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jonathankatwhatever · 1 year ago

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It’s still 18 May 2023. I received a nearly foot high stack of certified letters and duplicates informing me that a sale of my house will occur on July 17, 2203, with the sale to be advertized on or around I believe June 12th. That actually gives me enough time to decide whether I want to live or die, which is perfect because I’ve had it with anticipating something that is never going to happen.

I’ll never be good enough.

No matter how many miracles I pull off.

So now I have to face the specter, the phantom, the ghost in which you are the opposite, the conjugate in some way of what I see pointing at me, at this work. If I take that idea, then the image I’m seeing of a confused person who decided to change directions because you were missing something works. I should just accept it. That directly recreates the issue I remember explicitly confronting about you way back when, which fit to the gendering because that’s a gendering difference, which I’m seeing as Triangular to the Ends which lie on the n-sphere. Okay. So I have a Triangular, and that works as gender because that generates the same result but with different motives.

I wonder if this is a hole in my thinking or a discovery.

Same result, different motives, different reading based on identification which simplifies to gender. I hit a stop here. I remember the discussions, many of them held while pacing back around in a garage, about how I couldn’t make sense of you and thus of this work unless I inverted us so - and maybe this is complete nonsense - so my shell relates to your interior and vice versa, not physically of course but how? I remember all the feelings of this is not my body, whether labeled in descriptive terms or not, and connecting that to the confusion of right and left, which also confused the rest of my identifications, with this sorting out to where I am now which is I’m a man except I’m not. Can’t say I’m a woman, because I’m not one, have not lived as one, do not live as one, and do not share their physical ailments, hormonal expressions, etc. I live inside a man. I’m separate from that man, and that’s somewhat the opposite of being attracted to men sexually because that draws me closer to the body I’m in when I’m attracted to the maleness inside a woman, and thus the female within a man but not sexually.

I’ve gone over this millions of times and I can’t think of why I came upon this or why I decided this was true other than that this is the only way I could get more understanding, more math, though then I didn’t dignify it often by calling it math because I distrusted my ability to make math. All that has come with this identification.

And I’ve done the history of how I was hooked.

But now? I can construct an image that points at me and an image that does not, same Triangular on the other side of a bunch of stuff. I can draw these as orthogonals and construct a grid square, Hexagonal, etc. And on each side there is an image of me, right? In the one, we overlay, meaning we’re entangled or intertwined as has derived all the math. The other image is what? Not entangled but appearing to be entangled, not intertwined but appearing so, both to me, so I could see this as being on the other side of the image I see, which means either that … or is it possible that an imaginary space can construct which inexorably leads me to answers, and maybe I think there’s more of a pathway than there is because any pathway leads me through the answers, though that isn’t how it works from my perspective because I consistently drawn to the next problem which identifies the gaps in understanding, which develops understanding, etc.

The idea is that a completely false space can construct on a true space, meaning you are misidentified by me but a false space constructs on top of that, which has the effect of moving the motivation outside of both of us, which turns you into a puppet. I often feel like a puppet but I know that I feel that, so this would need to be you are an unknowing puppet though you show all signs of knowing, which takes me back to the awareness level question, and I only generate math when I attribute to you the awareness that I reach. It’s that part of the process which causes me pause because I can’t see how questioning and then trusting you each time, often multiple times a day, when the only acceptable answer is yes, is hard to grasp. Is that all in me? As in, I know what I need to get the answers so I get there despite the true situations of your existence? There is no way I can explain the songs that way.

But in quaternion thinking? Let’s see: if I set an O-line and Triangular and one side generates math, what does that mean? It means the ideas become mathematical, that they take form in grid squares, that they count.

Need a break. I’m hoping that if I can accept this level, that something important comes with.

————

Just going to type, because the only driver of this process has been that I follow the Pathway which gives me answers. That makes me wonder if this circling back to the same time period imagery isn’t another circling back like I’ve been doing, this one encapsulating when this work reached a specific milestone, which was that after the hook was set and I had put in the work which flowed from that, I reach a fork in the road and I took the one less traveled by because that was where the answers had to be. They certainly weren’t down the well-trod path. There are so many starting points in my thoughts. I can’t rapidly identify the individuals 0’s so I get uncertain of how these connect and thus whether they’re true or false in the direction I’m seeing them point. So here again, as this has developed, the choice is between an image which is limited and that which encloses it, between that which is constructed from below but which cannot ever reach all the way up or that which encloses that image so it can.

That is why you are so important and why this union is so important. You embody the connection up because you embody 1Space becoming 0Space entangled with me so our identities cross over and that makes a 1Space union entangled over a 0Space union, with this work being evident here on these ‘pages’.

So, there was a spot where the focus suddenly shifted from an image of you not gender and otherwise entangled with you to one that is, and that unleashed a torrent of deep thought which hit at the process of salvation, of crossing over Boundaries, which now asks me: is that good? As in, an ideal is useful how? As a model for altering behavior, as something to emulate, not as something you must achieve. That is the point: an ideal has a specific motivation of instruction enacting, so a dimensional version of us not a specific version of us. So that objection is gone. And ideals are math and we spent a lot of time creating them in grid squares. Remember all that work on efficient solutions?

I see an overlay: the count along an Extent with bubbles of CR so we generate the various kinds of spaces.

I just remembered: the reason gender inverts is that old conception of bidirectionality. That requires becoming the other perspective, which has to enact as gender. Simple as that. I could not explore the other perspective without becoming the other perspective and the only way that can enact in me is by exchanging internal gender. This connected directly to the Eve inversion in which we see the image of the male appear in the female and the image of the female appear in the male. That’s why she’s aware first: it’s the metaphor of giving birth to the awareness that comes with the act of being born. This is what I get when I say it’s you, that my identification of you is accurate because this is a requirement on my side so it must be a requirement on yours. For you to be the man, you have to be the man. And of course that came after, exactly where it needed to be if there were a process.

Oh God, I just had a flash of the sexual attractions inversion in which we each have to be gay for the other. That makes a very specific attraction of orthogonal pairings, which makes a grid square, which has the requisite 4 pieces, so if I try to map a quaternion to that, this generates the 4th piece when the 3 are imaginary, meaning they combine to make this the selection. With whatever dimensions because this idea enacts to 3D and D3 but extends across abstract Ends, meaning in the various dimensional Pathways that fit to whatever enacts.

What about non-inverted? That’s a construction, and the problem with constructions is they are built from perspective, which causes problems as gaps appear between perspectives. The words just scrolled through my mind: I’d never ask you to change a fundamental promise because that would mean I’ve changed away from what I am. I just saw a storyline in which I spend my remaining days writing up a version, under the pressure of death like Galois, and then I die. Because there really would be no point in continuing. It’s not a romantic story. It’s just me dying because I got it wrong, that somehow I’ve constructed an entirely correct and yet entirely false image of you, one which is entirely true as her and thus entirely false as you.

