hot water helps.” A still-gloved hand dipped an inch into the filling tub and deemed it acceptable. “The steam’ll clear up those sneezes of yours. And the headache.”

“How did you know I-” your mouth opened and closed before you realized you didn’t do a great job of hiding your symptoms. Maker knows you looked a sight, all mussed and tired and sticky with cold sweat. He should make a run for it now, you half-joked to yourself. He’s only ever seen me stuffed into a corset and done up half to death.

He got up with a grunt and turned back towards you. Beskar and durasteel and tactical fabric suddenly made you feel, for the first time in your life, underdressed. “‘S not hard to tell, princess.”

“Oh,” was your only response as you pushed off the sink counter, fisting the fabric of your nightgown in an unconscious display of hesitancy.

Boba’s heavy boots made for the door.

It was probably just to leave you some semblance of privacy, but you panicked, not wanting to be left alone now that he was finally here. “Wait!” you burst out, reaching a palm onto his shoulder before he could exit. “Wait. Can— can you stay?” Of course he won’t stay, you dolt. He probably came to sleep with you, not babysit you. “Please?”

Both of his hands curled into themselves when he turned back to you, their leather squeaking in the tight flex. Then, they released limp by his sides. Each word was carefully measured, slow-simmering like a pot about to boil over. Like a trigger finger twitchy on a blaster. “If you want me to.”

You answered with a bobbing nod and a swallow. “I do.”

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba Fett had long since forgotten he was a man. Instead, he was armor. He was a code, a set of strict (albeit grey) morals, the steadfast honor he’d been imbibed with from the years with his father and then the years of tearing emptiness after.

Bounty hunters had no time for attachments. They couldn’t afford to humor every batting eyelash with more than a self-serving flirtation, and he’d had his fill of those already. He’d overflowed his cup ten times over with shallow pleasantries and quick release.

But those days were long-gone. Had been for years now. Now he was practically puritanical.

Had been, anyway.

He didn’t like thinking of himself as impulsive, wanting to leave the trait behind in his younger years but not being old enough to shake it off completely. But he wasn’t impulsive anymore. He wasn’t.

You were going to destroy him.

Low-ranking royalty on some Imperial-occupied factory planet; sheltered and pretty. You had the brightest eyes he had ever seen and a temperament that took no prisoners, and you were going to destroy him.

Boba thought you’d make him leave, but you didn’t. You wanted him to stay and told him so.

So he stayed. His armor was peeled off in your presence for the first time— carefully placed on a chair in your bedroom—and he walked back into the refresher to see you untying your flimsy nightdress like it’d done you a personal wrong.

When it dropped beside your feet, it took every ounce of self-control Boba possessed to stop himself from eating you whole.

He heard you kick it to the floor (his eyes had since been very determinedly fixed on a fascinating piece of groutwork near his left foot) before you stepped into the bath, sighing in a way that made breathing a work harder than it should’ve been.

His looking away wasn’t a request on your part, you didn’t seem to mind either way, but he didn’t trust himself to do otherwise. Not until the sounds of splashing had subsided somewhat, signalling your stilled motion. “Boba?”

Now there was permission to walk. Look down. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, left foot. Right foot, the clawfoot of the bathtub. He had reached his destination.

A wet hand tugged at his belt loops and he finally allowed himself to look, meeting the sight of you sitting bare in the clear-blue water with legs pulled up to your chest. The arm not touching him was roped around your calves. Your chin rested on the wide, curved lip of the tub.

If Boba had any self-respect, it had been snuffed out the first moment you opened your mouth, six months ago in that cavernous palace hallway with your failed attempt at bravado. It was haughty, short-lived, and adorable.

Maker, you were beautiful. Did you know that? Would you ever believe him if you told you? You were blindingly, effervescently, humanly beautiful. It hurt like needles.

The position of your chin forced your lips into a slight pout. As if you needed another weapon in your arsenal of ways to make him question his judgement. “Could you bring me the tray on the counter?”

