#* headcanon / beneath the legend is a longing.

[onigiram]

TAGS. i didn't like the other ones asjbfjbsdjgb

[esthelle-wanders]

The Chain: Dancing Headcanons

Because this poll sparked a train of thought, and it’s such a fun concept to explore!

Fairly detailed, so more beneath the cut:

Sky was actually the hardest— but I think he’s the kind of dancer who’s good, but you don’t really notice because he’s not trying to make it beautiful. His swordsmanship is graceful, powerful, and focused, and enough carries over from that to make footwork easy for him. When he’s dancing in a group, though, it doesn’t even occur to him to apply that degree of care and attention, because he’s relaxed and just having fun. He’s game to try anything and learns steps very quickly, but his stamina has limits. Takes frequent breaks and is definitely on the sidelines for the final stretch, applauding and/or nodding off. Likely to get a little goofy when he’s with a group of friends, if somebody pulls off a silly stunt he’ll try it too. Never steps on anybody’s feet.

Time doesn’t really dance in public. We all know he can— those moves in Majora’s Mask were smooth as butter— but most of what he knows is relatively “strange,” things he learned from the Kokiri or his Goron friends or Skull Kid etc., and while he’s not shy or secretive about it, it’s not the kind of thing he wants to exhibit to a room full of strangers. He’s learned from Malon too, so he’ll dance at home or at their own festivals and gatherings, but drag him onto a random floor and he’ll play up being awkward and uncoordinated until you leave him alone.

Wind is an excellent dancer! Kinda like Sky, though, he doesn’t see it as an art form. He has an outstanding sense of rhythm and general musicality; on top of that, he picks things up almost instantly, and can improvise at the drop of a hat. Can and will dance with anyone, anywhere. However, I think he prefers the styles he’s used to from Outset and Tetra’s ship— lots of stamping, clapping, flinging one another about, and singing until it becomes a test of endurance and you collapse. The kid’s all about exuberance, pulse, and the communal aspect— he’s the one pulling people onto the floor, he likes to set the pace, and he’s usually the last one standing— but as long as the music’s good, the aesthetic of the thing is kinda irrelevant to him. (Music does matter to him, though. Screw up the rhythm and he will canonically call you out in front of everybody, RIP Legend).

Twilight doesn’t strike me as a dancer. He knows his own from Ordon, and probably a few “elite” numbers from Castle Town, but he’s only really there for the camaraderie. Gets mixed up a bit and steps on a few feet, but he’s so good-natured about it that nobody minds. Solid stamina, but he’ll drop out relatively early so he can watch and talk to people. A dedicated hype man. I think he’s also the type to get a bit wistful, lonely, and withdrawn as the night goes on, so it’s a good idea to look out for him as much as he’s looking out for everyone else.

Four’s largely an enigma, because he’s the friend at the party who sits at the table and “people watches” all night. If he’s feeling especially sentimental you could probably drag him out on the floor for one or two dances, and he’s pretty decent, but it’s just not his thing. Not that he isn’t participating— he’s collecting memories like everyone else, but he likes to observe, and trade quips with whoever’s dropped out at the moment, and think his own thoughts. You can tell he’s really paying attention, because if anybody reminisces about it later and goes “does anyone remember when —?” Four is the one who recalls exactly what happened. The decisive authority on any disputed chain of events. Rather heartwarming, and shows he really cares (but also he has so much blackmail material).

Hyrule is like the polar opposite of Sky— his footwork’s shabby and he lacks poise, but his movements are so natural and agile that he’s delightful to watch in his own careless, homegrown way. Context and setting really matter with him: he‘s self-conscious in a high-class establishment, but put him somewhere he’s comfortable and he’s the one pulling goofy stunts and teasing people. In the latter environment, he’s the type who gets swept up in the experience and starts laughing. Frequently botches the rhythm, and it takes a while for him to warm up to the locale and the crowd, but once he gets going his endurance is high and he’s there until the music stops or everyone goes home (he may or may not be an extrovert, but the boy LOVES people).

Warriors is a mixed bag— he has beautiful posture, careful footwork, and he’s exceedingly graceful, but like Hyrule, how comfortable he is depends on the setting. Unlike Hyrule, though, he’s far more confident in a formal environment, because he knows what to expect and it’s easier to keep track of people. Dance is more of a social rite for him— not one he dislikes, but not the best conductor for vulnerability or expression. This seems ironic, since he’s also very familiar with the highly informal contexts he encountered during the war— impromptu dances in the barracks or around the campfires between campaigns, along with whatever he’s picked up from moving from place to place and interacting with citizens. To him, though, this is just another facet of dance as a social tool— a way to get to know other people on their own terms and in their own way. This doesn’t mean he’s cold or detached about it; on the contrary, he genuinely values it as a way to bond with people he cares about. It does mean that he’s not very demonstrative or inventive as a dancer, and unless there’s a social reason not to, he’ll also drop out fairly early to talk to people and keep tabs on everyone. He and Twilight are sideline buddies.

Wild’s a better-then-average dancer, but he gets moody, so it really depends on the day. When he’s feeling it, he’s smooth, playful, and creative. Like Time, he knows a “strange” smorgasbord of dances (possibly more than Time knows, though arguably less odd overall), but he doesn’t mind performing them wherever he is, and he isn’t afraid to play around with strange combinations during any given set. Since bits of his knight training have stuck, I figure he’s the type who can be comfortable virtually anywhere— not because he learns the dances quickly, but because he’s probably done something similar before, even if he can’t remember. On more melancholy days, he’s circling the periphery, chatting with Twi or sitting quietly with Four. The self-designated photographer, also has lots of blackmail. The mood and atmosphere have a big impact on him— tense situations really stress him out, but if everyone’s happy, he probably is, too.

Legend is, to nobody’s surprise, the best dancer of the group. Hands down, no contest, everybody else go home. Not only does his travel experience give him the broadest collection of styles, genres, and traditions to draw from, but he possesses the complete Triforce that nobody else quite has together: poise, care, and expression. Outstanding form and balance, and confident enough to make it his own, but he’s also invested in doing it “the right way,” and rarely mixes styles. Has mastered both focus and ease— everything is deliberate, but it looks almost nonchalant. Honestly enchanting to watch. He won’t dance every number, and he spends at least half the night heckling from the sidelines, but once he’s on the floor he’s serious. So good that you won’t even notice if he gets a liiitttle bit off-beat. (Wind will, though. Wind will notice. And Legend will take offense every time. One of those things in life to be relied upon).

[helsaweenfun]

Helsaween 2024

Icon was a collaboration by @nap-hime & @magentacravat

Boo! Did you scream? Be afraid, be very afraid!

Last year, the Helsa server on Discord (👻https://discord.gg/BXy3yfff👻) arranged a 4 prompts & free days event, and we’re so delighted to announce our return to host it again this October 2024.

We hope you guys are bursting with spooky spirit!

Our (not-a-cult) group are opening our arms to welcome fellow Helsa lovers to participate in a month-long Helsaween event!

Don't be afraid to let creativity and inspiration creep in! Create fanfiction, fanart, comics, edits, mood boards, videos, headcanons, poems, essays, cosplay, anything you fancy!

🎃🎃🎃

EVENTS 

Week 1 (1-7 October) — Illusion

What is real and what isn't? Was it all a lie or is there still something to uncover? The line between truth and fantasy often blurs, and perceptions can shift, leaving you to wonder if anything is ever what it seems.

Week 2 (8-14 October) — Deadly Dynamic

The stakes are high and the outcome is uncertain, will this couple conquer together or be each other's undoing?

Week 3 (15-21 October) — Myth

Pssst! Heard the legend? Something lurks in the woods — a haunting, spirits, or something otherworldly. Dangerous? Thrilling? Life-changing? It’s up to you to decide, that is, if you believe in the myth.

Week 4 (22-28 October) — Disguise

Whether you're hiding in plain sight or playing a part, anyone can appear as something they’re not. Masks, cloaks, hidden identities; who's behind them and what secrets lie beneath?

Free days (29-31 October) — Free space / Repost

🎃🎃🎃

The examples above are merely ideas. Feel free to use your own interpretations of the prompts.

🎃🎃🎃

When posting your work, please:  

1. Tag @helsaweenfun

2. Tag #Helsaween 2024 and #Helsaween2024 and #Helsaween

3. Tag the Week(s) your work is inspired by (i.e. #Week One / #Week 1 / #WeekOne / #Week1), along with other appropriate tagging (fandom, characters, ship, spoilers, NSFW and content warnings).

If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask :) Have fun and Happy Halloween!

[eldrigeonsss]

NAH CAUSE I WAS LOOKING AT YOUR FNC HEADCANONS AND THE CONSTELLATION ONE CAUGHT MY EYE IMMEDIATE MENTAL LINK

DUUUUDE THE CONSTELLATION ONE IS FUN :D

It starts out just with Chip telling stories about different constellations and the legends surrounding them. Talks about how some people believe all the most brilliant heroes end up in the stars when they die, and how others believe that the stars are the dust left over after the gods carved the sun. How shooting stars are sometimes seen as one of those great heroes returning to the earth to be reborn, and other times seen as a chance to make a wish. Maybe a shooting star streams across the sky one of those nights, and Chip asks Gillion what he wished for. Gillion gets a bit nervous, trying to figure out a way to explain it that isn't weird, before quietly whispering "I wished that I could be with you guys in every universe." Chip might cry. After that, Chip ends up asking Gillion if his people have any similar stories. Gillion hums and talks about the hydrothermal vents at the bottom of the ocean, how legend says that all life originated from them, and that there is a great titan who once watched over them, this massive flatworm that went by the name Cambria. Chip listens with wrapped attention the whole time, occasionally slipping in some jokes and earning either a smile and a light chuckle or a scowl and a reminder not to be disrespectful to the leviathans from Gillion. He decides that as long as he gets to hear about Gillion's world, gets to feel like he's being gently gifted a part of Gillion, he doesn't really mind either reaction.

"As for wishes...." Gillion starts, rolling over on his stomach and peering at Chip next to him. "There is a Sea Wolf, who makes her way into people's dreams, when she knows they need her most. She will ask you for a wish, and if it is truly a beautiful wish that sets your heart alight and fills your soul with purpose, she will grant it." "How does she judge that? Is it just a wish she likes??" "If she is in your dreams, then I suppose she probably can access many things. Knowing whether or not you are truly sincere in your wishes is probably not hard." Gillion leans over Chip. "What would you wish for?" Chip is about to say something stupid, like unlimited bacon, but then he looks up, and his breath catches in his throat. Gillion's coral crown glows faintly, creating a soft halo of light around his soft green hair, that drapes down over him, a few strands just centimeters away from tickling Chip's nose. His pupils are blown out from the dark, capturing the starlight around them as he smiles, gazing down with that same curiosity that Chip fell in love with all that time ago. Chip reaches up with a hand, brushing a thumb across Gillion's cheek. He stares up in awe as the triton looks down at him with just as much admiration. "I'd wish for you to kiss me-" Chip blurts out, not enough time to backtrack on his words before Gillion leans down, pressing his cool lips to Chip's.

It is as incredible as the first time, just as gentle, but this time with far less uncertainty on either side. Far less urgency, far less expectation. Just the two of them pressed up against each other, kissing slowly and lazily, nowhere to be but in each other's company beneath the stars.

[artedimichelangelo]

Can I please request a headcanon/imagine for HOTD where rhaenyra & daemon take an interested in the reader? You’re the best!!!

Daemon Targaryen x Reader x Rhaenyra Targaryen - Headcanons

Author's Note: Hii! Thanks for your request, I really appreciate it! Also I hope you like it!

While I'm at it, I'm completing the other request on Jaime Lannister, just so you all know. Thanks again everyone for the comments and for the interactions in general, it means a lot to me.