As a dialogue: so you’re saying you’re that smart, when you don’t know much about anything, when you are easily confused by symbols, when you literally have no idea which idea will come next, that you created this persona which you laid on top of her actual persona, and this persona acts as a sort of spirit guide who controls more and more of your life, down to how you see yourself and how you move. And you perceive this because you experience this through a multitude of correlations that you perceive not only relate the exact complex ideas you’ve been translating into concepts but which direct you through the translation process because it rings through levels across iterations.

I feel like the Russell Crowe character in A Beautiful Mind: how did all ths complexity populate without her being aware of it? It’s like when he realized his delusions never get older. She does stuff and I attribute awareness to it because she shows awareness in what she does, and each of those rings of meaning unveils a wider level of awareness. For some reason, I’m thinking of how songs will be produced by AI and how AI production shows intent to copy, which should take you over the legal hurdle of it being more than just coincidence. Can a song’s prompts be uncovered by AI: as in, what prompts would make this sound a bit like her and a bit like this other her. If you can’t identify, then what? Imagine how easy it could become for sound similars to come out. No more having to write them. May not even have to record them live. Take the sound of this and play it this melody with it, then adjust the sound a bit.

I remember the moment I said I need to surrender to this delusion. The idea was that surrendering to it would either lead to answers or to the realization this is a delusion. It has generated answers.

Take that last one, that it forces a 4th. That is f1-3//3-1. The quaternion isolates the 1, essentially as a count from -1 at infinity to the 0 edge Boundary of the n-sphere to the 1 at the core. A 1-0-1 written as -1-0-1, meaning a count up to 1 rather than a count from 1 to 0 and then back to 1. This centers 0 as the Boundary.

I tried yesterday to connect the zeta function into the CM1 of the 4th square. The sensible remark would be that we just located 1 at the center and that the Bip pole counts 1’s in the form of primes, so the idea of the 1 as the center, as the Bip really does work.

———

I ran through the etymology of delusion, because I know that is how I pick words, and it means out of play, so it is literally something that comes out of play. And I thought the entire idea is that we’re playing with each other in this abstract space, getting acquainted and reacquainted as we go.

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ianequipilag · 2 years ago

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TECHNOPRENEURSHIP BLOG

WEEK 1 (FEBRUARY 21- FEBRUARY 25, 2023)

*PLANNING OF POSSIBLE PRODUCTS & VALIDATION OF 7 POTENTIAL COSTUMERS*

We struggled to accomplish the assignment we were supposed to perform in the first week because we thought it would be simpler to complete another task first. We had first finish our ongoing plates and decided to make this later on, so we decided to list the potential problems that students could be experiencing right now while also considering a potential remedy or item that would address the problem in question. We discussed everything when we made the decision to meet in person and became anxious when we realized the deadline.

Knowing this helped me to know that if we needed to work quickly and discuss the allocated assignment. I can't deny that I misjudged how challenging it would be to communicate with others and identify and address potential problems in the real world. Nevertheless, we selected a topic that was related to the environment, particularly one that could aid in the reduction of plastic waste.

WEEK 2 (FEBRUARY 28- MARCH 3, 2023)

*ASKING STRANGERS & REJECTION*

I was a little nervous when this work was handed to us since I am an introverted individual, which makes this task quite difficult for me. Since my partner needed to finish some urgent plates, we decided to limit the number of participants for this activity. We only spoke with pupils who were present at the event center as a consequence. It's funny to think that we once inquired about strangers' drawing abilities and then requested that they create a quick portrait of us.

WHO’S ON THE CAMERA:

1&2- Ian Equipilag

3&4- Lorenn Dumalag

attached is the link to the footage of us interviewing strangers:

LESSONS LEARNED:

I've come to realize that staying comfortable all the time prevents growth. Accepting criticism and remaining open to rejection is a method to learn and develop. In this task, we were given the opportunity to be humble and accept a rejection right away.

WEEK 3 (MARCH 7, 2023- MARCH 10, 2023)

This week's assignment was to work with my peers to come up with a certain product in an innovative way. It took us some time to choose which of our three promising items to pursue. We conducted interviews to gain input from potential consumers as part of the development process, participated in group brainstorming sessions to create ideas, and collaborated to make sense of the data we had acquired. The difficulty of attempting to comprehend and deal with the responses of our interviewees was one of the largest challenges we faced. Sometimes it was hard to understand their answers, or they gave contradictory information that was difficult to make sense of.

However, we were able to overcome these obstacles and improve our understanding of our target users through persistence and teamwork. When conducting interviews, we learned how crucial it is to be persistent and patient, as well as how to craft questions that produce insightful answers. To sum up, creating a product as a team might be difficult, but it can also be a worthwhile learning experience. We were able to overcome the obstacles we faced and get a deeper comprehension of our target consumers via excellent teamwork, tenacity, and communication.

WEEK 4 (MARCH 14, 2023- MARCH 17, 2023)

As the project moved along, it became apparent that we were missing several crucial milestones and that our final product lacked value. We came to the conclusion that we needed to change course and formulate an entirely new strategy.

The value of flexibility and adaptability was one of the most important lessons I took away from this experience. To make sure that everyone was in agreement about the changes we were making, we learned the importance of excellent communication both within the team and with the people we were interviewing.

WEEK 5 (MARCH 21, 2023- MARCH 24, 2023)

Even though we are in week 5, we still need to go back and build a new product that is more attainable. Despite the fact that we had already conducted some interviews, we decided that we wanted to start again and develop some new ideas. Because of this, we had to perform extra research and brainstorming meetings. We also had some difficulties conducting interviews as a result of our busy class schedules. We had to carefully plan our schedules and be flexible when setting up interviews as a consequence.

#FourHorsemen #Insights #Technopreneurship #Defender

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eijiroukiriot · 3 years ago

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i was actually just about to make a post like this before i saw the boy on my sidebar but i just wanted to say welcome into the new year everyone! whether this year brings the end of bnha or not i hope your heart’s able to rest easy and you make some memories that make this year feel like this year. much love everyone and i’ll see you again soon 💞