Of course he could. He could bring you anything you liked. He would bring you a rancor, a dozen rancors, a fucking sarlaac if it meant you would smile all soft-like the way you just did when he answered yes.

Boba Fett, mercenary feared farther than he would ever live to travel and hunter too expensive for the Imperial payroll, was now a bath attendant. It was torturous in its sensual irony.

The tray was brought over in short order, cluttered with tiny vials of Maker-knows-what and bars of who-knows-how. Individually they probably all smelled nice, but crowded together the heavy scents only made his head spin. He set the tray down on the floor with a rattle and held up each mystery soap for your inspection. No. No. No. No, not that one. Gods, you were picky. No. No. Yes, please.

You were Miss Manners tonight apparently.

“It’s floating archidia,” you told him, mind running through an endless backlog of plant indexes as he handed over the soap. You sounded clearer now, less congested and more alert. Needed to drink water, though. “The flower that this is made with, I mean. Native to the planet Nubia, rumored to have euphoric properties.” You snorted and ran a thumbnail along the bar’s waxy edge, bringing up a curled pink piece. “Whatever that means.”

“Do you think it does?”

“Have euphoric properties?” you hummed, considering it for a moment. “Maybe. But maybe it’s just wishful thinking.”

“Wishful thinking,” Boba parroted.

The meaning of words can change when they’re repeated. Neither of your minds were on flowers.

His jaw tensed when you reached your other hand to his forearm, baring the rest of your body to the dim orange of the refresher lights’ night settings. The water rippled, warm now instead of steaming, and your fingers curled around the scarred skin of his wrist. “Take off the gloves,” you echoed, your voice suddenly desperate and distant as you traced over pale leather seams. “Please.”

He had refused the first time simply to toy with you. You weren’t used to being told no, and it showed. But he let you take off his helmet in a moment of thoughtless self-indulgence, scratching the part of his subconscious that itched to be touched, stroked, held. Shedding the helmet in front of someone else didn’t really mean anything in an honorable sense—at least not to Boba. Nothing tied him to the habit except a desire to keep himself and his motivations unknown. It was easier that way. Less messy.

He acquiesced. "Since you asked so nicely."

Wrinkling your nose, you guided newly-bare palms to knead gently at your shoulder blades. The skin there was soft and warm, pliant under his sandpaper touch. "Keep mentioning it and I'll go back to being difficult."

The soap made foamy bubbles across your back, over your arms and the velvet slope of your hips. Fingertips ghosted through the space between your jaw and ear, where he remembered sucking in a soft bruise.

He liked being known by you.

⫸————————————————⫷

You clambered out the tub with all the grace of a baby krugga deer and about as much shame. Which is to say, none at all. The subsiding cold had left you tired, bones like jelly and mind sloshing its thoughts around with no real order. Boba was here. Had stayed. Was standing in front of you now, watching tiny water droplets trail down your feet and letting you balance on his arm to keep you from stumbling.

A towel was wrapped around your shoulders. The press of his hot mouth against your forehead followed close behind. “Go sit on the bed.”

For some reason, you didn’t mind listening to him this time. Chalk it up to moldable exhaustion, you thought. Definitely not the fact that his voice sounded especially nice tonight, or any number of other questionable reasons.

He was going to ruin you. Or you would ruin yourself. Any way it was construed, Boba would play a part.

Still only in a towel, you drank the stale tea that sat on your bedside table and watched in mild interest as the mercenary’s shadow emptied out tepid bathwater with the thick glugluglug of the drain. It washed down soap and all your shared secrets.

Was it wrong that you still wanted him? More, now that he’d done this for you? Now that it wasn’t just cruel kisses and groping hands? What sort of a person did that make you?

Your mind whispered it when Boba walked back towards you. Someone lonely.

He helped you slide a new chemise on when you asked him to, quick and steady over the thin linen ties. I bet you do that with all the girls, you’d teased. No, he answered simply. Just you.

He was going to ruin you.

“Do you have to go yet?” you asked quietly and climbed under the covers. They were green today. Life enjoyed coincidences like that.