Pairings: Daemon Targaryen x Reader (only use of "you") x Rhaenyra Targaryen.

Warnings: English is NOT my first language; possible grammatical errors; not proofread; fluff.

You are Rhaenyra and Daemon’s messenger and bring news from King's Landing and, most importantly, from the Red Keep. These news varied from possible plots by the Greens against Rhaenyra, the rightful heir to the throne, to what goes on in the common streets and what the citizens whisper among themselves.

At first, the princess and her husband did not pay much heed to you, but when Rhaenyra began to ask you questions in such a way as to keep her company before you could return to your humble quarters, and eventually coming late into the evening to tell her about your travels and engage in long conversations, everything changed.

If before you had their curiosity, now you had their undivided attention. When you expressed yourself with such elegance and immense respect, and showed your infinite devotion to them, you became their main interest.

Daemon and Rhaenyra did not care about the social class you came from, and so they treated you as their equal. Furthermore, they decided to have a chamber prepared inside the castle at Dragonstone, exclusively for you, and to have it furnished as if a Queen were to stay inside.

It was unbelievable, an almost idyllic situation and because of that you felt as if you did not belong there, you had even tried to make it known to the two Targaryens that you were not worthy of such generous treatment. Yet they silenced you with the usual "Anything for someone as exquisite as you."

After some time you became part of their family, not so much as their child or sibling. No. They had reserved a special kind of care for you.

Daemon and Rhaenyra admired your modesty and honesty, and melted at the sight of your fragile and sweet manners when you were in their presence and under their attentive and penetrating gaze.

Wherever they moved, you followed them and vice versa, like shadows. Anyone who saw you knew that the three of you always roamed the corridors of Dragonstone together; being apart was never in the cards. You were connected to each other like the scales of a dragon.

Every evening, before the fireplace, Daemon would beg you to tell one of your fantastic stories to him and the princess, whether they were real tales, legends or myths, it did not matter much in the end, for either way they felt complete peace as your voice almost cradled them.

Rhaenyra particularly loved braiding your hair, it was such an intimate gesture between you two, meanwhile Daemon fiddled with the material of your nightgown, his eyes completely fixed on the details of your body revealing beneath that thin fabric.

Those were your favourite moments, especially because you were not surrounded by insincere people or judgmental stares.

Often after your tales you felt a certain calmness and your eyes were heavy, especially under your Queen's tender touch, which is why Daemon would take you in his arms and carry you carefully to their bed, where you often spent the nights. But they would not leave you alone. No. They would lie beside you and hold you in their arms, as if you were the most precious treasure in the Seven Kingdoms. But then again, to them you were.

[bunny7567]

I got you - chapter 1

So this is the first fanfic I've ever written. I've been obsessed with star wars for years and with clone wars for months now, especially with Rex and I've had this story in my head constantly for almost a year. I have never written so many words so fast in my life. Made a tumblr account just to read Rex fanfics lol, so hope I get everything right when posting. I already have a couple more chapters written and many other ideas so this will be a long story. I try to follow canon but it does deviate from it a bit, and I'm also mixing some legends and a lot of headcanons in too. The story will deal with mature themes, I'm not yet sure how sexually explicit it'll get, again, never written fanfic before so not sure if I'm capable of writing smut lol but there's a big possibility. Also not gonna be very action-heavy, I'm more focused on relationships with other characters. Echo and Fives will appear a lot too cause I love them.

Pairing: Rex x Jedi!ofc

Word count: 3.8k Warnings: heavy drinking; talk of injury; implied ptsd; implied emotional abuse

Next chapter

Lexie looked at her face in the mirror, pleading with her mind to allow her to remember what happened, but she’s met with the same confusing, unclear images she’s been trying to piece together for the past few weeks, images of barren landscapes, white armour, red eyes and the look of disgust in them, and was she in someone’s arms? She read the report, she knows the facts what happened on Geonosis, but for the life of her, she cannot remember herself being there. She cannot remember her master abandoning her, why would he just leave? She cannot remember how she supposedly took charge of the squad of clone troopers that Master al’Prani was supposed to lead, tearing through battled droids trying to reach Anakin and Obi-Wan. And she cannot remember how she got injured. Her hand reaches to the back of her skull, fingers tracing the long scar that still feels tender. It shouldn’t do, not anymore, not after the months she spent in a coma, but she could swear it still hurt.

It didn’t feel real at first, waking up in a medical facility on Coruscant with only med droids around her to relay the news of her injury and the coma she had been in since. She had woken in such a panic that she didn’t even realise how she used the Force to throw one of said droids against a wall, shattering it to pieces. It didn’t get any better when Mace Windu and Obi-Wan finally came to talk to her, telling her about the war that the Separatists had started and the clone army that the Jedi were now leading. It didn’t feel right at all, Jedi as generals, how is that being keepers of the peace? But the most horrible blow came when Obi-Wan slowly sat down on the chair next to her bed and took her hand in his, a sombre expression on his face.

“Alexis, there is something else you should know”, she could feel that the news he was about to relay had something to do with her master, however Lexie could not believe the words that followed. “Master Safir’al’Prani has left the Jedi Order during the battle of Geonosis.”

            “No that’s… that’s not possible” she said, voice coarse after months of not being used. “He was just with me, we were on a ship heading to Geonosis… t-to aid you and Anakin, and… did you say during?”

            “Yes. Once the two of you got to Geonosis,” master Windu interjected, “he refused to fight alongside the clone troopers. He considered them…” he paused, carefully choosing the words to use, “beneath him. You can read the report yourself, one of the clones in your squad provided a detailed account of the situation”. My squad? blurry images of white armour flashed in her mind but Lexie forced her attention to master Windu’s words. His voice was steady, no hint of emotion as he nonchalantly delivered the most devastating news for Lexie to hear and then handing a datapad towards the injured Padawan.

            Lexie took the datapad master Windu offered her, but could not bring herself to look at the report just yet, feeling the anger and pain bubbling up inside of her and worried about keeping her composure in front of the two Jedi. “Thank you masters, I will look through it later, I… I’m a bit lightheaded at the moment.”

            “Of course,” Obi-Wan said, sitting up from the chair. “We’ll let you rest now, gather your strength, we can discuss your situation at a later time”.

            Your situation, the words ring in her head as she braided her bright red hair. She has a meeting with the Council that afternoon, after three weeks of physical therapy and psych evals she has no idea how she passed. Frustration increased as she once again could not hold onto the images that passed through her mind. What’s worse, she’s been feeling so disconnected from the Force, struggling to meditate, not that it ever came easy to her, and also use her abilities. Struggles she has kept from Obi-Wan, who has been checking in on her during her recovery. But now she had to face the Council, had to hide her struggles and insecurities from them, fearing disappointing them.

At least with Obi-Wan there, she hadn’t felt completely abandoned. Considering the amount of times Master al’Prani had dropped her on his head in the past few years, Obi-Wan was becoming more of a master to her than al’Prani ever was. Guess I shouldn’t be that surprised he just up and left me on a battlefield, she thought to herself, anger bubbling inside of her again. But she still was surprised, and angry, and confused, she tried to not blame herself but she couldn’t help feeling like it was somehow her fault, like if she hadn’t been such a disappointment to him, he would not have left. She shook her head trying to get the thoughts out then looked at the time. Shit! She was late.

Reaching the door to the Council room, Lexie stopped to catch her breath and to adjust her black robes. She didn’t wear this colour before but considered it appropriate these past couple of weeks, feeling as if she was almost in mourning. Taking three long breaths, she tried to clear her mind before entering the room.

“Waiting we have been, come, come”. All eyes followed her as she approached the centre. She looked around quickly, taking in the forms present in person or via hologram, then lowered her head and spoke as clear as she could, trying to hide the anxiety in her voice, “My apologies Master Yoda, I seem to have lost track of time.”

“How are you feeling, Alexis?”  Obi-Wan asked.

“Better, Master. I have been cleared by the medics, I am ready to return to my duties.” She replied, trying to sound confident. This is what I need right now, she thought, craving something to occupy her mind, some action so she could feel like herself again.

“Good to hear that is. A decision about your future this Council has made” Yoda continued. Lexie looked at him, waiting for her verdict. Her heart was pounding in her chest as all her concentration was focused on her mental walls, trying as hard as she could not to let the council members feels the anxiety within her.

“As you know,” Mace Windu begun talking, “former master al’Prani was reaching the end of your training. He believed there wasn’t much left for him to teach you”.

She tried to stop her face from grimacing at the words, remembering a similar sentence al’Prani had spoken to her months before Geonosis: “You seem intent on not learning any lesson I am trying to teach you”. Her mind got lost in the memory, anxiety slowly enveloping all her senses.

“…to consider what you have been through on Geonosis as your Trials and grant you the rank of Jedi Knight”. Those words snapped Lexie back to the present, did she hear him right? Did they really believe she was ready to be a Knight?  She opened her mouth to voice her concerns but immediately closed it. What was she going to do, argue with the Council’s decision? But how can they say I passed Trials that I don’t even remember? she thought, but then recalled how she kept that piece of information from them, not even confiding in Obi-Wan about her memory problems.

“We thought you would be more excited about this”, Obi-Wan’s voice stopped her rambling thoughts.

 “I-I am, of course. It’s just a lot to take in, and, if I am honest, I cannot stop feeling a little disappointed my master is not here to give me the… the happy news himself”, Lexie answered, cringing internally at how fast she spoke and how forced the words had sounded. “What happens now? Do I get assigned a battalion?” she asked after a short pause, hoping to move the subject along.

“At this time we cannot assign you your own battalion”, Master Windu spoke again, either not noticing or not wanting to deal with her conflicting emotions. “However, we believe the best course of action would be for you to join Anakin Skywalker as second commanding officer of the 501st. This arrangement could prove… mutually beneficial”.

“Mutually beneficial?”, she repeated, a slight frown showing on her face.

“Yes. You see, Anakin has been in command of this battalion for a few months now, so there’s a lot you could learn from him”, Obi-Wan interjected; she swore she could hear Master Windu scoff at that statement. “And in turn you could help… curve his impulsiveness, be a good influence on him. The battalion is due to return on world later today and Anakin is expecting you at the barracks first thing tomorrow”, Obi-Wan concluded, giving her a reassuring smile.

Lexie almost laughed at this. If they think I could be a good influence on anybody they don’t know me that well. She kept that thought to herself however, and instead bowed her head. “I understand. Thank you masters, I will do as instructed”.

On her way back to her room Lexie felt the anxiety creeping back in, filling every space of her mind. She was not ready for this, how could they think she was ready for this? Upon reaching her room she quickly peeled off her robes, the layers suddenly suffocating her. She sat down on the floor, trying to meditate, to ground herself in the moment, feeling the beginning of a panic attack. She didn’t think she had panic attacks before. But ever since waking up from her coma, they had been a common occurrence.

Meditating proved more effective this time, Lexie’s heartrate coming back to a more normal pace after a few minutes. Maker, I need a drink, she thought. She dug through her closet, looking for a more inconspicuous outfit, not wishing to attract much attention to herself when out. As a Jedi, she didn’t own many clothing items, however she did have a couple dresses and blouses that she would use on nights out, nights when she pretended to be a regular woman enjoying herself in a club or bar. For this occasion, though, she found a plain, dark-grey hooded jacket that she threw over the black tank top she was already wearing. She kept it unbuttoned, a moderate amount of cleavage still visible. She wasn’t going to specifically look for a hook-up tonight, but wasn’t necessarily opposed to anyone coming up to hit on her.

She went to her usual club, planning on only having one, maybe two drinks. However, the need to drown her insecurities got the better of her and five drinks later she was still at the bar, flirting with a Pantoran man who had just offered to buy her another drink.