#i wish i had...literally any writing in me at all. but what i do have...is drawing. sort of #wait oh yeah i have art to post #so you'll see me like really soon #but what i mean here is i got a new tablet for christmas (after 7 years on the same teeny tiny pen-touch intuos)#and i have sort of been drawing up a storm #one thing i hope to leave behind as we move into the new year is the like...avoidant fear i've developed of drawing krbk #well. literal scenes of them kissing or something are fine usually but i feel like i don't know how to draw their faces anymore #which makes sense because i was 17 when i decided how to draw their faces and it's inconceivable how much my art has changed #since then largely thanks to them #so like yeah ofc my krbks won't look like how i'm used to them looking but the fear of drawing a bad kirishima or bkg is kinda crushing #anyway that's an emotional dump i wasn't meaning to get into but what i'm saying is i do wanna get back into drawing them #especially bc in just a few weeks it'll be time to redraw my first ever krbk art for the 5th time which i'm actually really excited about #but all of that aside! i guess i'm prefacing that i'm sorry i haven't followed up on palettes and also have just dropped off lately #time's going by but i do still really appreciate all of you guys on here and want nothing but the best for you #and for the people who aren't using tumblr anymore or who moved on from bnha and aren't seeing this i wish you all the best too #happy 2022 everybody i want to think we have good things coming #thoughts #wait okay secret extra thing i'm adding to the tags #i almost never get bnha tiktoks on my fyp but one of my friends does surprisingly often #the stuff i do get is usually pretty generic but he's gotten art of kirishima before and stuff #and the other day he sent me some art someone had done of deku as spiderman #and yeah the intention was pretty clearly for him to be attractive- it wasn't blatantly sexy or anything but he was making a cool dark #expression and had an ear cuff. so honestly inoffensive art of a popular anime character drawn to look hot as it goes #but my friend sent it to me captioned 'whoever did this needs to take a long hard look at their life'#which made me chuckle. and i keep thinking about it and chuckling #cause yeah to some extent if you're not involved in anime fandom at all it'd seem weird that tons of fans find midoriya izuku of all #characters attractive and draw him accordingly #especially if you're not thinking abt how the average age of the tiktok fandom is younger than any other soc site and it's probably mostly #very young fans simping in the comments #but you guys know how uncomfortable anything suggestive of the kids makes me and this one didn't faze me at all

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cocktailjjrs · 2 years ago

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TR 263

I wake up to this. TR 263 spoilers.

Honestly at this point I don’t completely blame Mikey.

He grew up to be the way he is (minus the Dark Impulse, we still don’t know the story behind it or it isn’t explicitly stated what caused it) because no one ever told him otherwise.

No one ever comes into this world knowing the rules by which humans’ function. No one by birth knows how to speak any language or has a sense of good or bad. Babies learn it from their environment and what they are taught. Like if a baby is taught alphabets in wrong order, he won’t know that till he meets other kids or if he was taught the name of colours wrong, he won’t know that.

Similarly, a kid won’t know it’s “wrong” to beat up others for no reason till he is told so (or scolded for that)

I’m not saying one should be good or bad or right or wrong, because that’s subjective to each person respectively. Not everything in this world can be divided into while and black, there are many grey areas we are dealing here. But there are a few morals this world works by, like one person should not kill other or beat them to death for no reason.

Mama Sano loved her son, she even called him her angel, she adored him – so much that she let his some of his morally questionable activities slide.

The way I see it here, Mikey casually telling his mom that he beat up some kids and her response is not of shock or disappointment but a smile and a praise of how strong he is. He met his mom only once a week – he looked forward to those small interactions, she seemed to talk about his father most (Mikey seemed to be just as interested) and he had his father as an idol to look up to and a mom’s praises to gain, and he got those by being a delinquent.

He grew up learning it’s okay to beat up others – that makes him strong; he grew up thinking crying was for week – so he never expressed himself in front of others; he grew up hating whoever showed any kind of weakness and only loved strong guys. He grew up with a tunnel vision.

I think by this time Black Dragons were formed long back, Shin being ten years elder, meaning here he was 16-17 (or maybe even 18 – as Mikey was 7-8, I think). He saw his brother running around with his biker’s gang, getting into fights and all and thought it was cool.

No wounder his Moral compass isn’t actually aligned with most. (Yes, “Most” because it’s humans who decided what these morals should be, Nature did not)

I think here his mom telling him that “he was not strong because he didn’t cry” was actually a bit late of her, the damage had been done – a mindset had been created, it’s not easy to change one’s views of world so easily.

His face looks like someone told him what he was calling Up all this time was actually Down (does that makes sense?)

You know, when in fanfics there are the character losing their shit over the looming parenthood and that they are going to mess up bad with the whole thing. This one could come close to what they fear.

There are still many things we don’t know about Mikey. Like the origin of his Dark Impulse (we don’t even know when it actually started). He is a complex character, there are layers to him that we are going to find out in the upcoming chapters, for which I can’t wait.

P.S. I am still doubtful about the whole Sanzu scar thing. A manga panel is something that is drawn very carefully and to the last detail, Wakui not drawing blood on Mikey’s hands in his POV while his hands being completely covered in blood in Senju’s are contradictory; so, we still don’t have a complete picture of what actually went down that day. We will have to wait for Sanzu’s POV for that.

While this chapter answered a few questions, it also added another bunch of them. Next chap will be of founding members, we know most about it so i hope dont just get a callback chapter. It also makes me wounder what happens to Sanzu in such a short amount of time.

Coz here, we see he has started to idolize Mikey, whatever the story behind those scars, here we see him proud that Mikey was able to beat up high schoolers.

A week is a long time to wait to have answers to soooo many questions (half of which may even take months)

What did you thought of this chap?

Toodles!

#tokyo revengers #tokrev #tr spoilers #tokrev 263 #mikey sano #manjiro sano #manga spoilers #sanzu haruchiyo #tokyo revenger spoilers #mikey #shinichiro sano #toman #tr 263 #tr 263 spoilers

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codenamesazanka · 2 years ago

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Toga has a blood-drinking quirk, and one can argue it even seems instinctual. Toga has strange ideas about love, and this is influenced by her blood-drinking quirk. Let’s also say Toga has poor impulse-control, and this would be true whether it’s because she can’t help her desire for blood, or she decides to ignore any inhibitions to live ‘more easily’ (which suggests living with those inhibition is hard for her, tough enough that she feels discomfort about it.)

She has these three things working against her inclusion into society - it’s true that she is (current in canon)/can be a potential danger, but I cannot see how her being killed by Heroes is in anyway just or necessary.

She was born with her quirk - she had absolutely no say in having this, that’s how the birth power lottery goes. This innate biological trait affects her behavior, and feeling her urges would be something she cannot just not feel. What she can control is allowing that behavior to manifest, deciding whether to act on it or not. This relies on her impulse control.

Thankfully, impulse control can be taught and improved, especially if the person gets treatment for it. If her impulse control just sucks, there are ways to train it better, to cope with her feelings and understand herself better to control her behavior. If she is willingly acting on those impulses… good news, there is also treatment for it, like showing her it’s more advantageous for her to control herself, that the rewards of repressing her desires is greater than using her quirk. It would be hard work, but it’s possible, especially if she has support.

From her POV, currently, stopping gives her no advantages and no rewards (in the psychological-behavior sense of the term), would make her feel worse. Additionally, she sees no future for herself, no chance at happiness in the future, and thus no incentive to follow wait for that someday. On the other hand, continuing to be a criminal is certain to give her advantages, even if temporarily. So the choices are: nothing, vs. at least something. why wouldn’t she choose villainy?