Boba crouched down on the floor beside your lying figure and shook his head. A wide fingertip smoothed away the crease between your brows. He was doing lots of touching. You were not complaining. “Not ‘til morning.”

“You might as well then,” you mumbled and lifted up the embroidered blankets with a sleep-slack hand. “No one’ll bother us, I promise.” you answered the empty air, too heartsick to comprehend any possible insinuations and too tired to realize the fingers tracing your brow bone had paused. “I told them all not to come back until tomorrow.”

His shirt and pants were shed in an unceremonious pile. You were already half-asleep when he climbed into the other side of the bed, slotting his legs against yours like puzzle pieces. Two question marks curled into each other, his chest to your back and his lips brushing your head.

“Goodnight, princess.”

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dreaming about him.

He was the burning sun that every single one of your thoughts had orbited around for the last six months and now he was invading your subconscious, dream-talons taking the form of dark hands rubbing soft circles against you and then invading your open mouth.

In your dream, Boba touched you softly and not at all, a tease even in your self-serving imagination.

Then you woke up, and it wasn’t a dream anymore.

Two thick arms encircled your waist with a grip unyielding in their strength. They’d pulled you impossibly close, pressed up against his sleeping body until every ridge of his muscled stomach could be felt against your back. Something else was against your back.

Your head reeled in its effort to sludge through the fog of sleep and reach the reality of masculine hips. They shifted in an unintentional grind against your legs until you couldn’t bite back the gasp that bubbled out from your voicebox, the sound quiet, keening, and lost in the shuffled sounds of fabric. It was still dark out. The water-clock in the corner of your room read 01:25:02.

You hadn’t put on anything underneath the new chemise. Why bother, when he’d already seen everything? Your body had grown to be a thing for display, a clothes-hanger and object to be prodded by strangers, and you’d long since rid yourself of any precocious modesty.

But this was different.

When Boba touched you, it wasn’t to sew flowers in your hair or drape a sash over your chest. It was simply to touch. The thought made you light-headed with newfound embarrassment, wiggling in his grip until you turned to face his sleeping form.

All the heavy things he carried on his shoulders during the day were gone now. His bottom lip pillowed out when he slept and he looked younger, the perpetual downturn of his lips now settled below the black hair at his temples. You felt a sticky sort of fondness settle in your chest.

“Boba,” you whispered, two hands placing themselves on his tanned cheeks. They traced the divots of scars and premature lines with all the reverence of worshipfulness.

“Mmm,” his voice rumbled with eyes still closed. A warm mouth kissed the side of your palm.

“Boba,” you repeated, more desperate this time but not knowing what you were desperate for. The space between your legs already knew what it wanted, hot and pulsing with a familiar dampness. Traitor.

“What do you need?” The question wasn’t accusatory, nor annoyed at your waking him. It was known that he would give you whatever you liked. Eventually.

You. Just you.

“I don’t,” you huffed, the fabric sticking uncomfortably to your now overheated body as you squirmed, “I don’t know.” Lie.

“Think about it and tell me,” he whispered, eyes opening in their dark, heavy-lidded expectation. The moon and stars suspended outside offered light enough to see the smirk on his face. His skin was the color of burnt earth and of gods. Somewhere, far away in the canopy of carefully pruned trees, a single lark let out its warbled cry.

There was an old adage about being like a lamb to the slaughter. You’d never touched a lamb. Never seen a slaughter. But somehow, you knew it was true.

This lamb, dumb and tender-hearted, was willingly sacrificied.

"I...'' the word left you in the arc of your exhale, one whoosh of air that rattled your chest already wracked with fevered tremors. "I- want you to-"

"You want me to what, pretty thing?" His voice was low, dangerous. It made every part of you want him more. "Say it."

You weren't used to cursing. It was never tolerated and you barely ever heard it, but you'd learned enough to know what he wanted you to say. Which word he wanted to hear, and what it'd mean he would do.

"F-fuck. Me." you choked out, biting your lip to muffle the embarrassment of having to speak it out loud. The word was filthy and raw between your teeth. "Please?"