She liked the confidence that being drunk would give her, she felt like a different person altogether, like a normal person who could comfortably flirt with other people. She wondered for a second if it was problematic that pretty much all of her hook-ups happened whilst she was drunk, or at least tipsy, but she tried to assure herself that she had always been in control, knowing her limit; hell, she had never gotten blackout drunk, never once vomited from alcohol, she just liked to have fun occasionally, to blow off steam.

Lexie was about to accept the man’s offer when she spotted a familiar Tholothian woman walking in the club. Shit, Gemma. The next second Lexie had pulled the hood over her head and was almost running to the exit, keeping her head down as the Tholothian made her way to a booth where she was greeted by loud, already drunk friends. Lexie exhaled a sigh of relief as she stepped in the chilly night air of Coruscant.

She could not deal with seeing Gemma right now, or with the apologies she would have to make. Guilt crept inside of her as she thought of how she basically ghosted the poor woman. I did say from the beginning that I cannot do more than casual, she tried pleading with her guilty conscience, but she knew she had not treated Gemma right.

Lexie realised she had been walking aimlessly for quite some time now, lost in her guilt, and stopped to look around confused as to where she was. The alcohol in her system was also not helping her in recognising her surroundings. She heard loud chatter ahead and followed it, coming face to face with what was, for her, an unusual sight.

She wasn’t used to the clones yet, she had seen a few troopers around, mainly the Coruscant guard or Commander Cody when he would come to retrieve Obi-Wan, but she hadn’t interacted with them at all during her recovery. But now, in front of a cantina she could see was named 79s, Lexie saw a bunch of them, in either officer uniform or in armor with various markings on it. She observed them for a little while, drunk, rowdy, joking around amongst themselves, they didn’t seem to act any different than other drunk men she had encountered in clubs before.

Alcohol-induced curiosity got the better of her and she decided to go inside the bar. I might as well get used to being among these men, she justified in her head. As she made her way to the entrance she pulled her hood down, gaining a low wolf-whistle that she ignored from one of the clones stood by the entrance.

The club was dimly lit and crowded, mainly with clones, but other sentients, mostly women as far as she could see, were mingling with the troopers. Lexie made her way to the bar, sitting down on a barstool as she ordered a cocktail. She looked around the space, taking in the different hairstyles or tattoos that the clones had, fascinated by their need for individuality. But they really were all individuals, she could feel them each through the Force, all their life signatures unique, something that really surprised her.

Lexie hadn’t thought about them much these past few weeks, being solely focused on her recovery. But being inside the bar right now, she was suddenly struck by how human they all were and, just as suddenly, the knowledge that the Republic had bred these sentient, living beings just to throw them into a war made her feel a pit inside her stomach.

Lexie was brought back from her unnerving thoughts by the realisation that she was being watched and turned her head slightly, just in time to notice two clones basically pushing a third clone towards herself. The clone stumbled and briefly met her eyes, before quickly averting them, embarrassment and nervousness seeping from his Force signature, followed by annoyance as he turned his head to look back at the men that threw him into this situation.

“H-Hi…”, he managed to say, looking back at her.

“Hello there”, Lexie replied, voice full of amusement. This should be fun, she thought to herself, studying the trooper in front of her. There wasn’t anything particular about his appearance, he had a standard haircut and no visible tattoos. The most striking aspect of his look was the handprint located on his chestplate, similar but not identical in colour to the other blue markings on his armor; blue, is that the 501st colour?

“I uhh… I’m Echo”, he said hesitantly.

“That’s an… interesting name. Is that short for echolocation, do you have really good hearing or something?”, Lexie replied teasingly.

“Umm, no, I wish”, he said with an embarrassed chuckle, “I-I used to have this tendency to repeat the orders we were given during training. My umm… my brothers used it to tease me and I guess it just stuck”.

“Well, it’s a pretty cool name regardless”, Lexie said, earning a shy smile from the trooper that was still stood stiffly next to her. “So what brings you over here, Echo?”, she gestured to the space between the two of them.

“I didn’t… it wasn’t really my idea, umm… my brothers keep insisting I need to… umm… talk to a woman. I’m sorry for disturbing you”, he said apologetically. Lexie looked over his shoulder to where the two clones were now leaning on the end of the bar, far enough that she didn’t think they could hear their conversation, but clearly still keeping an eye on their brother’s attempt at flirting.

One of the clones had a more striking appearance, his hair shaved, a big tattoo of the Republic crest adorned half his face and a big part of his skull. The other clone also had a facial tattoo, however smaller and on his right temple, showing the number five in Aurebesh; his appearance was otherwise that of a standard clone, minus a hint of a goatee on his chin.

“No worries, I was starting to get bored actually. And I assume that if I turn you away they’ll just find another woman to throw you at?” she asked half laughing.

“Most likely”, Echo answered with an embarrassed chuckle.

“Then you’d better join me”, Lexie said motioning to the empty barstool next to her. “I expect they’ll leave you alone if they believe you’re getting somewhere”.

Echo reluctantly took the seat next to Lexie, even more nervousness enveloping his Force signature. They sat in silence for a moment as Lexie took a few sips of her drink. Finally, Echo seemed to have gathered enough courage to continue their conversation.

  “I-I don’t want to give you the wrong idea if… umm… if you were looking for…”, he paused, having trouble choosing his words, “for something specific tonight”. His eyes could not meet hers, instead focusing on the drink that she was holding.

 Lexie let out a small laugh. “Don’t worry, honey, I was not going to sleep with you even if you had wanted it.”

 “That’s good”, Echo said with a small sight of relief. “I mean I-I don’t want to offend you, I’m just not…”, he paused, unsure if he should be admitting this out loud. “I’m just not really interested in this.”

 “This being women?”, she asked tentatively.

 “Women, men, anyone for that matter. I just don’t think I’m… attracted to anyone”, Echo replied, eyes turned back to her face, awaiting to see her reaction.

“There’s nothing wrong with it, you know that right? And your brothers shouldn’t force you to be someone you’re not just because they refuse to understand”, Lexie replied with a little indignation in her voice.

“No, I know, I’m not ashamed or anything”, he continued. “And they’re not… well I never actually tried to explain it to them. When Fives and I were at the outpost there was no need to talk about it and I managed to avoid it the last time we were on Coruscant. Fives was too busy finding someone for himself and didn’t pay much attention to me all four days of our leave. This is only the second time we’ve been here actually, Fives and I that is. Jesse has been with the 501st longer than we have.”

So they are with the 501st. “I’m gonna go ahead and assume Fives is the one with the tattoo of the number five”, Lexie remarked with mock deliberation, looking over Echo’s shoulder at the clone in question.

 “Yeah that is a good assumption”, he said with a small laugh. Lexie could feel he was more relaxed now and was surprised to discover she was actually enjoying his company. She’s never really had friendly conversations in bars before, usually only approaching people when she was interested in a possible hook-up, or on the occasions she was looking for information during a mission.

Echo talked a little about the shenanigans he and Fives used to get into back as cadets on Kamino, making Lexie genuinely laugh a couple of time. She could tell that the bond between the two men was special and couldn’t help feeling a little envious. Her thoughts briefly wondered towards her own family, Myria’s face appearing into her mind. No, stop that. She had to change the subject.

 “So, the famous 501st. What is that like?”, she asked after taking a sip of her drink.

“I don’t know if we’re that famous, but they’re good men, all of them. And our general is one of the best”, he answered proudly. “It’s weird though, the reason we’re back on Coruscant is so we can pick up a new general, which seems unnecessary. Fives said they’re probably sending some boring, stuck-up Jedi to babysit General Skywalker, the other Jedi must believe he’s too impulsive”.

  “Anakin impulsive? No way”, Lexie replied with sarcastic shock and a laugh. A sly smile crept on her face as she watched the confused expression Echo made. She stood and downed the last of her drink. “And I wouldn’t worry about the new general, she’s not that bad I think. But then again, I am biased”.

 Echo opened his mouth to say something but before he could get the words out Fives was at Lexie’s side, his hand sliding on her lower back.

“You’re not leaving, are you mesh’la?” he asked in a sweet voice.

 “Oh you’re a bold one”, she replied glancing at his arm and then back at his face, matching the tone of his voice. She was intrigued by the word he used to address her. Was that in Mando’a?

“What can I say, it breaks my heart to see a beautiful woman leave this place disappointed. Unlike this di’kut over here I could make it worth your while if you stayed a little longer”, he said as his head jerked towards Echo then lowered a little towards her.

 “Fives!”, Echo said in an urgent tone, “she’s a Jedi. I think.” His eyes met Lexie’s looking for confirmation, embarrassment once again engulfing him.

“Ten points for Echo”, she replied with a laugh. Fives’ hand immediately withdrew from her body, landing on the back of his neck, rubbing it nervously.

  “S-Sorry, Sir, I didn’t realise”, he said, concern easy to distinguish in his voice as he stepped away from her. Sir? Is that what everyone is gonna call me?

“No need to worry, honey”, she said, amused by the clone’s reaction. “And to answer your question, I am unfortunately leaving, have to be up early.” She noticed the other clone – Jesse, Echo said, right? – had approached them and she gave him a smile. She patted Echo twice on the shoulder and started making her way towards the exit, turning her head to loudly say “see you tomorrow, boys!”.

She laughed to herself as she heard Echo tell the others “I think that was our new general” before the distance snuffed out their voices and she went out the door into the cold night air.

[shams-of-the-wild]

Burning Under Bloody Moonlight (Drink Sunny Stars)

———

| [Ao3 Link] |

It was never a good sign when the portals were unexpected, or when it split them up, or when it left them unconscious.

Of course, the latest portal just happens to do all three.

Legend, understandably, is less than pleased. Especially at Hylia.

{Written during a six hour long, sprint prompt of the Linked Universe discord — Prompt: Stars don't shine, they burn}

Word Count: 2,431.

Warnings: Legend has Chronic Pain and PTSD (and is accidentally Irish), Burns, Blood, Cooking, Swearing, Angst and Hurt/Comfort.

A/N: I ended up rewriting this fic three times and I did not intend to make Legend Irish, but here we are, for context, I'm Irish so I know what I'm doing. Also, thank you so much to those who commented on my previous LU fic, genuinely this is the nicest fandom I've been in. 💚 <3

As a heads up, this fic features some non canon compliant headcanons of mine (I will eventually be making a meta series/fic covering all of them), the ones in this fic are: •Blood Moons last all night (instead of fading after midnight), make all monsters (both overworld/sky and in depths) temporarily stronger for the duration, and turns all overworld/sky monsters into the gloom/malice infected versions for the duration. •The Blood Moons can shoot "meteors" that turn into enemies (such as in the cutscene we're shown of that in game). •Sunny elixirs exist and are made using star fragments, please do not try to follow the recipe in game as unfortunately it will only make Dubious Food.

———

 Legend awoke with a deep ache in his bones and muscles. The pressure had changed. That was more than easy to tell. The pain was far too strong to be from normal weather changes, especially since they'd just been in Four's era. Fecking portals. Begrudgingly, he blinked open his gritty eyes with a grimace.

 The sand was warm beneath his hands. Warm from the dying light of the sun, washing the sky in a viscous cloudy red. Like blood billowing out of a wound in the darkest depths of the water.

 Red sky at night, sailor's delight.

 It didn't feel like a delight when they were in Wild's era. Especially when the embers and ashes of malice began to bleed from the ground, thin wispy tendrils that clawed and snarled around them.

 Legend pushed himself up off the ground, elbows and knees cracking painfully. Muscles twinging in protest. “Well feck you too.” He grumbled under his breath.

 Waiting a moment so his body would stop trying to complain, he was a hero for the oracle's sake, he took a moment to take in his surroundings. His bag was thankfully only a few metres away, a tad sodden and covered in a fine layer of sand. No sign of anyone else nearby though. Nothing happened as he made his way over to it and slung it over his shoulders with a practised ease. Though his shoes sunk into the sand a little, making each step even more strenuous and painful than usual.