To put it simply, if she can get help and treatment, it’s possible for her to be rehabilitated. This should be the first option in dealing with Toga. So far, she actually has not receive any help, nor has she been offered any. Telling her to stop, telling her she must accept her consequences, is not it. Why give up on her without even trying?

One can say that this is a waste of effort to change someone ‘bad’, inherently or not. A good person should not depend on incentives and rewards to do good. That she has shown her morals, or lack thereof, and thus already has signed her fate. Yet, as noted above, no one has actually tried, so why not try helping her first? She is 17, a legal minor, still very young, and so still malleable with potential to be different. As for the 'rewards and incentives', I'm sorry to say everyone responds to this, and we all sacrifice varying level of morality in order to enjoy the benefits/lack of consequences of not acting as good as we should. This is the reason why we haven't full-blown revolted to force the world to implement life and planet-saving measures even though we're facing environmental collapse and future disaster. We are reluctant to lose our jobs and be arrested. We rather face a maybe death in the future, then the very-soon death of a police bullet. If that's too real, then consider when Mirio and Deku encountered Eri, then Nighteye told Deku off for wanting to rush in saving her. They gave up saving a child they knew were being abused, for their patrol to proceed smoothly - Mirio admits that.

There is indeed a difference between 'revolting to save the world' and 'suppressing biological instinct of blood drinking.' But the point is incentives work, and should be utilized.

Plus, where do you draw the line? What standards of morality are we using? When do we decide is enough effort? Who deserves treatment, and who doesn't? Condemning someone who stabs people to obtain their blood seems obvious to prevent further harm, but the same goal of 'preventing further harm' can be applied to someone who knew it was wrong to go rogue and engage in attempted vigilante murder, yet gone and did it anyways. Perhaps the reasoning in the latter is understandable, but the fact remains that such a person allowed their anger to get the better of them. Lashing out is one thing; planning a murder is another. They are capable of such darkness, and have embraced it, even if for one crime. Can we say for certain that this won't happen again in the future?

Hero society have already drawn very strict lines, and while it seems the majority of criminals are rightly condemned and thrown into Tartarus, we know for the fact that this can be abused. Muscular was thrown in Tartarus because he's a very violent murderer, but Overhaul was put there for 'ideological crimes', while Lady Nagant was blatantly jailed for refusing to follow orders of extrajudicial murder that she found morally wrong. Tartarus is a rough sentence, and already given to people without full consideration of their character, their potential for change, and the circumstances of their actions - plus with it's indefinite detention, it's already giving up on them to allow them to rot in there for the rest of their lives. Death by Hero is even rougher, and much more permanent and absolute, especially when it's entirely possible to capture the Villain without killing them. A society that agrees with - even desires - the death of a 17-year-old girl without full consideration of her circumstances, and refuses to give the possibility of rehabilitation, is not exactly a world Heroes who want to be just and kind and main ideal is saving people, should support.

There is a lot of irl examples and concepts here, applied to a science-fantasy shonen manga. It might be ridiculous to do so; but I think it's clear from the story that these concerns (or the implication of these concerns) have been raised. Quirk counseling didn't work, failing to live up to its name; Toga's parents shamed and disowned her, instead of getting help and support her; the human-rights violating Tartarus is a thing and we see no other alternative offered or considered; and finally the question has been asked over and over again: are villains worthy of being saved? They are considered a human who has potential to become better, or are they beasts in human skin to never be trusted and should be put down at first opportunity?

#Toga Himiko #nalslastworkingbraincell #hmmm yeah #got pretentious here #¯\_(ツ)_/¯#I mean people are totally feel to wish death on Toga #I just disagree and here's why #it's a fictional story #but i think the themes should be considered #instead of wanting villains to be killed off by supposedly good and kind-hearted hero kids #because a reader personally thinks they deserve it

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concentrateandpush · 3 years ago

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Just like Charles had promised, he barely let me stay not pregnant. Baby is only 11 months old and I’m 40 weeks pregnant, which is unheard of with twins. I’ve been up all night with the little one and she’s at that point where EVERYTHING is interesting, fingers in plugs, stuffing bread into where it doesn’t belong.. we’ve gone through 3 iPhones because they just done belong in the bath. But, she’s beautiful and eagerly awaiting the arrival of her little play mates.

“Sweetheart, are you going to have nap time? Then when you wake up, Daddy’s going to be home?” I smile, trying to entice her into the idea. She shakes her head and just runs wild, it’s not that I don’t want to play with her and keep her entertained, it’s that I physically can’t at this point. “Up! Up!!” She smiles to me and I just can’t resist her face and so I get up letting her pull me to where ever she wants. “Ake! Ake!” She smiles, anything but fucking baking “Oh angel.. Mommy’s really tired” I sigh and kneel down “what about drawing? Or even.. even swimming?” I offer and her eyes light up.

Luckily, we have a pool in our garden, a decent sized one. “Okay, come on” I nod and get her changed before getting myself into a one piece. Once we’re in, she’s loving life, she’s like a sea creature, she’s always been great in the water. I look down at my stomach and give a gently brush over the top “we’re ready for you babies” I whisper. As if by magic, I start to feel an all too familiar pain. Biting my lip and just observing, I watch my stomach as it tightens slightly. I had already gotten my mucus plug, so I knew it was coming, but it takes me by surprise.

I ride through a few easy contractions and then decide it’s time to get out “Okay, sweetheart, time to get out” I smile and laboriously grunt as I pick her up and climb out. She senses something isn’t quite right, I know this because there was no nagging to stay in there. I check the time and sigh seeing that it’s still a while before Charles comes home. I settle her down and get her on the couch in a big towel and wrap one around myself, just trying to ease the pains as they come in and let out.

A while goes by and I check the time again, he’s late, baby is passed out on the couch with some kids show playing in the background and I can’t carry her up to bed at this point. Things are getting harder and I find myself squatting as I hold onto the kitchen counter, panting and trying to not wake her. I reach for my phone and call him, letting it ring and ring until he picks up “Babe? Im so sorry, work was crazy” he explains and I cut across “I need you here, I’ve gone into labor” I explain. “Shit, okay.. I’ll have Mom come and pick her up” he says fast and I shake my head “no you know she won’t let us do this alone” I sigh. “Okay, okay.. I’ll.. what about Juno?” He offers and I nod “yeah, just.. just get her here” I say as I clearly get closer to another contraction.

With in minutes, Juno comes in and looks around, I’m still on my knees in the kitchen. “Juno! She’s asleep there, she should sleep through, please just.. don’t tell them that they’re coming yeah?” I ask and she nods “I’ve got you, I won’t say a thing.. I trust you won’t say a thing in a few months when it’s my turn” she smiles softly and I beam at her “you’re kidding me?!” I ask as I get up and go to her, wrapping my arms around her “that’s amazing, I.. I’m so happy for you” I giggle. “Thank you, I’m ten weeks” she blushes. I knew that her and her girlfriend wanted a baby, but I didn’t expect her to do it at 17 and I have no idea who the dad is, but her face.. she’s so happy. “I’m so proud of you” I smile and tuck some hair back behind her ear.