⫸————————————————⫷

You were dying. Possibly had already died. Were ascending up or barrelling down, you didn’t care as long as his wet mouth stayed between your legs and never, ever stopped.

Wide hands cupped at your skin and kneaded wherever they could reach, simultaneously rough and supplicating. Every pass of his tongue was enough to make you feel possessed. He was killing you.

“Good. Good girl.” he said against your swollen skin when your hips arced off the bed, your spine and toes stiffening for what seemed like an eternity during the damp lightning finish. It sounded like a growl, animalistic and vibrating. A burning, sweet hurt.

Some people call it “little death,” a lady’s maid once whispered underneath her hand in a giggle. “Little death?” you repeated incredulously. That seems a bit dramatic, don’t you think?

You understood now.

Boba didn’t let up, never once letting his touch waver even as you buckled and swayed, all sense lost and all sensation compacting. “Another,” he ordered. Your body listened, bending to his touch without complaint with eyes rolled back into your head.

You were dying.

⫸————————————————⫷

Boba let you lay against him in the downturn, rubbing mindless shapes into the bone of your wrists as you struggled to breathe. Your neck was cradled in one of his broad, bronze palms. It gave one tiny, imperceptible squeeze. An accident. A test.

You pawed at the hand resting heavy on your nape until it moved to leave completely, but was caught instead by your fingers and guided—slow and curious—to cup at your bared throat.

“Dirty,” the man noted in a dark rasp and rolled over to face you. There was a slight smirk in his voice, but that could’ve just been your imagination.

“I don’t see you...” your voice trailed off into a wheeze as Boba’s thick fingers pressed into the sides of your neck, “—see you complaining.”

He kissed you. And kissed you. And kissed you. An eternity was spent opening the seam of your mouth while he choked you softly, baring your pulsating soul with only your bedroom walls as witness to the present depravity. The air was filled with begging and grunting—simple noises that stuttered and left your sheets ruined.

You wanted more. You couldn’t help it.

His chuckle morphed into a groan when you reached down to touch him with widening eyes, squeezing him curiously after pulling down his boxers. “You’re a brave little thing,” Boba noted with a hint of greedy pride. “Never done this before, have you?”

Your own hands served as poor substitutes all these years. You shook your head no.

“D’you want to?”

Of course you did. This was the only thing you wanted. The only thing you would ever want, over and over until your body turned to dust under him. A million grains of fizzy, burning blaster powder. A million comets passing by a supernova.

You nodded and tucked your face into the space between Boba’s shoulder and neck, rolling onto your side and hooking a leg over his hip. Your chests met, damp with sweat as cool air flowed over bare skin. The covers had long since been pushed aside. “Safe,” you said in a heady moan over the shell of his ear. “Implant.”

Thank goodness for modern medicine.

⫸————————————————⫷

It hurt a little at first, but most of the discomfort melted away as he whispered to you, sweet and cloying praises alongside filthy things that you’d be hard-pressed to repeat in public. They wove together in an endless stream of baritone vowels, lapping over each other like ocean waves until everything was a gyrating, syrupy playback.

He let you move against him, mouth open and sloppy against your temple when you whined at the stretch. The hands at your back didn’t push. Only placated. “I know, I know,” Boba assured you with fingers rubbing sympathetic desire into your flesh. It would bruise, but you’d come to like the marks. Your hips bucked at their own accord when he pressed up against something tight, the friction burning a bright, numb spark. “Slow down,” he mumbled into your hair, “You’re gonna hurt yourself.”

Never in your life did you think this was how it would be. Your first kiss, more of a battle than it was a kiss, served as fuel for the expectations of your first time. Never in your life did you think he would be the one telling you to go slow.

It was for your sake, you knew that. But it was still surprising.

You huffed and bit the shell of his ear in childish revenge, blowing a puff of air where you knew it would tickle. Boba only growled and tightened his arms around your waist, rocking into you slow and deep. “Don’t tease,” he warned.