 The beach he was on, was recognisable, luckily. Wild had shown them some photos of it on his slate. Eventide, he had said this island was called. It reminded Legend far too closely of Koholint. Of waking up on the sun warmed shore like a piece of jetsam.

 Then again, Wild had said there was a place on this island called Koholit. Maybe this is what became of the island in the future? Maybe that meant his island had been more than just a dream—No.

 Legend gritted his teeth, he couldn't afford to think like that. Especially when he was alone and there was one of Wild's Blood Moons rising.

 “From the breast of Hylia.” He grumbled to himself 

 He glanced up, the blighted bloody moon began to peek over the treeline. Illuminating the sky and all its numerous scattering of shattered islands hanging in the sky like bloodstained teeth and broken bones.

 A wasp circled around him, distracting him for a moment before buzzing off. But its flight path guided his sight to one sky island that stood out above the rest, a circular looking one that lurked above the island he was on. And on it—aww feck—a Gleeok. A weird looking one, with three heads. It wasn't visible at this distance as to what kind of Wild's Gleeoks it was, but it definitely was one of them.

 Luckily it hadn't noticed him yet. Knowing his luck though…

 Still, the light was waning, and he needed a way to defend himself, so his choice of weapon was more than easy. Nothing better than his good ol' trusty fire rod. Besides, Wild set monsters on fire all the time, and when in Lorule, do as the Lorulians do.

 Best to try to avoid combat as much as possible though, Wild's monsters had only gotten smarter since his latest quest and whilst already naturally black blooded, they still could get infected, and therefore even stronger and more intelligent than normal, like any other era's monsters. And as if that wasn't enough, Wild said his monsters became infused with malice during the Blood Moons, amplifying their strength even more. Meaning, if Legend stumbled across any of Wild's monsters here, they could be up to three times more dangerous than last time he fought them.

 Thankfully the blood moon never affected any other era's monsters, regardless of black blooded status, otherwise he'd be doubly fecked.

 Of course, at the exact moment he thought that, the blood moon pulsated like a thrashing Podoboo Tower. Strange star shaped meteors of malice burst from the moon's surface, like the moon was an active volcano.

 “Shite!” Legend hissed. A malice-star meteor was heading straight for him. He barely even had time to click his Pegasus boots together. Bolting across the sand, directly horizontal from the moon. Still sinking in a few centimetres, still slowing him down.

 He glanced back at the meteor “Feck! Feck! Feck!” The meteor had swerved to follow him, speeding up as well. He wasn't going to be able to outrun this.

 It slammed into his back.

 Right between his shoulder blades.

 It burned.

 Sending him skidding across the beach from the force. Clothes melting into the wound as the sand raked at his hands and face. Tearing bloody grazes across his skin.

 Finally rolling to a stop, Legend lay still. It burned,  it burned. It burned.

 Distantly, he could hear screaming.

 He wasn't alone then, someone else must be hurt. Feck, he needed to help them.

 Legend went to move, to get up. But the agony from his back flared up. Like flames dancing through his veins. Every movement felt sluggish, as if there were multiple gels clinging to him. That meteor must've been a red zol that split on impact.

 His vision began to burn, spots of black and brown began forming, spreading outwards just like how a piece of paper burns. The screaming seemed to have stopped, he couldn't hear it anymore. Though, he couldn't hear anything else either. It was like he was deep under the water again, with only his heartbeat beating silently in his ears, making his ears twitch in discomfort.

 Arse-biscuits… Was all he could think of as everything faded into darkness.

  A bright light shone in Legends face, he groaned, scrunching his eyes tight to try and block it out. Failing miserably.

 Something cool was being rubbed against his back. Numbing the burning sensation partially. He groaned, trying to wriggle away from the touch. Just because it was making it feel better, didn't mean that he was gonna sit here and let some person touch him. For all he knew, they could be rubbing poison or some shit into his wound.

 “Legend, we're not trying to poison you.” A tired voice said flatly.

 A hand grabbed each of his shoulders to hold him still.

 Legend scoffed, great, he was mumbling in delirium. “'At's what some-un' tryna poison me would say.” He slurred in response.

 “I could actually poison you, if you wanted!” A far too cheerful voice responded.

 “Wild, please for the love of Hylia.” The tired voice groaned.

 Ah. Legend stopped trying to wriggle away. Only one person sounded that hypocritically exhausted with them whenever someone said or did something stupid. That meant Wild and Time had found him.

 A disgruntled bark cut his sludge-like thoughts off.

 “And Wolfie too! He's the one that led us to you after you stopped screaming.” Wild added, as if that wasn't obvious from the bark.

 “Thanks Wolfie.” Legend muttered.

 “Aww no thanks for us?” Wild teased.

 He raised his middle finger in the direction where Wild's voice was coming from. “Feck off.”

 Reluctantly, Legend peeled his eyes open. He was facing a cooking pot over a small fire, one that had clearly been used many times. Wild was to one side of the pot, humming and stirring some sort of strange, golden shimmery liquid. Behind the cooking pot was a large chasm surrounded by viscous pulsating malice and swirls of smoke-like gloom.

 He craned his head up. Time's hands let go of Legend's shoulders as he moved.

 Wolfie was further away—on the side opposite of Wild—sitting between the edge of the beach and the start of the forest. His back was turned to them, facing towards the forest, ears pricked up and shoulders flexing from tension. Clearly on watch.

 “The others?” Legend asked.

 Time sighed heavily. “They're safe, Wind contacted us through Wild's slate earlier, they all landed in Lurelin village, they got beds in the local inn.”

 Legend scowled. “Lucky feckers.”

 A silence descended on the group. Or as silent as Wild's era could get, with the crickets chirping, the fire crackling, the waves lapping gently, and the faint squirming of the nearby malice.

 “Wild.” Legend rasped.

 Wild paused stirring whatever the concoction he was making was. “Huh, yeah?”

 “What the feck was that?” He jabbed a finger up at moon, wincing as it pulled at his back wound.

 “Moon's infected.” Wild replied with a shrug, going back to stirring.

 Time nodded sagely out of the corner of Legends eye, as if that made any fecking sense.

 “What. The. Feck.” Legend hissed.

  “Moon's infected.” Time answered.

 Wolfie made a very unimpressed snorting noise. At least someone was on Legend's side today.

 Legend did not whinge, he responded in a very normal pitch and not at all in an accusing and whiny tone. “Your moon shot a meteor at me!”

 Wild cocked his head to one side and stared at him. “Yep. It does that."

  Legend through his hands up in disbelief. “Since when!?”

 Immediately, regretting the action, as the wound burned again. “Feck it all!” He snarled, flinching viciously.

 “Careful.” Time gently pushed Legend's arms down. “I haven't finished rubbing the sunny cream into your burns.”

 “What—” Legend started.

 “—Sunny cream.” Wild cut him off, launching immediately into an explanation. “It's made using crushed sundelions, a newly discovered flower in my Hyrule, capable of treating malice burns. Helps numb the pain too. It's not as effective as eating Sunny veggie porridge, though. But it works in a pinch, especially on someone who's not capable of eating anything due to the wounds, or unconscious.”

 Legend blinked at Wild. “Still doesn't explain what the fuck is up with your moon.”

 Wild made a strangled I-don't-know noise. “Ganondorf infected the moon with stronger malice during the second quest, which as I've told you all, made it much more dangerous and it kinda never went back to normal after I defeated him.”

 “You didn't mention it could shoot fucking malice meteors.” Legend groused.

 Time patted him on the undamaged part of his shoulder. “Welcome to the moon trauma squad.”

 Legend rolled his eyes, though his faint smile betrayed his sarcasm. “Joy.”

 “To be fair, it doesn't normally hit people!” Wild huffed, waving his wooden spoon in emphasis, splashing a few drops of the golden liquid onto the sand. “The meteors usually get close, and then the malice itself coalesces into a gloom infected monster! You got unlucky, it hit you and turned into a malice fire chu-chu. Which is mildly concerning, because I've never encountered any monsters, throughout my quest, that were both elemental and consumed by malice.”

 Legend snorted. “Oh so Hylia just hates me personally then, I see how it is. The feelings mutual, fecker.” Raising both middle fingers up to the sky.

 “You're not aiming at Hylia. The only thing in that direction is a King Gleeok.” Wild rolled his eyes, a quiet laugh in the tone of his voice.

 Legend sighed in dramatic aggrievement. “Feck 'im too.”

 “Oh definitely!” Wild agreed, then froze for a second. A moment later, his face broke into the happiest expression Legend had ever seen Wild express.

“Brilliant!” Wild stopped stirring and began scooping the golden shimmery liquid into a star fragment shaped glass vial. “It's ready!”

 Legend squinted at him suspiciously. “What's ready and why are you so happy about this. Are you finally poisoning me?”

 “Nope but you do get to try my newest elixir experiment! Starry elixir!” Wild stopped the star shaped glass vial, before shoving it right in Legend's face with one hand. He tilted his head to one side again, a finger from his free hand tapping away at his lip as he began to mumble. “Although, technically, it should probably be called sunny elixir, as it works just like the sunny foods and cream. But it's not made with sundelions despite having the same malice purifying effect.”

 “Wild… do I even want to know what you've put in that?” Time asked dryly.

 Wild perked up like a dog. Practically vibrating in excitement. “Four plain chu-chu jellies, and a star fragment! Pretty simple, really. The chu-chu jellies melt into a thick gelatinous water when boiled and stirred, a the star fragment dissolves into stardust, which sticks to the gelatin in the water and once mixed thoroughly, it produces an elixir that fills you with pure light, thereby purifying the malice or gloom! The glow only lasts a few seconds unfortunately, so it's no use as a bright elixir.”

 “That definitely sounds potable.” Legend responded, laying the sarcasm on thick.

 Wild snorted. “You'd be surprised, usually it's more effective if you use dragon horns, or gibdo guts, but I thought you'd want something a little easier on the taste buds.”

 Pursing his lips, Legend glanced at Wild. “Thanks…” He said it perhaps a tad too genuine, as Wild launched forwards, tackling him into a hug.

 “Watch it!” Time snapped.

 Wild stuck his tongue out at him.

 Wolfie barked gruffly in laughter.

 Legend would join in with the laughter, if it weren't for Wild squeezing him like a like-like. He made an awful wheezing noise.

 “Oops, sorry Legend!” Wild apologised, properly handing him the stoppered elixir.

 Legend grimaced. “Why couldn't you just cook me up some sunny foods, you said they were more effective than the cream, yeah?”

 “It's not as effective as this elixir, trust me!” Wild beamed at him. “Once you've downed it, your burns will heal in a flash and you'll feel good as new!”

 Time cleared his throat. “And you've tested this before, right Wild?”

 Wild slapped his hand against his chest in mock offence. “Of course I have! Flora and I have started to drink this all the time whilst exploring the depths!”

 “Urgh, feck it, fine.” He shut his eyes and downed it in one go like a very large shot.

 Immediately he pulled the vial away from his lips, coughing and spluttering. “Feck's sake, Wild. Even the strongest whiskey I've had doesn't burn as bad as this.”

 “It's got stardust in it! Of course it'll burn, besides it's hardly as strong as Goron spice!” Wild argued.

 “Don't remind me.” Legend croaked, though his malice burns had already started shining with golden light.

 “Alright, rest up Legend.” Time instructed. “Wild will make us a boat to reach Lurelin, tomorrow at first light. Wolfie, Wild, and I will alternate between watches.”

 Legend nodded, not even bothering to put up a token fight tonight, already flopping back onto the ground. “Whatever.”

———

Thank you for reading! Hopefully you enjoyed this oneshot!