“Babe?! Lena!?” Charles shouts and Juno shakes her head as if to say not to tell him. “I’ve got you” I whisper and rub her back before shouting “kitchen!”. “It’s our secret” I nod to her and squeal excitedly before he comes through. “Hey Juju” he smiles and rubs her back “hey bro, I’m going, I just came for Missy” she smiles and gets her bag and heads on out, leaving us alone.

“So you’re okay?” He checks and I nod “they’re still pretty far apart” I explain and drop the towel, letting him see my belly through the tight suit. I watch his face and see his nose flare “fuck” he whispers. I can’t help but smile as I lead to the couch “coming?” I ask and he nods, following as I go. I lay down and open my legs “I guess I need to make room right?” I ask shyly and bite my lip “I mean.. the head is going to be huge at forty weeks and I’m so tight..” I sigh, watching him get all hot and bothered.

“I..” he starts and I laugh a little “we have time, I’m not feeling movement or anything.. want to stretch me?” I offer and he swallows thickly. “There are some objects over there.. I want to push before I have to push” I say softly and he just gets up and goes for them. I go to take my swimsuit off and he shakes his head “I want that on.. I want you to struggle” he says calmly and I nod “as you please sir”.

He comes back with an inflatable ball, looking at me and I nod “you need to put it in.. how can I push it out otherwise?” I say innocently. He nods and picks up some lube, rubbing it all over me. He slides his fingers in and I groan a little before he pushes the ball in and starts to inflate it. I feel it expanding inside of me, I wouldn’t be able to play for long before baby works their way down. He starts pumping, I usually do two, maybe three. “You need to feel like you can’t do it.. practice” he smirks and I swallow thickly.

Once it’s in, I start to get a contraction and I look at him, immediately zoning out and needing to focus properly. “Come on.. this is the time to push” he tells me and my eyes widen. I pull both legs back, which is already uncomfortable, and I push a little but it scares me “babe, no, I can’t.. deflate it” I demand and he shakes his head “you need to push” he says dead pan and I start to panic, I get on my knees and look at him as I push again, cupping myself as I try to get it out. “Come out!” I groan, the contraction is not helping as I pant and wriggle through the pain. “Babe! Get it out!” I panic and he smooths my belly “it’s okay, you can do it”

“You don’t-“ I cry before pushing a finger around it “you don’t understand, I can’t get it out!” I sob and start to grunt, pushing as hard as I can. “Get it out! Get it out!” I scream “Purple! Charles, purple!!” I scream. Our codeword. “Fuck- fuck baby, I.. hold on” he says as he deflates it, pulling it out and tossing it aside, holding me and pulling me into him “baby, babe I’m so sorry, I thought-“ he starts and I shake my head “it hurt too much” I cry and just sob into him. He holds me, rocking me gently until I fall asleep. I need sleep so bad and he knows that.

I wake up about 3/4 hours later with an excruciating pain in my lower abdomen. “Mmm.. Charlie..” I grumble and rub my belly “Charlie?!” I shout seeing he’s not there. I immediately fall into a birthing breathing pattern, slowly trying to get on top of the pain until I feel a stabbing down below. “Unghh” I groan and reach to hold it “babe?!” I shout before starting to whimper through the pain. “Okay, I’m here, I’m here.. easy, babe, easy” he coaches me and I bite my lip, opening my legs again.

“Okay, we need to break these waters” he sighs and I nod, still working hard through the contraction. I’m opening up already, whether it’s just swelling or the baby, I don’t know. He pushes two fingers inside me and then nods “you’re so close” he smiles “about an eight, but we need to do this” he says softly as he puts on some gloves and a mask. “Ms Lovell” he winks and I laugh a little, the pain wearing down. “I’m just going to feel around and try to break your waters” he smirks.

“Yes doctor” I nod and lay back a little, watching him. The baby is filling me, it’s so hard but he has to have his fun. With in seconds the next contraction arrives, they are on top of eachother. “I need to hold your hand” I grumble and reach out feeling for him. He keeps his fingers inside me and then gives me his other hand. I feel his thumb on my clit, it’s all so much. “Nghh” I grunt “ahh! Baby!” I cry out as he starts to rub my clit so fast that it hurts “p-please!” I ask before he dives in and starts to suck on it “f-fuck” I mutter, the pain, the pleasure.

He starts to finger fuck me as he does all this and I just shake my head holding onto the pillow “Charlie!” I shout “Charlie! Charlie, Charlie!” I scream, partly in pain, mostly in pleasure. That’s when I feel it, the bag of waters explode inside me and flush out. I grip my thigh tightly and look to Charles “fucking hell” I mutter as I look down at the puddle in between my thighs.

219 notes · View notes

hansoulo · 4 years ago

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

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demonslayedher · 4 years ago

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Love Breathing Not Fully Bloomed: A Kanroji Mitsuri Meta

Some thoughts that have been brewing since we got a deeper look at the birth of the Breath of Love in the Rengoku Gaiden, boiling down to that Mitsuri had not yet reached her full potential.

SPOILERS AHEAD~!

While we don't have any reliable timeline for this series, we know that Mitsuri has been practicing swordsmanship for only about two years, likely less. The "two years ago" stated in her flashback to her failed engagement was back when she was 17, so let's be generous and say that was 2.5 years ago. But, we must also keep in mind that she's been a Pillar for at least several months by the time Swordsmith Village arc takes place. The Pillar meeting Tanjiro met her at was possibly her first of the twice-a-year meetings, but I wouldn't put it anywhere beyond her second. After the failed marriage discussion she would have spent some unknown period of time dying her hair and starving herself, before deciding to join the Demon Slayers. She accomplished her Flame Breathing training under Rengoku in six months, roughly half the time most Breath users train under their cultivators. Tokito is noted for becoming a Pillar in two months after taking up the sword, but Mitsuri probably stumbled her way into Pillarhood within months of passing the Final Selection; making the Kamaboko squad's quick ascension up the ranks look like nothing as she blows away the usual five years it takes someone to become a Pillar (or if they are especially skilled, more like two years, as stated by Gotouge in Taisho Secrets). While the way of swordsmanship and battle became Mitsuri’s everyday way of life, thereby leading to huge improvements, that's a really short time to develop actual battlefield experience. Among the Pillars, she is the least seasoned or naturally inclined for battle, it really is by accident of her bizarre strength that she’s gotten so far. That's hardly surprising, given her background and motives. For context, her interests are very domestic what with all the pet-keeping (four cats, a rabbit, and a whole hive of bees, by my count) and sweets and recipes, and her stated hometown would have been in the heart of developing city culture, with shopping and restaurants and movie theaters. There would have been no exposure to swords and the culture that goes with them, making her justifiably embarrassed of how monstrously her strength makes her stick out. Her inability to fit into a normal family life makes her feel worthless, even if she does have a base of love and support. (*Put a pin in these things, I'll be drawing a comparison to another character later.*) However it was that she was introduced to the Corp, it must have taken a huge leap of hope and/or desperation to leave the otherwise comfortable lifestyle for a life of battle. While Rengoku's home is not terribly far from hers, it still would have been a total break from the life she knew before, so she must had been betting everything on both her ultimate wishes; living in accordance with who she is, and finding a husband. Let's refer to these respectively as Wish A and Wish B. Note that "becoming a strong swordsman" and "elimating demons" are not among these goals; they are merely means to her goals. Now if we try to to follow her path as a swordsman chronologically, six months since taking up the sword under Rengoku, she's passed the Final Selection. On a mission with Rengoku, who now treats her as a peer, she's nonetheless filled with shame that she hasn't really picked up much skill and just waves her sword around with brute strength.