The new movements robbed you of the ability to speak until all you could do in response was lift your head from where it had rested on his shoulder, meeting impossibly dark eyes in lust-addled vision as a building pressure colored the entire world in shades of black, red, and green.

In a moment of complete and utter lack of propriety, you leaned forward, smiling like a woman deranged, and pressed a kiss to his nose.

Boba came undone the same minute you did. It was a rush of wet, rocking pleasure, spreading like thick webs of lighted fire from inside your blood and out to fill the room with quiet devotion. Panting, bursting, close, messy. You’d never felt so whole.

Your foreheads met and you went cross-eyed trying to look at him again. That’s all you wanted to do. Look at him. Uttered underneath his jaw, where the skin was smooth, was your finishing admission. “I love you.”

You didn’t say it to hear it repeated. It was just to give it a shape. Make it concrete. Said more to yourself than him, really.

But Boba did repeat it. Over and over and over. In the tangle of your arms. I love you. In the kiss to your breasts. I love you. In the towel brought between your legs. I love you. In the settled silence of new sleep. I love you, I love you, I love you.

⫸————————————————⫷

The watery light of dawn melted through heavy curtains and you awoke, body weighed down with lead and gold. Sweet soreness had made its home in your muscles and you were loath to get up, but the man you’d been using as a pillow had very rudely left his post.

“I have to go,” he said, already awake and standing sentry by your bed. You raised your head up from the pillows in groggy protest to meet his blurry figure. If you squinted, there were three of him standing there at once.

A shake of your head rid your vision of the doubles, leaving the lone man. He kissed you—quick and dirty, with tongue—and squeezed your exposed breast, prompting a low moan to tumble from your mouth before he slipped his blaster into the holster at his hip. It wasn’t even 6 in the morning and you were thoroughly debauched. What a scandal, you thought (not for the first time) with passing amusement. A bounty hunter and a princess.

Watching in a dim haze as Boba finished strapping on his amor, you tracked the reflection of the sun in the metal’s lazy movement.

He leaned over you. “I’ll be back soon.” Soon. What did soon mean? Another kiss, slow and careful on the bow of your mouth. One more on the slope of your forehead. For luck, you supposed. Whether it was for you or him didn’t matter much. “Promise.”

Slowly, as he climbed out onto your balcony and was gone with a flash of jetpack light, you wondered if it was a mirage; a dream, maybe. The entire night a hallucinatory haze, a figment of your overactive imagination and reckless romanticism.

But the towel left discarded on the floor and the pulsing ache between your legs was very, very real.

#boba fett x reader #boba fett/reader #boba fett fanfiction #boba fett x you #boba fett fic #boba fett oneshot #boba fett imagine

281 notes · View notes

a-libra-writes · 3 years

Text

SFW Alphabet - The Huntress

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Anna is plenty affectionate when you both are alone. It took some time for her to be more open to hand-holding or cuddling and not just hovering over you, anxiously looking around for any danger lurking by. When you first began to take her hand or sit close to her, she almost wasn’t sure what to do, but she welcomed it. It’s been such a long time since she had this sort of affection.

The most obvious way she shows affection is by doggedly protecting you, but there’s more. She likes to have you in her lap while she sharpens her hatchets or bandages up her fingers, put a hand on the small of your back while you both walk through the forest, whittle you little wooden animals … Good luck leaving unless there's a Trial. She won't want you leaving her sight and wouldn't understand why you'd do such a thing.

B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)

A friend is already as rare as a lover, so she treats them much the same. She'll be less overprotective, but just as stubborn, and will still want to teach them things and spend time with them. Anna is almost normal when you're her friend, sometimes you forget she's a giant axe-throwing killer… then she'll do something creepy and put you on edge all over again. And she certainly won't be more merciful in trials.