This honestly wasn't supposed to be another Wild gets to info dump whilst cooking fic but I clearly have discovered my niché in this fandom.

Kudos, comments, join collection requests, and bookmarks are all much appreciated!

— As always, Criticism and/or rude comments are not welcome regardless if you try to soften them with compliments/compliment sandwiches.

Otherwise, as per usual, I'll be over the (blood) moon to receive any comments, whether it's as short as <3, emojis/kaomojis/emoticons, extra kudos, or as long as a whole fic reaction comment! No matter the comment, you'll each have my undying love and gratitude.

[ma1dmer]

League of Legends - Swain NSFW

the ungodly things i want this man to do to me

A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex): He is a busy man, so he doesn't linger in bed for too long, but he is a gentleman so he makes sure you are okay before he can step away and return to his duties, might order someone to guard you through the day until you get home or something. //Or send his crows

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s): Swain doesn't have a favourite part on himself, not from a lack of confidence, nor from being too proud of himself, he just doesn't think of it. On his partner he has a fascination with the neck ,he'll bend you over his desk and scruff you like a kitten to feel your pulse accelerate ,or watch you throw your head back in ecstasy thinking how easy it would be to simply close his fist around your throat, press down and snap your neck, he won't do it, but the trust you put on him is so exciting. He'll also buy you necklaces specifically so he can put them on you. //Collars too

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person): He doesn't enjoy cleaning the mess, but oh does he love having you clean it up. Plays a quite cruel game of cumming inside and sending you off with the order of having none of it leak out until he calls on you again.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs): He hates admitting what a distraction you have become to him, how his mind slips to you when he is alone in his office, images of you beneath his desk flashing behind his eyes. He would not dare actually risk it, but he has definitely thought of you pleasing him beneath the desk while a meeting is happening or something. He would like to think he wouldn't care even if you two were caught, he is the most powerful man in Noxus , no one would dare say anything, but in practice he knows its far too risky.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?): He has a decent amount of experience from his younger years before becoming Grand General. After that he had to limit himself a lot, Noxus and his duties come first.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual): If its in his office something like the CEO , with his hand pressing down on the back of your neck the other hand firm on your hip. 

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc): He is very serious and intense, if you laugh or giggle at him, he'll take it as a chance to discipline you.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.): He trims as much as its necessary to not be entirely unruly, its all about being presentable.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…): Whenever he returns from the front lines ,or if he has been especially busy with Noxian affairs, he sends a dark red bouquet of roses with a letter inviting you to his office. There, he will have prepared some good wine and a small gift for you - something you can wear ,maybe something for the night ,wink wink nudge nudge- , he won't straight up apologise for being so busy, he doesn't feel like he has to, but at least he can understand needing to make the moments you are together special.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon): He is not a hormonal teen anymore, he can control his urges, and especially if he has a partner, he is a patient man, he can wait until he sees them again.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks): BDSM, Choking, Cockwarming, Impact Play (spanking ,slapping), Boot worship etc.

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do): His personal matters stay behind closed and locked doors, but every now and then he won't mind letting them slip to his office, if he knows no one will come seeking for him.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going): Obedience, this man thrives off of power, a simple "yes sir"  can make his blood boil. And on the other front ,disobedience //slightly less, but it does the trick if you frustrate him enough, he’ll take it as a challenge, if you are going to be a brat he'll make sure to act accordingly.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs): Sex in any public space, being in such an important position makes him a big target ,he won't endanger his partner or give anyone fuel to manipulate him.

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc): There is nothing prettier than his partner on their knees, arms behind their back, his booted foot between their thighs as their only source of friction, their lips wrapped around his cock, 'Stunning' he'll purr in his deep voice while wiping away the tears with a gloved hand as they struggle to take him down their throat.

P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.): Depends, what goal does he have in mind? Is his goal to simply show you how much he missed you after a long time away, or is it to punish you for being a nuisance.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.): Not a fan, finds them, distasteful, and something immature people do out of desperation.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.): Not really a risk taker, he likes to plan things, he plans when he'll see you, what he'll have prepared (food ,gift etc) and then have several ideas about how the night will go depending on how you act. He'll make it feel as if you have initiated it, but it's definitely his doing. Oh, really did the gorgeous diamond collar he got you ,match the similarly golden plug he got you several months back, and now you are curious to try it out? Hmmm, what a coincidence, who is he to say no to his darling.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…): He might not be young anymore, but he knows how to pace himself for the best outcome for both himself and his partner. //You can’t convince me the demon powers don’t come with some extra stamina as well

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?): Absolutely a fan, collars and ropes and leashes and plugs and whips and paddles. They are all carefully selected gifts by him, customised and handcrafted.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease): He is a cruel man, he can have his partner on the edge for hours either as punishment or simply forcing them to 'gain their reward'. He'll pull them right to the edge only to pull away entirely or deliver some sort of painful strike.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make): He is quiet, unnervingly so, his gaze intense, watching his partner carefully get more and more frantic in their attempt to please him, only to finally let go towards the end, close his eyes and grunt in pleasure as he holds you down on him.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice): I know this man has a pet play kink, i know it in my heart, if he could leash you up and walk you on your knees around Noxus, he would.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words): Definitely a grower ,on the longer side and he knows exactly how to use it.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?): He is no longer the young man we was once, so his mind doesn't run as wild as it used to and he often has so much to focus on that those sort of needs take a backseat, but he does have his moments where frustration and pent up anger get the best of him ,and where better to vent those feelings out ,than on his willing partner.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards): It takes him a while to get fully comfortable and relax ,so he usually falls asleep after his partner is out first, he'll stall with work or his nightly routine until he is sure you are asleep.

[kenyizsuartblog]

LoL fan design - Brackern headcanons #1

Ra-xul ("orphan born") are brackern born not to broodmothers, but to ordinary females who abandon them right after giving birth to them. In the cruel world of the Underwell, most ra-xul do not get to live to adolescence, let alone to adulthood. Those that do, are the toughest, most vicious brackern out there who often become the leader of one clan or another as a result. They know how to survive and how to find resources and they aren’t afraid to trample anyone standing in their way to those goals. While adult ra-xul are powerhouses on their own, they usually develop a close bond with whichever clan they become a member or a leader of, and will fight to the bitter end for said clan’s survival. Everything and everyone else outside of the clan is beneath their concern, so much so that leaders are hostile even towards other ra-xul younglings who would be seeking shelter among their ranks. Broodmothers try to adopt those bracklings in secret and integrate them into the clan before the leader could catch on and chase the intruder away.

Ra-tehn ("brood born") are the offsprings of broodmothers who grow up under the protection of their mother and of the clan. They are definitely not as tough and vicious as ra-xul, they are more accepting of outsider brackern, especially if one seeks to join their ranks. But they too are capable of fighting terribly for the survival of their clan and especially of their broodmother. While the ra-xul leader forges the path forward, the ra-tehn ensure all members (ideally) can follow said path.

Not all ra-tehn reach adulthood, of course. Armordillos and other predators, sicknesses, starvation and hostile clans are an ever-present threat in their lives. They also sometimes strike out into the Underwell on their own or in small groups after their second molt to seek a new home, especially if the clan as a whole has fallen on hard times. This almost instinctive migration ensures the creation of new clans, and the refreshing of gene pools. Wandering ra-tehn tend to seek out a new home as far away from the original as possible, to hopefully avoid future conflict with their former family… and Tremors forbid, to avoid harming their beloved mother.

Broodmothers are often strong and well-versed in the natural earth magic all brackern are born with. Despite their relatively lighter weight due to their hollowed-out shells, broodmothers rarely move much, opting to keep vigilance over their scuttling children. This slow life enables them to develop a kind of connection with the earth around them, using it to detect even small dangers such or sounds and movements hundreds of kilometers away. Unfortunately, armordillos have their own brand of earth magic which the more intelligent ones can use to mask their presence from the broodmother just long enough to snatch a brackling away.

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And I'm off to the US, by the time this sketchdump goes up. This is going to be an interesting two weeks, for sure!

Either way, I have managed to squeeze in some more brackern headcanons, and I hope you guys enjoy them! Who knows, by the time I get back, I might have even more ideas!

... I might have to tackle the fearsome brackern clan wars eventually, once I get back and recover from the trip and the insane flight times.

(Also, not entirely sure about the non-broodmother female's head, I might change the design down the road.)

More League of Legends stuff (and brackern headcanons)

2024.06.22.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Godrick Headcanons

His origins lost to time, consumed by flames like the Library of Alexandria, Godrick is never alone, despite what outward appearances may lead you to believe.

With a mind that never rests and thoughts he can never be sure are his own or another’s, he trawls the planet for his next contract. His next meal.

Many have tried to understand him, to fix him, to know why he does what he does.

But they’ve never lived long enough to see their efforts come to fruition.

Little do they know, in their post-life state, that all Godrick is hangs about his shoulders and his neck.

A speckling infection of thorned horns disguised only by the facade of opulence – the silk scarf that slithers around his throat, both a noose and a bandage, the key to his failure and his success. One wrong move and the entity – identity – he’s crafted for himself turns to cinders and ash.

Though Godrick’s impression often sticks, the image of him does not.

One might liken a meeting with him as if having met a phantom in a house of mirrors; catching glimpses of him in silver pools, his shadows dancing betwixt the mazes of your mind.

The glistening image of a prince with an ever-changing face, with only a story – a legend – to put to his name.

A thing stands on his shoulders, bearing on him the weight of worlds, whispering fallacies and immortal fancies into his mind, a searing rendition of electroshock therapy.

And Godrick can only listen as he watches the human realm for his marks, for those he will click his fingers at and take them to a place where neither God nor Lucifer can reach them.

Only him.

And now, as he sits atop the highest point of the city, watching, waiting for his mark to stumble onto the Road to Nowhere, his head filled with stories and lives and memories that his burden pushes unto him, something glimmers.

Beneath him, miles below, something glitters and glistens.

Godrick’s eyes narrow; he’s lowering onto his ankles, as if to pounce from the roof and onto a gazelle.

And he almost does.

There, amongst the swarming streets of the city, is you.

And, while your presence makes Godrick’s breath halt, his brow furrow, his demon silence once he sees what Godrick sees, it is the fact that he has remembered you that almost swings him from the skyscraper.

(Y/N).

Godrick’s mind stiffens. Falls quiet.

Your name is an arrow amidst the kenophobic thoughts packed tightly like a deck of cards in his head.

The quietude in his mind is a physical weight removed from his usually buzzing skull, and he doesn’t even realise it until you’ve fled from his sight and into a building.

‘Fled’ being a generous term; nothing could ever truly escape Godrick.

His weighted shadow never breathed, but right now, no conjurance of taunts emitting from him, Godrick swore he could pick up the slightest wheeze from its chest.

“Who’s that ?” It asked.

Godrick raised to his full height, still watching the building you occupied.

His mark walked by, almost lost amidst these new, fresh…thoughts bundling in Godrick’s mind.

Thoughts. Not just snippets of conversations or lies and deceits.

Real, genuine, original thoughts. 

Nouveau.

Godrick inhaled. Deeply.

The cloud-scented air, lightly frosted with the promise of rain, spiked his throat.

“(Y/N).” He said.

And, clicking his fingers, a hole opened up, tore itself open and apart like a wound, and his mark squealed, a pig. Then vanished.

The hole healed without fanfare, leaving only concrete and not a single witness.

Godrick slid his hands into his pockets, looked back at Sine, an indiscernible, incomprehensible something that only the immortal, fearless or unfortunate could bear to look upon before immediately succumbing to any merciful rendition of death.

“We have…seen them…before.”

Godrick hummed.

“Yes,” he said. A hand reached for the silk disguise wrapped around his throat, his finger almost impaling itself on the sharpened edge of a thorn.

His feet shifted along the malnourished ledge, the building beneath him creaking and swaying in the growing winds.