I love this bit of characterization because that is so, so easy a trap to fall into with martial arts. Even if you understand things in theory and do your best on proper form when taking things slowly, all of that very easily goes out the window when you're using them in the heat of the moment. The less experience you have, the far more likely one is to do this. Falling back on just throwing a punch as hard as you can instead of throwing a good punch makes Mitsuri so, so, so relatable. She is a normal girl with abnormal strength, not a battle genius. Like us normal people, and even like Tanjiro, she can only improve her battle sense with experience. This puts her in a very different situation than the other Pillars, who she meets either when they are very experienced, or when they are outright geniuses. This gives her a different sense of shame, which we'll come back to. While feeling ashamed that she can't live up to Rengoku's teaching, her fighting suffers with this lack of self-confidence (which, again, makes her very relatable because this is applicable to just about all of us normal people), and she only realizes the Breath technique when applying it through her own unique emotion-driven fighting style. While she goes on to name this Breath after Wish B (given that this is a romantic version of "Love"), it's powered more by a philanthropic love, realized only when she is protecting other people. This becomes a newly discovered third wish, as well as a source of confidence.

In the side story novels, Mitsuri later on suffers another blow to her confidence which compromises her fighting and makes her fall back into wanting to hide herself, for she is ashamed of how her motives compare to Shinobu's. Besides Shinobu's encouragement and giving Mitsuri a venue in which to openly express her love and appreciation for other people, another child whom Mitsuri has rescued looks up to her and says a few things to restore her confidence. Getting that feedback and being able to express herself openly (Wish A) is the cycle that powers Mitsuri's confidence and keeps her ultimate weakness, shame, at bay. This, combined with words of encouragement from Ubuyashiki and Rengoku, is what really empowers her to embrace her unusual constitution and develop the Breath of Love. While it's said that this is an offshoot of the Flame Breathing she's formally trained in, it's more of a stretch than the relationship between something like Snake Breathing stemming from Water Breathing, and more like she's hit at the basis of Breathing itself to create a technique suited to her, like Inosuke did with his entirely self-taught Beast Breathing. (*Put a pin in this self-created Breath style thing, we're going to come back to this too.*) So, Mitsuri went on to become the Love Pillar. With the rate at which Pillars cycle in and out (based on how many the Upper Moons claim to have killed), I have to wonder how fast the Lower Moons getting cycled in and out too. Even though these are her peers and we never see any other Pillars looking down on her, she sees herself in a lower position than the rest of them. Case in point, one thing I love that the anime did is that when Tokito chips the rock at Tanjiro and tells him off, Mitsuri is silently fangirling, and then when Tokito orders the Kakushi to draw back/leave, Mitsuri silently and automatically obeys and shrinks back. That wasn’t directed at you, silly!

Though her Breath requires confidence, she still has a ways to go. When we see her again later, she's in a position of being a protector to everyone around her; the swordsmiths and her juniors, and she's treated with the awe and respect and acceptance of a Pillar; in this kind of setting she is fully in accord with Wish A (reinforced by her less formal third wish) and, thanks to Shinobu's encouragement, not ashamed of Wish B, thereby eliminating a big part of her shame-based weakness. She's added all this power and just as importantly, experience to her preexisting raw strength and flexibility.

The experience is key here; she's gained a lot of battle sense since her first mission. She's not as taken off guard by demon abilities, and with her risen confidence, she's also gained more flexible thinking and can make quick adjustments in battle as needed.

Not entirely, though. At her core, she still relies on that brute strength.

Ultimately, though toward the end she thinks she might be overpowered after all, it's that boost of confidence and cycle of philanthropic love from her juniors and desire to protect them than she recovers and makes use of her mark. (I'm glad no one's told her that this means she's doomed to a short marriage, should she ever even get one.)

Following this historic feat; acting in a way that is natural to her and to her Breath to unlock a mark she didn't even know existed, she still feels a little shamed among the other Pillars for being so shamefully inarticulate about battle technique; despite this being what she's dedicated her life to. Again, it was never her natural desire to be a fighter, so it’s unsurprising that this part doesn’t come as naturally to her as it does to all those geniuses in the room.

Moving on to the battle with Nakime, this is mostly played for laughs because Mitsuri's lack of battle sense compared to other characters is put on full display. She's emotional from the get-go and easily overwhelmed and this affects her concentration drastically, leading to stupid mistakes and ultimately having to fall back on her brute strength to break through pieces of the fortress instead of survive and fight through observation. Getting called out on this is meant to help her, and she absolutely does her best to summon back her battle sense, but it's all downhill for Mitsuri and her Love Breathing technique from here.

As the battle with Muzan starts, that third wish is thrown back in her face as so many of her juniors die protecting her. Since he's powered by philanthropic love and confidence, she cannot recover any battle sense, and quickly falters so much that she must be removed from the battle rather than weigh everyone down. The difference between her and the other Pillars here is stark; her inexperience and lack of natural fighting inclination is, again, painfully obvious and relatable to a lot of readers. She has natural strength, but not natural talent. When she does return to battle, she only has that core strength to rely on again--no room for peace of mind, only brute emotional strength resulting in a panel that made me throw my fist in the air and cheer out loud because damn, that is hardcore, girl.

But, in the end, Mitsuri succumbs to her injuries, and only right before death does she get closer to Wish B. Even with Iguro's promise, it's too late.