She's surprisingly easy to approach, if you want to attempt making friends. Unlike most killers in the Fog, she won't try to axe you right away (unless you're a man or present as one…). She'll let you watch her hunt and follow her from a distance, but eventually she'll approach if you don't do so.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

She loves cuddling! And such a big woman is excellent at it. She’ll cuddle anywhere you want, but it’s most comfortable in a warm space with a fire - that's more for your comfort, not her’s - and she’ll pull you into her lap and wrap her strong arms around you. She adores it when you press against her chest or her neck, especially when she can feel your soft lips against her skin. She’ll want to pet your hair, sing to you, listen to your chatter - anything. When it comes to sleeping next to her, the cuddling is less cozy because she holds you so close and leaves you little room for wiggling.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Anna would just love to have a blissful domestic life with you. She wants you to live in the cabin her mother built, with a little girl or two you both raise together, with a garden and maybe a good hunting dog and … you get the picture. It’s sweet how much she yearns for this, how clearly she can see it in her mind. It really would hurt her if you didn’t want to at least live with her (nevermind how difficult the Entity makes that whole scenario…). She’ll teach you all she knows, too: She’s excellent at cleaning and cooking all the game she hunts, and she’ll fix up the cabin anytime it needs repairs.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

It would take a long time for Anna to get to this point. She’s so lonely and so attached that she’s willing to put up with a lot. She will eventually draw a line, though, and she’ll make her concerns known. Depending on how you break up, Anna will either keep her negative feelings to herself and sulk in the Fog… or she’ll go out of her way to target you in the Trials.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Her experience with feelings like this are next to none, but she believes you two must be meant to be together! She has such wonderful, light feelings when you’re around. It’s the only good thing in this strange, confusing place she’s been brought to. Marriage doesn’t mean much here, but if you brought it up, Anna would be tickled to wear something matching and have a little ‘ceremony’. It binds you to her even more.

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Anna tries her best to be physically gentle, but she is a strong woman and may grip you too hard, especially at first when she’s so unused to being with someone. She has trouble reigning in her strength when she’s worried, angry or excited. Though when she hears you cry out, she instantly stops and carefully handles you like glass for the rest of the day. She’s always very careful when carrying you while you’re injured … even when she has to put you on the hook eventually, she'll make it quick and give another Survivor a little extra time to get you. If you've had an especially bad series of trials, she'll brutally sacrifice every other Survivor and gently carry you to the hatch. Anna thinks this is a very good, kind thing to do.

For emotions, Anna isn’t so good with that. She doesn’t always understand the terror or anger or sadness you might have… Hell, when you first met, she didn’t understand why you were afraid. She was instantly intrigued, yet you kept running. Sometimes talking to her about emotions is difficult because she wants to act and fix it, but that isn’t always possible. She’ll even get upset if you don’t seem to cheer up after a while.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

She pulls you into her arms and gives you a long hug that’s warm and almost too tight. Often she’ll rest her head against your shoulder, since you’re much shorter, and just stay there for a minute or so. If she was more talkative, she’d probably express how worried she was and how relieved she is when you’re back from the Trial, but this is enough to get her point across. Quick hugs are fine, but the lingering ones are the most intimate.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Anna says all sorts of sweet phrases and words in Russian, you aren’t positive what they all mean, but they’re certainly good things! Though there’s one phrase she says that’s always softer, always muttered when she’s holding you tight. You have a feeling you know what she’s saying, and it doesn’t take long for her to form that attachment to you.

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

She doesn’t get jealous, exactly; her protective instinct takes over first. If someone is flirting with you, she perceives them as a danger first, not a rival - especially if it’s a Killer. A Survivor could be clearly flirting and she’d assume their closeness and lingering eyes means they’re going to do something dangerous. Anna’s reaction is the same: She pointedly steps in front of you and tells them to leave… with or without hatchet in hand, depending on her mood.

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

She loves any kiss you give her, but the light, playful ones are the most fun because she doesn’t expect them. She just lights up when you kiss her scarred knuckles and her rough palms, or place a kiss on her cheek. She’s a little shy to take off her mask, but when you kiss her nose, it’s just so cute! It helps her relax into your deeper kisses. She likes to kiss your chest, to feel your heartbeat and soft skin between your breasts. Her second favorite place is wherever makes you giggle. It’s just too cute to hear. Anna’s lips are pretty chapped, which is to be expected. Initially she kissed a bit too hard, as it was a new thing, but once she gets the hang of it she likes being gentler.