“We have.”

“We will…”

The thing’s voice moved slower – much slower – than its mind.

Godrick could hear what it was thinking, what it was saying in every other language but human. Verbal.

The ruckus symphony in his head was growing again. Climbing in volume.

Reprieve was often short-lived.

“Yeah.” Godrick said. Promised.

“We’ll see them again.”

And with that, he offered one leg to the edge, swayed, let physics take him, beginning a rapid, screaming, heart-stopping descent to the street below.

Your secret invite to The Den !

[headingalaxys-spicy]

Hello ! Can I request an headcanon for Russia please ? Russia has been in a relationship with a human (gender neutral please) for almost a decade and one day he decides to tell them that he's a nation. After the confession his s/o decides to reveal to him that they're not human but immortal (like they were born in France at the beginning of the 19th century, so they are about 200 years old), how would Russia reacts ?

Thank you in advance, have a nice day ❤

Incoming fluffy post. I don't know why; just this ask filled my mind with clouds.

Enjoy anon~

From the outset of an innocent romance that began when you were in Tomsk. You had seen a tall and imposing giant on the opposite side of the lake looking over at you. At first, his stance toward you seemed ominous. He looked like a legend of a summer Yeti, greyish blond locks slightly rustled in the wind, ever still and watching from the foliage out at other humans that he knows whose lives are transient like that of the mosquitos other small insects that buzz incessantly in his ears. He'd been watching you for a while now since your arrival in the spring to a small cottage home built of pure stone.

Since you were new, you paid him no mind. For he only seemed to appear at random times through the first couple of months. You kept track of the times that you would see the "man beneath the trees" A fun little pastime while adjusting to the new realities of being in a new nation. It was fun and also extremely depressing at times.

You wouldn't be lonely for much longer. Though for one day, he brought his eager cat, who go overzealous and dived into the river. Somehow it swam fast over to your side of the river.

'My owner needs to be bold and get a grip. This is the only way to accomplish it.' As the Siberian Forest Cat speeds away even though it's coat was heavily laden with water from the pristine lake.

From that point on, he finally decided to talk to you. It started a decades-long relationship. That involved long nights walking through secret botanical gardens only he knew about to old war sites that carried history that he deemed essential to him. Some days would be filled with frigid silence after an argument. Others were strange where you only wanted to hold his hand, but not hear his voice. The extreme highs reached the icy tips of Mount Elbrus to the deep lows of the murky black sea. Your type of love is enduring, real, and rare.

Which is why it was easier ...yet still vexing for him because losing you would be a detriment to him, but it could also be spellbindingly exciting. He would no longer have to edit his feeling and speech with you. He could lament about his past and sing you the songs of which he sang while he was lonely.

You were in the same place where you met him when he decided to let the truth soar into the sky.

"Y/N?" He grips your hand tighter than usual. It was a polar bear grip that he had whenever he'd had a harsh truth to tell you. This action pulls you out of your mind and away from the blooming sunflower fields that were only 15 ft away from your vision. You maneuver your now worried eyes up towards his glowing lavender shades. His face is still primarily unreadable. You knew you had to depend on his subtle gestures to read him. You turned your body to face him, and you felt a little wobbly on the grassy ground that had small sprouts, lightly sweeping your snow shoes.

"Ivan."

"I'm a nation. Which means that I'm immortal and I've been alive for hundreds of years. I'm not like you at all but....You're one of the only beings to ever struggle with what love is, and I....." The words came rushing from his mouth like the Neva river reaching the Gulf. He wanted the unpleasant moment to be over in a flash. He know he'd lose you now. You'd think he's crazy, power-hungry, a mons-

A lone hand gently caresses his face to ease his fears. You're unsure of how to react to a confession like that. You don't accuse him of lies or of trying to gain some sort of tiktok fame. You simply just stay silent and allow you smile to bring the sunshine that he's always loved gleaming over his tattered soul. It was a safe haven for him.

"What's wrong sweetheart? If you're afraid you'll lose me because of the confession well consider that fear invalid."

You reached up onto your toes to give him a reassuring cheek kiss. He will in turn accept and let his cheeks go full flush. His face is as red as the last stripe in his flag.

"Y/N?" He asks again as his heart quivers, he's unsure of how to handle the host of new feelings that come along with being as free as a songbird released from it's cage.

If you got Russia of all nations to confess that he’s a nation… Holy Shit that’s a lot of emotional labor that you put into the relationship. Not only that he’s the hardest to get to confess. 

This is a topic that the two of you will have to work out over time. You’re going to be shell-shocked by the truth for a while so much so to where you do leave for a while to work out how you feel. Although during that time you reassure Ivan that you don’t hate him, it’s just a lot to consider. Since he trusts you, he doesn’t freak out about your sudden trip back to your home country. He knows that you need time to process. He’s witnessed you when you’ve been baffled and acknowledges that you need space. Although right before you leave and right after you come back, he will be high-level of clingy. So be prepared for that. You’re the longest stable and HEALTHY relationship he’s ever had so he doesn’t want to mess it up. However, since the foundation of your relationship is solid and not transactional in any manner. His confession to being a nation will draw the two of you together closer.

Neither of you spoke for the rest of the day. You didn't need to. For the sturdy foundation of trust that was already built was enough for you to not worry about what he said but now you were curious as to what the real implications of his confession would be. But none of it scared you or made you anxious. For as long as you had trust that flowed freely between the two of you, nothing else mattered. You grabbed both of his thickly gloved hands and looked him dead in the eyes.

"I love you, Ivan Braganski." as a bold proclamation as if you were about to implement an immediate takeover. You rose to your feet once again and the sprouts seemed to bloom and push you upwards so that you could give him a gentle kiss.

[writingnocturne]

Crestfallen, escape, memories, mist :))

For You, Princess

Notes

Sorry for the wait, @crazybananacakes! I absolutely loved your prompt and the angst potential - so much so that I ended up writing, like, 20 different outlines with different Zelinks and "what if" scenarios. I ended up going with Classic Zelink here for the anniversary today (38!!!), even if BOTW/TOTK Zelink was the obvious option... but believe me, now I have plenty of other angst and "what if" one-shots on the backburner. It's actually a little crazy. Here, both the Zeldas are one in the same - and there are plenty of other headcanons sprinkled in. I would love to make this a larger fic!

WARNING: BLOOD.

Sneak Peek

《 Mist coats the air in a suffocating serenity. The world, under pouring rain, wears a mask as if it were at ease— but the rushing of footsteps through growing puddles of mud urges it to wake up. Trickles of red drop down to stain the layer of water.

The storm thuds against the earth in a rage-filled song the further on this trail goes, washing it away with further ferocity by the minute.

Two silhouettes seek some illusion of refuge in the merciless weather. They are outlined only by the occasional crack of ruby lightning.

An identical scar marks their intertwined hands.

Both fight to take the lead— not with hostility, but desperation. The taller of the two, a young woman, pulls along her companion for the majority of the time despite his consistent (yet silent) protests.

Tears draw out thin strings of velvet and cling the curls of her hair to her face, pale with something reminiscent of illness. Her eyes— a dull, silver-blue— droop with the look of someone already long dead. She shakily gazes back to the stumbling boy she leads onward, but this lowers her guard just enough for her legs to finally give out beneath her. 》

Ao3 Link

Word Count: 1,714

Prompt Post

This is for a little ask game I'm doing for short fics! Just send me three words and I'll write from them! See the full post here.

[vesperadreamer]

Siren Headcanons Part 2

“My Pearl, you know you shouldn’t trust every rumor and legend you hear, not everything written or spoken will always be factual.”

She is much more knowledgeable from experiences and witnessing history. For her, myths and legends are just stories that are heavily exaggerated. She does however understand how some demons form and what causes their corruption. Some believe that she knows the truth of many myths and legends, to the point that she’s a walking history book.

“I’ve explored much of the world, but I’ve never really found happiness until you, my dear pearl.”

She really has been basically all over the place, including the Demon’s territory which is a place not meant for normal mortals. She’s been in forests, jungles, frozen tundras… She’s truly been everywhere, but she mostly prefers the ocean depths. She does however hate places like deserts because theres less water there.

“Demon ranking? My dear pearl, I don’t understand what that means. However… We sirens are extremely lethal to anything that isn’t aquatic.”

Do not compare her or her people to other demons, as sirens have a much harder time being ranked due to being mostly aquatic. There is no ranking system for them due to how dangerous they are in their territory. There is also a myth that a demon lord tried to figure out how strong sirens are, unfortunately its also theorized they got slaughtered.

“Nothing can survive the waters except something born of the waters. You should always beware of what might lurk below the water’s surface, my dear pearl.”

She is extremely serious about this. Ships only survive the waters by luck, by having passage granted, or by finding a calm route. Anything that tries to go beneath the surface is slaughtered, including high mages that are thought to be all powerful. Aquatics rule the waters and most creatures recognize this.

“What has been my most dangerous kill..? I… Actually, I don't know. Its been so long, with so many experiences…”

She’s very serious about this, but she knows what can be taken down from a glance. She also knows that the Queen is weaker than her even though they’re much more massive. Siren relies heavily on her experiences when it comes to fighting.

“You’re so curious about me, my pearl. I hope you keep asking more about me.”

[dorianbrightmusic]

an interpretation of kieran’s mental health in the indigo disk

One thing that’s me very consistently while playing through the Indigo Disk DLC is how Kieran’s behaviour, though erratic, feels horrifyingly believable through a certain lens. Many of his behaviours are painfully reminiscent of my own memories of having anorexia nervosa—and while that’s absolutely not the sole reason someone could break down into an antithetical version of themself as dramatically as Kieran does, I think that as a reading, it can actually coexist very nicely with the actual plot reasoning of ‘competitive tunnel vision’. If anything, it would complement his competitive frenzy quite effectively.

I’m aware this is a risky and hyper-specific interpretation to share, but I’m posting my reasoning beneath the cut, since I think it’s worth sharing not just as a reading of Pokemon, but also as an intersectional look at ED pathology that doesn’t focus so much on either food or figure. Every time I’ve headcanoned a character as anorexic, it’s been because their behaviours seemed painfully perfectionistic and inflexible (see Seto Kaiba), rather than because they looked a particular way. Obviously, massive trigger warning for discussion of restrictive EDs as attempts at self-destruction.

(n.b. None of this is necessarily based on what I've read in scientific papers so much as on experience and observation of others with this disease. As such, if this feels a bit Freud-y-mumbo-jumbo-y, it probably is.)

Let’s start by looking at where Kieran starts out. In Kitakami, he’s stunningly isolated at the best of times. He thinks in extremes—good, bad; hero, villain; strong, weak. His relationship with his sister isn’t bad, per se, but she’s tempestuous and brash, whereas he’s sensitive and fearful. Her attempts to protect him from the worst of the world reinforce his sense of weakness—she shelters him in the harshest way possible, simultaneously expecting him to be tough enough to bear her toughness and weak enough to be able to tolerate nothing else. And though he attends a specialised school for battle, he’s long been the designated weak sibling; as such, he cannot, by nature, be considered admirable at Blueberry Academy. At home and school alike, he feels less than, and desperately lonely. 

To cope, he renders weakness and loneliness as part of his identity, and latches onto the idea of Ogerpon as a courageous outcast, rather than as a villain. It’s an awkward, immature means of coping, as its sole mechanism of granting him any sense of worth further entrenches his isolation and inferiority complex. In defying conventional wisdom on local mythology, he’s choosing to distrust others’ judgement, cutting off any chances of accepting others’ approbation, and locking himself into his own estrangement. His sense of self is constructed around total denial of the fact that being isolated still hurts. So long as he takes up in fantasy, he can’t acknowledge the reality of hating loneliness; and, every time this loneliness and weakness is brought to his attention, he’s suddenly dealing with years of feeling worthless, as compressed into a single moment. As such, he takes defeat awfully, and, having built up very few other ways of coping over the years, gets stupendously angry.