This is super frustrating for a number of reasons, but if we're focused solely on the actualization of Love Breathing, it's because Iguro could have said something much, much, much sooner if he wasn't so ashamed of his own blood tainting her in this lifetime (not that she would have cared). Words from other people have such a huge influence on Mitsuri that if she had actualized Wish B, for which her Breath is named, she could have made humongous gains in confidence before being romantically loved, and having someone to openly shower in love. Imagine what she could have unlocked, if that shame she still carried for being too monstrous to be married could have been eliminated. But that's not all. What if the timeline had been different? What if she had not two, but five years’ experience? Or even more than that? What if, for a long duration of her experience as a swordsman, she was also experiencing a happy marriage? I invite you to consider the implications of a Mrs. Iguro Mitsuri who has the comfort and confidence of being herself with a husband, in addition to being in a leadership role in the Corp? A Mrs. Iguro who, with a little honesty from her husband who feels bothered that she’s embarrassed, stands up to Maeda-san and says that as a married woman she needs a more modest uniform?* A Mrs. Iguro who gained a level-headed battle sense that can only be refined through experience, not based in brute strength alone? She'd be such a happy badass. *(Not looking for a modern-era Western culture based debate on this; this is defined based on Mitsuri's desire for a proper Taisho Era marriage.) Now, remember those pins I put in place? Consider someone else who realized a natural Breath technique all on their own, who attained a mark without any intention to, who felt like a monster due to super human abilities that made them shamefully unable to fit into the ideal family life, despite only wanting a peaceful, happy wedded life? Someone who valued bonds with other people, a kind person who lived to protect others? Now, I'm not saying that Love Breathing is as powerful as the Breath of the Sun, or that Mitsuri is as innately powerful as Yoriichi (their natural skills were of different types entirely). But, as all Breath techniques stem from the same natural Sun Breathing source, Love Breathing might have found its way back a little closer to that source, in some way or another. Which is all to say, never look down on Love Breathing or on Mitsuri just because she didn't play as big of a role as the others in the final showdown. After all, that Breath was not yet all it could have been, and as a swordsman, she was not yet in full bloom.

#KnY fandom theories and meta #Kanroji Mitsuri #Kimetsu no Yaiba #Demon Slayer

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wrenoxford · 2 years ago

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Rox Tattoo Meanings

Q and a diamond in red that symbolize a Queen of Diamonds- Wren got this after they produced their first album to celebrate themselves. She felt that she was becoming the queen of the world with all the access to riches (diamonds) that she could ever wish for.

“I’m a loser baby”- This a reference to Beck’s 1994 song “Loser” which they absolutely adore.

“NIGHTMARE”- This is a reference to one of her songs where she said “Someone like me/ can be a real nightmare, completely aware/ But I’d rather be a real nightmare, than die unaware, yeah/ Someone like me can be a real nightmare, completely aware/ But I’m glad to be a real nightmare, so save me your prayers.”

“999″- Wren got this tattoo to remind herself to be fully conscious every minute as she feels that nine for her means completeness, and for her that would look like being so mentally well that a moment is just… a moment.

“Life’s a Mess”- This tattoo is before the “999″ tattoo, and it was intended to be alone, but Wren decided that she wanted to add an answer to life being a mess. If it’s a mess, she should be conscious and aware at each of those moments.

“17″ with Dark Blue Lining and Teal Center- In a period of uncertainty if she was doing the right thing getting on Youtube, Wren pulled Tarot cards to give her a sense of guidance, and The Star card seemed to fly right at her as she was shuffling. It was then that she knew she was on the right track. The Star card is the 17th card in the tarot deck.

XXX- Wren has always railed against people expecting everyone to be perfect, and once they heard their step-father say that Wren should have a sign on theme at all time that warned people that they were explicit. She thought this was funny and tattooed herself with the explicit symbol.

Line Drawing of Roses- they just thought it was a pretty design, and they wanted to have something elegant.

Self portrait of themselves with the word ‘EVERYTHING’- This is a reminder to themselves that they have to be everything. That there isn’t going to be anyone to save or drive them.

Sheet music in black ink- this obviously symbolizes the work that she does every day. It’s a celebration of that which makes her happiest in life.

Ombre red and grey image of Mars- Mars was the god of war in Roman mythology, and for Wren it meant to keep fighting every day for what she wants.

“Heaven in Hiding”- this is a reference to a song on her first album titled that.

A Frowning Ghost- The ghost doesn’t mean anything. Just a neat tattoo

Line Drawing of Match with Red Tip- Wren randomly selected a couple of their fans to get matching matchstick tattoos with them, they’re each going to add a flame once they’ve accomplished something major.

Horseshoe- In tattoo culture, you’re not supposed to tattoo a horseshoe upside down because it means all the luck is spilling out, so it’s actually bad luck. they got an upside-down horseshoe to signify that they don’t need luck.

Pair of Jeans with Playboy Icon on Butt- Wren thinks playboy magazines are neat, and they have always wanted to be on one.

“Sins” and “Forgiveness” on either side of Balance- It’s a reminder to Wren that forgiving herself will always help balance out the damage of her sins. She still has trouble believing this, but is there to help remind her.

“No Face” from Spirited Away- This movie was one of Wren’s favorite movies to watch with their father.

“These violent delights have violent ends”- This quote is a reference to something that Friar Laurence says to Romeo in Romeo and Juliet. It meant that the violent (extreme) desires of Romeo and Juliet was always going to end in ruin, and Wren has always felt that was how her romantic life had gone.

Butterfly- Butterflies became an integral image in her second album.

Brat- This is a reference to how her father would lovingly call her a brat when she was young.

“The Crazy Kind”- This was a lyric that they had in their song, “Him and I”.

“f”- F is for focus. It’s the tattoo Wren touches when she is anxious.

“Serendipity”- Serendipity is a word that means ‘a happy accident’” to Wren. This was how her birth father explained her existence, because he and her mother didn’t realize they wanted a forever kid until they met her. It was an accident, but he seemed to have thought of her as a happy one. This was how she wanted to remember him. Happy.

“BABY”- Look sometimes a person needs to have a little fun.

Four Leaf Clover- You gotta be pretty lucky to see this tattoo ;)

“HOPELESS”- This is a reference to her second album.

“Four elements” inspired by Little Prince- The cactus symbolizes loneliness and the desert the main characters were in, the fox represents the fox in the story what helped the Little Prince see the value of his rose, the volcano symbolizes the volcanoes on the home planet of the Little Prince, and the rose symbolizes the vain, fragile rose that the Little Prince cared so much about.

Dagger on Calf- The dagger is to remind themselves that they can be dangerous, but that they can also be incredibly delicate- and both can be true.

“13″ Dagger on Thigh- Much like Judas Iscariot arriving as the 13th person at the feast with Jesus, Wren has always felt a bit like a bad omen amongst the ‘families’ she’s been part of. She feels like the dagger that always brings things down.

Mouths Kissing- Wren just thought this was pretty.

“POOR THING” bandaid- She kept hurting her knees as a child, so she eventually got this as a sort of joke to herself.

“SEEDS”- Wren liked to think of it as her planting seeds with every step.

“NCF”- Wren got this tattoo with a fan. It was her fan’s initials. Her fan has “RPC” and an anchor on their foot.

#tattoos #tattoo

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btsqualityy · 4 years ago

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Assuage: Chapter 9

Yoongi x Reader

Genre: ABO (Alpha/Beta/Omega) dynamics, angst, fluff, smut, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Mentions of war (nothing graphic), mentions of loved ones passing away.