L = Little ones (How are they around children?)

Anna says she adores children, especially girls. She likes to chat with them, play with them, teach them things. Her mother taught her everything, after all, and she loved her mother. Though the more you talk about this, the sadder Anna becomes. When she speaks to you about the little girls - the ones she ‘saved’ - you start to wonder if Anna actually knows anything about raising children, even if her heart is in the right place. It’s probably best she doesn’t, at least not without you to help.

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

If you both were in the real world, in some idyllic country cabin, Anna would wake up just before dawn. She’d give you a kiss on the cheek while you slept before going off to her morning chores, usually cleaning something she hunted, getting firewood inside or clearing a path in the snow. By the time you’re awake, she’s made coffee and washes up before joining you for breakfast.

… Though this is the Fog, so the schedule is a bit different. Neither of you need much sleep, but she’ll still “wake up” before you to patrol around. She hates anyone coming near the little shack you both tend to stay in, especially killers. When she comes back, she brings something she hunted that you two can roast over the fire. You’re… pretty sure the animals in the Fog are edible…?

N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Snuggled up to the fire in the evening is Anna’s favorite. Before she’d endure the cold and a little fire, but it’s so much better when she’s got you wrapped in a blanket on her lap. You’ll still need to add logs and stoke the fire because her tolerance to the cold is near freakish thanks to the Entity. It’s modest, but it’s a luxury considering the rest of the Fog. You have a feeling she’d want the same if you both were in the “real” world again, but you could introduce her to hot cocoa and a silly tv show.

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Anna isn't so talkative, but you can glean things from how she acts and what she teaches you. Her protectiveness and paranoia is obvious, but there's also the careful way she looks after her equipment and how easily she hunts. When she starts mentioning her past, things begin to click into place. You can ask her most anything, but thinking of the little girls she lost and her mother can get her quiet for hours. It’s still a painful subject.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

When it comes to you? Anna is incredibly patient as she guides you through tracking in the wilderness, making a fire, throwing an axe, actually using the axe properly to chop something, and so on. She’ll smile (and maybe suppress a chuckle) when you inevitably mess up, and gently correct you. When you’re done she wants to check over any calluses and bruises, and wrap them up herself.

You’ve seen the other side, though. When you come back battered from a trial, and she knows who did it just based on the injuries. She doesn’t speak, only gesturing you to stay put before she furiously stalks off into the Fog, her shoulders hunched and her fists tightening hard around her hatchet. There’s no amount of calling after Anna, or god forbid, grabbing her so she’ll stop. Even the mention of a Survivor bothering you is enough to get that dark glint in her eyes.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

Anna remembers … unusual things. She knows your scent, even when you’re covered in muck and blood. If you’re shampooed and perfumed, well, she can pick that out from an impressive distance. She remembers your gait, the way it sounds and how it looks through the fog. When she’s alone, she remembers new songs you’ve given her to hum, and how you feel against her. Things like favorite colors, movies or random facts of your time hold less water. They aren’t immediately important to her.

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Her favorite memory, even years after you both are together, is the first time she got to hold you in her arms. There was a lot of build-up before that; following Anna around, getting to know her, you both getting closer and you finally allowing her to be so close. That’s what it felt like, permission, and she was more than happy to scoot in and cuddle up. She was delighted that you were just as soft and warm as she always imagined.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Incredibly protective. It cannot be understated how much Anna wants to lock you into her mother’s home like she did those girls, but this time she knows what to do. She could keep you safe, she says, if only you both were in her home again. It hurts her that she can’t fight the Entity or keep you permanently safe from the other Killers. Sure, she can wound them or chase them off, and she can tend to your wounds after Trials, but it’s not the same.