When somebody who’s not from the village comes along, however, maybe he has room to be seen as sensible, rather than contrarian—and, when the player is accepting and kind, he realises that maybe, maybe, there’s room for him to be likeable, worthwhile, in someone’s eyes, after all. So, it’s little wonder that he clings hard to the player, and becomes painfully attached after one day. The player’s affirmation is basically all he has by way of a positive sense of self outside of his own distorted interpretation of legends. Then, cue the player lying to him and taking away Ogerpon. This moment has removed both of Kieran’s last bastions of positive self-image, of ‘maybe it’s okay to be weak, maybe I’m worthwhile anyway’. To him, this isn’t just a minor betrayal—it’s the destruction of his ability to have a sense of worth. It’s pressing on a pain that he’s been systematically ignoring, and reminding him just how much it hurts. 

All he knows, though, is denial—so, to deal with this, he needs to create a new sense of self that can ignore the pain of being weak. But since identifying with weakness hasn’t worked for him, he now attempts the opposite, and takes to pursuing strength at any cost. If he’s strong, then how can weakness hurt him, right?

Except this time, the denial is more extreme, more overtly compartmentalised. He assumes a new team, a new hairstyle, a new manner of talking, dressing, acting. He builds up new rules for life, strict as can be, and brooks no exceptions for any weakness. He is trying, in every way possible, to obliterate the existence of the boy from Kitakami.

An obliterated existence/A dual self

I’d like to pause for a moment here to discuss the compartmentalisation of identity that takes place in anorexia nervosa, as I think it’s relevant here.

Anorexia is a coping mechanism—specifically, the disease promises that by supplanting some part of the self that is currently extremely distressed, it can remove the pain and control the situation. The anorexic personality comes from the original personality, but promises to fulfil its ideals by any means possible. So, seeking a sense of security, the afflicted person compartmentalises—the anorexic personality deals with this thing, the healthy personality with that thing—and reserves the healthy personality from having to deal with distress. The problem is, the illness doesn’t usually fix the problem it promised to, but creates many more. But because it allows one to deny psychic pain, it feels comforting—‘I’m in control of this situation, and the powerless part of me has been obliterated’. Rather than resolve the issues created by the illness by attenuating anorexic behaviours, the person tries to instead brute-force fix things with more anorexia; and onward goes the vicious cycle. In doing this, the afflicted person cedes control of their life to the illness, and, over time, comes to identify with it. While it blocks out their source of pain, it also bonds them to it, forcing them to acquiesce to, if not actively seek out, the increasing physical and emotional toll of the illness.

(I promise it gets better.)

The anorexic personality is split into pieces—the healthy self, and the anorexic self—and the healthy self is usually still dealing with something, so doesn’t feel healthy enough to deal with the things the anorexic self deals with. At first, these selves can be very distinct—the anorexic self often be strict, perfectionistic, and tight-lipped, unwilling to burden others with the original self’s vulnerability. Strict rules and schedules often come to dominate the person’s life while they’re ill—must work this hard, do these things and these times. Over time, the boundary between the healthy and sick selves becomes increasingly murky—one’s mind is invaded from the inside—and the original personality changes further to accommodate the illness. To complicate things further, anorexics tend to not only conceal their distress from themselves, but conceal their illness—and the underlying upset—from others. This is much easier to pull off if you’re isolated to begin with. Recovery thus isn’t merely physical, but psychological, trying to rehabilitate and reintegrate the original identity after a period of being compartmentalised and fragmented. This involves abandoning a coping mechanism and confronting pain that had been abnegated throughout and prior to the illness, so is more complex than just trying to attenuate anorexic cognitions and behaviours. 

Another look at Kieran

Kieran is unbearably lonely, and has long been trying to deny this loneliness in some way or another. Even when he’s identified with the loneliness, he’s done so in order to try to avoid the associated pain. It’s not really acceptance, in that it’s volatile, so much as unsophisticated avoidance hidden by a veneer of acceptance. This unbearable loneliness is his underlying problem—and even back on Kitakami, he’s very much trying—and failing—to push it down. The events of The Teal Mask are enough to show him that denial through surface acceptance isn’t going to cut it, as his relationships with the player and Ogerpon (or at least the idea of Ogerpon) have reinforced how incredibly alone he is.

When he flips on his axis to pursue strength, he’s not pursuing any more sophisticated a means of coping than before, but he’s being much, much more overt about it. Though the source of his angst is, in fact, loneliness and an inferiority complex, he’s convinced himself that the problem is not that he’s alone, but that he’s weak. If he can deal with the weakness, why would he care about feeling lonely? And since the boy from Kitakami was weak, that personality has got to go. Kieran develops a second self, and hands control of his life over to this self, expecting it to resolve the problem that he’s weak. He becomes brutal, because if he can tolerate his own brutality, why should anyone else struggle? He used to be weak, weaker than any of them, after all. 

Pokémon training, realistically, is a form of exercise. And as weak a kid as he’s always been, he’ll make himself stronger, now, so he’ll train, however much hell it is for his team, his classmates, his sister, however much strain it puts on his body, as he barely rests, barely sleeps, barely stops by his room to cook himself anything. Does he need sustenance, when the whole point of this work is to bury his weakness, starve the kid inside himself of his own name and face? Externally, he’s attempted to obliterate the appearance of the kid he used to be – not just in the sense of changing his appearance and his demeanour, but also trying his best to alter his reputation. Physically and behaviorally, he needs to change, he thinks, to block out his weakness, lest it be obvious to an onlooker. Anything less than being a perfect champion will destroy him. 

What happens, then, when the player takes his title, and Drayton ridicules him as ex-champion? Kieran has been hoist with his own petard—with his title in shreds, his identity, too, is in pieces. The player has destroyed him. He’s destroyed himself. And years, years, of abnegated misery now come crashing down once again. So, he makes one final attempt to seize glory with Terapagos, for indeed, other than glory, he has nothing. For the first time, he has to confront the fact that he has nothing. That’s terrifying. What can he do but lash out? He’s been pressing down the scared kid inside for a long time, and as such, that scared, angry part of him is in a state of prodigiously arrested development. So, he screams and he screams. And then, at last, he can start to repent. So, he helps the player. And then, the two of them get to start over—as friends, rivals, family. 

This is recovery: desperately clinging to dysfunction, only to reconcile with being powerless, and, at last, to choose to come back, to walk away from the wreck made of oneself. Kieran must go home to Kitakami—he had no choice, because there was where his real issue—loneliness—had started. (If he didn’t attend a lot of therapy throughout this time, I’ll be amazed.) And, in his time away from school, after finally breaking down and admitting before Terapagos, before the player, before Briar and Carmine, that he had nothing, nobody, he was always going to have to learn, somehow, how to have something, someone, and how to pay respects to the absent space left for both in the meantime. And when he finally comes back to Blueberry, he’s integrated bits of both of his selves. The timid boy from Kitakami is still there, but now has a spine. The tough, one-track-minded champion helps him stay focussed, but doesn’t seep into his personal life—or at least, not to the exclusion of the kinder part of him. He’s not the same kid he used to be—part of that kid died somewhere along the way, in some sense—but at last, he can acknowledge what he really was—scared and lonely—and, with the courage and strength he once misapplied, he can finally move forward, and learn how to breathe again. 

[zwy01]

Noble OCs - Ceresthalassa

More OCs from one of my four original noble clans, the Ceresthalassa! They are the Clan of the Earthshakers and their current Clan Leader is Doris Ceresthalassa, whose heir is her daughter Marina Ceresthalassa. Their clan’s soul weapon is trident Eulises.

For complete info please check out the link below:

(Just a quick note, everyone is a noble here. There are no hybrids. In my headcanons “pureblood” and “non-pureblood” are just terms that nobles use with each other to broadly describe how affiliated someone is with their own clan. And I say “broadly” because there is much more to it and I think it deserves a post of its own. For now “pureblood” can be seen as a “strong enough and qualified to inherit the clan’s soul weapon and become Clan Leader” and “non-pureblood” as “an ordinary clan member” kind of thing. And being either has little to do with lineage and more of just the individual itself. Again, definitely posting more on that in the future)

Straight to the characters.

Pangu Ceresthalassa: Pureblood. Entered eternal sleep, belonged to the ancient generations.

Pangu was one of the very first Ceresthalassa Clan Leaders in history. He might even be his clan’s most powerful member to have ever existed. The old noble legends say that he was the one who directly contributed to Lukedonia’s formation, and that is true. He manipulated and shifted the earth beneath him into what would eventually become the perfect home for his kind. There are also stories and myths in the human world that depict Pangu as the primordial being and deity who created the world. Pangu himself would be flattered to hear that he’s viewed as a cosmic superpower if he were still alive. Ooh, how catchy. Planet Earth’s existence precedes his own, so eh, not quite, though a cool title is still a cool title. And a very welcome one too, lol. The humans didn’t worship him for no reason; Pangu did achieve incredible feats in the eyes of mankind. Lukedonia wasn’t the only land he “created”. Pangu took pity on the inhabitants of the world who struggled to survive, so he rearranged many parts of the planet to be more hospitable for life and paved the way for all species to thrive. He gave them food and shelter, and left the rest to them in hopes that they would be able to develop on their own.

And they did. The humans are an obvious example, and Pangu’s name lives to this day. Meanwhile the werewolves worship and thank their own goddess, Mother Moon, for the gifts she bestowed upon them. That’s the legend they pass down from generation to generation, but it was actually Pangu and his descendants who created werewolf herbs as part of their mission on Earth. The werewolves would say that’s false, because no way the origin of their prized herbs have anything to do with nobles. Pangu wouldn’t mind as long as everyone’s doing well; the credit can go to someone else. Pangu used the full extent of his powers for good throughout his lifetime and eventually succumbed to exhaustion. Constantly using his powers on a massive scale took a toll on his body and mind, and while he could’ve lived for longer, he decided that it was time to say goodbye. Before Pangu passed, he entrusted his successor with the mission of being nature’s guardian in his stead. And his successor would pass that ideology to his successors, thus the prominence of the mentality of “must dedicate ourselves to nature” among Ceresthalassa Clan Leaders and clan members. Pangu’s selflessness and kindness would continue to live through his many descendants. However, circumstances have changed since the world entered the modern era. Recent Ceresthalassa Clan Leaders have to adjust their approach because intelligent species are not as good-natured as they were before. Pangu’s creation of an ideal environment has allowed both good and evil to manifest. Would Pangu be saddened if he time traveled and saw all the conflict, pollution, destruction, and extinction in the modern world? Perhaps, but he wouldn’t regret devoting himself to this place. He loved Earth too much. That is the kind of man he was.

While Pangu was a fairly busy man and free time was a luxury to him, he did have some hobbies. One of them was learning transfiguration spells. He loved all things nature. The land, the water, the wind, the trees, the animals… he loved being around them just as much as being them. Pangu was an excellent spell caster and one of his many talents was transforming himself into different things and then blending himself into the background. Poof and he’s gone. He could be a deer, a bird, a flower, or a rock. He could also be a cloud, a butterfly, or a tree stump. Pangu often teased his children by turning himself into a twig or something and they would cry and run around trying to look for their father. Finding him was impossible because he basically changed not only his appearance but also his aura to match his surroundings. Then he’d release himself from the spell, turn back into himself, and shout “Papa’s here!” while pulling his children into a big hug. Pangu also did this to prank his clan members whenever they went looking for him. It was quite funny to see them crane their necks to the sky and shout “Clan Leader?? Is that you???” at a random cloud. Nah, fellas. Can’t you see that I’m the squirrel on this tree right here? Well of course you wouldn’t know, because my spell is perfect. Mhm. Again, Pangu would turn back into himself when he’s had enough fun. Sigh. They can’t get him to not play hide-and-seek. He’s always winning anyway, how is he not bored yet?!