Yoongi asking if he would “see you later” ended up turning into the two of you spending at least a few hours together every day. You were surprised at just how quickly things were progressing between the two of you, but you weren't completely opposed to it either.

Yoongi was funny, more so than you ever would’ve expected him to be, he was so chilled and laid back, and he wasn’t the pretentious dickhead that you had initially pegged him to be.

Perhaps what was easily your favorite thing about him though, was the fact that he didn’t throw the fact that he was Prime in your face, or anyone else’s for that matter. You had met a few Prime Alphas throughout your life and they all had tried to use the fact that they were Prime over you, as if you were just property to take ownership over and not an actual human being. Yoongi though,...he was different.

The two of you spent a lot of time not even necessarily actively doing anything, but just talking and being around each other. He’d come visit you at the infirmary if you weren’t busy or you’d go visit him at the hardware shop. The two of you even spent a couple hours at your favorite rock near the stream, talking about everything and nothing all at the same time.

“Hey Yoongi, can I ask you something?” You wondered as you sat with him behind the front counter at the hardware shop.

“What’s up?” He replied as he sketched out a design for a headboard that someone had ordered.

“What happened to your parents?” You asked and Yoongi stopped drawing then, glancing over at you with a raised brow. “Well, you never mention them so I was curious.”

“It’s fine,” he sighed as he folded his hands and set them on the counter. “They died at the beginning of the Great Pack War.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you apologized, wanting to smack yourself for being so stupid and asking.

“It’s fine, it’s only natural to wonder,” he shrugged.

“My parents died at the beginning of the Pack War too,” you said.

“I know, Taehyung told me back when I first got here,” Yoongi told you.

“Yeah, their deaths are what actually started the damn war in the first place,” you huffed, making Yoongi’s eyes widen.

“What? He didn’t tell me that part.”

“They went on a treaty trip to visit another pack in order to try and relive some of the tensions that were going on at the time,” you began. “They ended up being killed as soon as they stepped foot onto their territory.”

“Well, how did you know what happened?” Yoongi asked.

“They never went on treaty trips alone, thankfully,” you chuckled. “Hobi’s mom was Head Fighter at the time and she went with them and saw it happen. They even tried to kill her too but she managed to get away and make it back here.”

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry Y/N-ah,” he whispered, reaching over with one of his hands and gently taking ahold of your hand.

“It’s ok,” you replied. “It’s been 7 years now so I’ve kind of made my peace with it. I just hate what it did to our family.”

“What do you mean?”

“When they died, Joon had only just turned 18, I was 17 and Tae was 15,” you explained. “The three of us had made the decision that we wouldn’t try to fight for the title of the next Pack Alpha, Omega, or Beta until all three of us were of age, which worked out perfectly because our parents weren’t ready to retire anyways. When they were killed though, we had to figure our shit out.”

“So you guys ended up fighting for the title?” Yoongi guessed.

“Nah, the war literally started right after our parents died so there was no time,” you said. “Joon left to help the pack in the war, I stayed behind to help guide the pack members that couldn’t fight in the war, and Tae couldn’t do much of anything because he was still so young.”

“Well, you both clearly did an amazing job,” Yoongi smiled, which made you smile a little as well.

“I definitely didn’t feel like I was doing a good job back then,” you murmured. “Especially not when it looked like we were gonna lose the war and I had to go fight as well.”

“Yeah, that’s never easy,” Yoongi agreed as the hold he had on your hand tightened. “With how amazing you are at hunting though, I bet you were great then too.”

“I should’ve never been out there,” you huffed in annoyance, but Yoongi knew that the annoyance wasn’t directed at him. “I was too young and too angry and too stupid to be of any real help back then. The expectations for me have always been different though.”

“What do you mean?” Yoongi questioned but when he looked up at you, he saw that you were now looking away from him and biting harshly on your lip. Being able to sense how nervous you had become from his question (because your scent soured a little), he decided to change the subject.

“What made you want to become a doctor?” He wondered and you looked back at him, a wide smile now on your face.

“After fighting in the war, I realized that I wanted to help people and not hurt them,” you explained. “Once the war was over, the former Pack Physician announced that he was looking to retire soon and I saw that as a sign so I took a chance and became his apprentice for a year before taking over completely.”

“Wow,” Yoongi sighed in amazement.

“Crazy, right?” You giggled. “I still don’t know what it was that made me wanna do it. It’s probably because I’m an Omega and I wanted to satiate that part of me that always wants to take care of people or maybe I wanted to be able to save someone else’s loved one, I don’t know.”

“You’re amazing,” Yoongi told you, making you blush as you bit your lip.

“You think?”

“Absolutely. When my parents died, the only thing I did was stay angry. Hell, I still am now,” he chuckled bitterly. “But you, you let it push you into doing something productive that helped not only you but others too. So yeah, you’re pretty damn cool in my book.”

“Hey, it’s ok to still be angry,” you assured him. “Even I still get angry if I let myself think about them for too long. Having emotions doesn’t make you weaker.”

“I’ve always felt like they did but I’m starting to think otherwise,” he said as he smiled at you.

“Don’t be cheesy,” you pleaded with a laugh.

“What’s wrong with cheesy?” Yoongi chuckled.

“What’s not wrong with it, is the real question,” you giggled as you slid off of your stool that you had been sitting on and stood up. “I have to get going, I have an appointment in about 20 minutes.”

“Oh ok,” Yoongi nodded, ignoring the fact that his Alpha didn’t want to see you leave. “I’ll see you at dinner tonight then?”

“Yeah, Jimin’s gonna meet me and we’re gonna walk over together so I’ll be there,” you told him.

“Good. See you later,” Yoongi said as he reached out and let the tips of his fingers ghost over your wrist, lightly scenting you.

“Bye,” you smiled, turning around and almost having a panic attack over the fact that he scented you before you left as you walked out of the door. Just as the front door closed behind you, the door to Kibum’s office flung open and Yoongi looked over to his right as Kibum stepped over to him.

“You are so gone for that little girl,” Kibum chuckled as he leaned against the counter.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Yoongi shot back, although he knew deep down inside that that wasn’t entirely true.

“Yeah ok, tell that to the pheromones that are stinking up my place right now!” Kibum cackled.

“Whatever,” Yoongi muttered as he went back to sketching on his notepad. As he tried to get back to work though, Yoongi’s mind couldn’t help but to drift back to you. If he was being honest with himself, he did like you and a lot at that. He had never met someone who literally challenged him on what he thought were his core beliefs, but he realized that you were just passionate and he had come to really like that quality in you.

“Hey Kibum?” Yoongi called out, making Kibum turn around and face him. “Do you know what type of wood is the best for carving?”

“Yeah,” Kibum smiled knowingly. “I actually do.”

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