You know this weighs on Anna some days, so it’s best to comfort her and indulge in her desire. Yes, it would be wonderful if you stayed at her cabin. You could cook the meat she brings home, and tend to a little garden outside. There’s not much you can do to “protect” such an imposing hunter, but these sweet fantasies make her feel much better.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

It's difficult to keep track of time in the Fog, so the concept of anniversaries or even normal dates is asking for a lot. Still, Anna puts clear effort into your relationship. She protects you, brings you little trinkets she's made or found, and likes to find quiet, safe places to keep you until a Trial starts.

If the two of you weren't trapped, she still wouldn't be the best about remembering specific dates. But she'd still do little things to express her love every day.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

She’s quite insistent that she knows the best way to protect you. Not that there aren’t plenty of things the Entity has dragged in specifically to murder you, but sometimes it can border on paranoia. You’ve often felt that if you ever came across Anna in the real world, she would have locked you up “for your own good”. Even just considering the things and people that could hurt you fills the intimidating woman with a sense of anxiety and dread… and she turns that to resolve. Trust her, dorogaya. Just let her take care of everything.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Anna doesn’t think much of her looks, and never has. Not once was it something her mother raised her to consider important. Everything about her attire is meant for practicality… except for the trinkets around her waistband. And the masks. Those are sentimental, not mere decoration. After knowing you, she makes a point to clean her hands and nails before any cuddling and romance goes down.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

There was always that horrible feeling she had after losing a girl. If she lost you, it would be so much worse. She didn’t think it could be this much worse. It was unbearable. Anna would lash out, freezing her heart even more than before. She’d alternate between lashing out at the Entity and those around her. Her axes would still hit their targets, but it would be a much bloodier affair - more the work of a butcher than a hunter. It’s so much harder to move on this time, and for once, the idea of finding someone new to protect isn’t helping.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Anna has a variety of animal masks, but her rabbit is her favorite and most worn. They were just fun things her mother helped her make, one of the few real toys she had growing up. So it’s sentimental and makes her feel comfortable when she wears them. She doesn’t mind taking them off when you’re both alone and she wants kisses, but not in front of people she doesn’t like or trust. She thinks you look adorable when you wear one!

The Entity has given her some mutations, though they aren’t apparent from a distance. The most obvious are her eyes and nose. When she takes off her mask, you can clearly see her sclera and irises are all black, with her pupils being little specks of light in that blackness. They can be a bit unsettling. Her nose is oddly shaped, clearly not natural; it reminds you of a panther. Her nails are thick, short and black, with the nailbeds being a purpley-black. Her gums and most of her veins have a blackish tint as well. While she was already a powerful woman before, the Entity has made her even moreso. She has a high tolerance to the elements in general, and the pads of her feet are rough and black like a dog’s paws.

This is probably obvious, but Anna dislikes men. ‘Hate’ is a strong word but she has an instant reaction to throwing an axe to anyone presenting as male - as opposed to a woman, where she might hesitate or observe before throwing it. She doesn’t like men talking to her, she doesn’t trust them, she gladly tosses them around like dolls during Trials. A man you greatly trust will not be free of her suspicion and ire, but she’s willing to be begrudgingly civil if you scold her.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

She dislikes cruelty, both in a partner and in people. Note, Anna doesn’t consider what she does to be cruel - she tries to minimize suffering, or at least, that’s what she believes. It’s why she has little patience for the other Killers. She also doesn’t like someone who might be secretive, or doesn’t trust her. She’s trying to help. Why would you leave without telling her? Can’t you see she’s doing what’s best for you? This stubbornness isn’t cute.

Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)

Anna can sleep anywhere. She can sleep sitting up or standing, on the hard ground or covered in a cloth under the snow. She’s become so accustomed to rough sleeping conditions that if ever given a chance to have a soft, clean bed, it would be a little disarming. The sheer softness would make it difficult to sleep - like she was going to fall through the fluff - and she’d probably accidentally rip any sheets. When she sleeps, she’s oddly still; only the soft noise coming from her nose is evidence she’s resting. It’s hard to tell if her eyes are closed with that mask on. Often, she sleeps with a hand on a hatchet.

#dead by daylight #sfw alphabet #the huntress #the huntress x reader #WE'RE DOING IT NO REGRETS #dbd huntress

201 notes · View notes