Pangu’s other hobby was sleeping. To be precise, napping at random intervals. Using his powers all the time took out big chunks of his energy, and while nobles don’t require sleep to function, it’s nice to simply feel time flow in peace and quiet. Pangu would cast a spell on himself so he’s in deep sleep, and nothing can wake him up before time is up and the spell wears off by itself. Pangu often joked about how this is the opportunity for people with grudges against him to come over and slap him across the face all they want because he wouldn’t know anyway. Free facial massage for me, even better! Ho ho! Hey, c’mon, that was a good one, why aren’t y’all laughing?

Pangu had two children. His eldest became Clan Leader after him.

To this day, members of the Ceresthalassa Clan put offerings in front of Pangu’s statue for good luck.

Khumbo Ceresthalassa: Non-pureblood. Nephew of Tabitha Pyradros. Alive in the present day, belongs to the Previous Lord’s generation.

Khumbo is earnest and disciplined. He takes great pride in being organized, and likes to stick to his plans. He’d make a plan, and a backup plan, and a backup plan for his backup plan, and so on. Khumbo is usually calm, but sometimes freaks out when something goes astray. His job is weather control and he oversees several fields of food grown by the Ceresthalassa Clan. Khumbo is good at weather manipulation and his specialty is generating rainclouds. He’s very serious about his job, and once he went to his Clan Leader Doris crying about how he has to resign because he’s incompetent and irresponsible. A very confused Doris managed to figure out what he was saying through all that intense sobbing, and turns out his raincloud generated one milliliter more of rainwater than he had planned for the tomato field’s watering, and now he thinks his life as a weather controller is over and the crops are all going to die. He kept going on about how he has never made a mistake in his entire career until now, and he’s too ashamed to continue to work for the clan. It took Doris and Khumbo’s colleagues some time to calm him down and convince him that it’s okay and he should just relax, because no one needs to be that accurate. Khumbo took that as a literal order and on his daily to-do list, he has “Relax” written in bold as the first thing up there. Well, that’s one way of interpreting it for sure.

Khumbo’s dedication doesn’t stop there. He checks every single vegetable in the field and takes note of any differences between them, then meticulously evaluates the individual patches of soil underneath to spot even the slightest deviations from the intended uniform moisture, acidity, salinity, etc. Again, he ended up going to Doris crying about how turns out he has to resign anyway because one tomato was smaller and less red than the rest, and that must’ve been his fault. Doris had to remind him that plants naturally come in different colors, shapes and sizes. Oh right, forgot about that. He’s just really trying to do a good job. Someone give him a pat on the back.

Khumbo’s hobby is bird-watching. He loves to observe all kinds of birds in their natural habitats, and he’s very happy because Lukedonia has a lot of them. He has a sketchbook where he draws the birds while he watches them from a distance. His favorites are herons and other aquatic birds. He hopes that his future children will treasure this sketchbook just as much as him, because nature is full of wonders and one should take time to experience it in the fullest.

Khumbo’s partner is an unnamed Kravei.

Diantha Ceresthalassa: Pureblood. Great-grandmother of Doris Ceresthalassa. Entered eternal sleep, belonged to the ancient generations.

Diantha was a Clan Leader. Like her ancestor Pangu, she was very committed to planet Earth and succeeded the Ceresthalassa’s mindset of protecting the environment and all living beings in it. She tended to the land and sea just like her predecessors. Diantha dedicated much of her lifetime seeking to improve the quality of life for Earth’s inhabitants, and one of her greatest achievements was enhancing werewolf welfare. She loved humans too, but werewolves had a special place in her heart. To her, they are the most beautiful people in existence. Maybe even more so than her own kind, the nobles. Diantha couldn’t explain why, but she felt very strongly about it and her feelings towards the werewolves could’ve even been unconditional love.

Diantha had some talent for earth-shifting as well, just not quite at her ancestor Pangu’s level, though he is probably an outlier anyway. Diantha’s one true talent was creating herbs. She figured out a way for werewolves to have portable access to medicine, nutritional supplements, and more. Pangu may have started it, but Diantha was the one who perfected it. Diantha used her powers to make special plants that responded to the aura of werewolves. These special plants only grow near werewolf settlements. If a werewolf clan collectively abandons their home, they die out in that region. Instead, they sprout in the clan’s new home once they settle down. You can say these plants know to “follow” the werewolves wherever they go. The presence of a single werewolf is enough to get these plants to grow in nearby soil, though they’d appear in bigger numbers if there are more werewolves, which marks the advantage of a populated clan. This gift would later be known as Mother Moon’s herbs. Today, they’re staples for curing illnesses, boosting nutrition, temporarily heightening senses, numbing pain, and many other important functions.

Diantha interacted with werewolves on a regular basis, though she always disguised herself by manipulating her aura and appearance so that she looked like one of them. Her disguise gave her silver hair and silver eyes; the same shade of silver as the beautiful, shining moon. Despite her humbleness, the werewolves were able to recognize this mysterious woman as the one who blessed them with herbs. When they asked for her name, she panicked and pointed to the sky because she didn’t know how to respond. The werewolves interpreted it as “I come from the moon”, hence the title Mother Moon. Diantha somehow accidentally became the werewolves’ goddess who descended from the sky. Well, too late to back out now, might as well live up to it. Once every decade, Diantha visited werewolf clans across the world in her usual disguise. She played with the children and explained to the adults the full extent of each herb’s functions. They all believed that she was a real goddess from the moon, and why wouldn’t they? They had every reason to. Unfortunately, the werewolves never got to see their Mother Moon again after Diantha passed, as none of her descendants continued with this tradition. Her herbs are everywhere, but she is gone forever. The werewolves assume she went back to the moon. They are hopeful that she will bless them with her presence again someday. Some of the younger werewolves think that their elders are crazy for saying that Mother Moon is real and not just a personification. Well, what can I say except seeing is believing.

Diantha’s partner was an unnamed Ru.

Mian-Hua Ceresthalassa: Non-pureblood. Wife of Rubino Elenor, mother of Rozaria Elenor. Alive in the present day, belongs to the Previous Lord’s generation.

Mian-Hua is gentle yet firm. While she lets her husband Rubino enjoy himself with his pranks, she never hesitates to reprimand him whenever he takes it a bit too far. Rubino’s pranks are all harmless, just annoying to those who don’t really share his sense of humor. Mian-Hua does think it’s very entertaining to watch Rubino run wild with his mischievousness, just that she’d be the one apologizing to the receiving end because someone has to be polite. Mian-Hua was the one who apologized to Edian when her husband cast a chipmunk voice spell on her which caused her to not speak for half the day because she was too embarrassed to open her mouth. And that time when Rubino used a superglue spell and slapped a colorful toupee on Lagus’ bald head, except maybe that doesn’t really count because the latter actually took a liking to it and kept it there until it fell off. Well, guess there is some good in his tricks. When wife and husband go home at the end of the day, they’d laugh about the day’s highlights. Their household is lively, and their little daughter Rozaria would grow up in a warm, loving environment.

Mian-Hua is a professional cellist. She is a member of Marina’s orchestra and regularly performs at the grand concert hall of Lukedonia. Rubino would cheer for his beloved wife from the very first row though he’d get shushed by his fellow audience for making too much noise. Rozaria probably stepped in at times too and covered her father’s mouth with her hand whenever he got too carried away. He can’t help it, he just adores his wife so much! Mian-Hua can hear him from the stage and she appreciates his enthusiasm just as much as she’s physically cringing at it. Well, he’s too cute, so she’ll let it slide. Mian-Hua also likes to perform solo. One of her favorite activities is sitting on the beach on a stormy, rainy day and playing her cello to the raging waters. The sound of nature is her orchestra. Her cello is protected with a moisture repellent spell, of course, because her husband gave it to her as a courting gift when they were young teens in love, and she treasures this instrument with all her soul. Mian-Hua misses Rubino very much since he entered eternal sleep with the Previous Lord. She would imagine that the sea is him, and dedicates a song to him every year on their anniversary at the beach where they first met. Sometimes the Ceresthalassa sea monsters would gather by the shore and listen to Mian-Hua’s cello playing, and that’d get them into music. Some of them even ended up joining the orchestra. Mian-Hua has a starfish monster buddy named Robert who joined the orchestra because he was intrigued by her performance, and at some point decided to learn the clarinet for himself. Marina ain’t complaining. Her orchestra grows by the day. The more the merrier!

Mian-Hua’s other hobby is cleaning and purifying coral reefs. Like Doris and Marina, Mian-Hua loathes modern pollution and blames the humans for it. Every other day, she dives into the water and uses her noble powers to reverse damage caused by contamination. Mian-Hua isn’t a pureblood, so she doesn’t have the ability to cast purification spells on a large scale. She has to do them one by one. Still, she thinks her contributions mean a lot.

Mian-Hua is currently dating an unnamed Blerster.

Yehonatan Ceresthalassa: Non-pureblood. Not-so-distant relatives with Gradeus. Alive in the present day, belongs to Raskreia’s generation.

Yehonatan is obsessed with beautiful things. He loves his Ceresthalassa ancestors for creating countless marvels, but he also hates them for setting a time limit. You see, Yehonatan only loves things when they’re still young, fresh, and beautiful. The moment flowers start to wilt, he goes into a fit of rage and destroys them on the spot. It’s almost as if he’s taking it personally. He starts dreading their inevitable decay when they’ve only begun to sprout. And no, he doesn’t want fake flowers, he only wants the real deal.

This applies to people as well. As an extrovert, Yehonatan enjoys the company of others. He’s a good friend. But, he’ll only stick around for so long, and he’ll leave as soon as they show signs of aging: wrinkles, thinning hair, raspy voice, etc. any evidence of a ticking clock. Seeing his friends age terrifies Yehonatan and hurts him to the core, and he has to cut them off or else he’ll feel the urge to kill them. He’ll tell them he can’t see them in person anymore but he’ll stay in touch with them through letters without giving any sort of explanation whatsoever. Yehonatan has no personal grudges against them, he just can’t stand the loss of beauty. To him, the ideal world is where everything and everyone is forever at their prime and frozen in time. For this reason, he hates autumn and winter because falling leaves and bare branches torment his soul, and he gets so upset he starts to have violent meltdowns. He can’t look at them for two seconds without wanting to strangle himself or someone else, thus he never leaves home during those seasons and only goes outside during spring and summer. People joke about how he’s hibernating. Makes sense, he’s probably hibernating for his own sanity.

Yehonatan is young now, but he too will grow old one day and when the time comes, he’ll probably never go outside again and shut himself in his home until he dies. That, or he’ll cover up completely so nothing shows. He thinks anything past its prime is hideous and a disgrace to the world, including his future self.

Yehonatan’s hobby is using his aura to create holographic projections of everything he loves, and he seals them in small artifacts so he can replay them whenever he desires. He collects these items as a way for him to stay connected to the world once he decides he doesn’t deserve to be a part of it anymore; when his youth leaves him one day and he has no choice but to condemn himself to eternal self-exile.

Yehonatan is currently single and has not thought about dating yet.

Thank you for reading and stay tuned for future posts!

[halfyearsqueen]

VALYRIAN PANTHEON HEADCANONS.

the goddess tessarion is the ruling queen of the fourteen - ruling alongside balerion, her king. she’s the goddess of creation, family, rebirth, harmony and the first flame.

balerion is the god of divination, death, and warfare. together both deities are meant to represent balance, and the belief that fire can only truly forge when and as one masters its capability for creation, and destruction.

balerion’s twin sister is the goddess vhagar. she is the lady of the dead, goddess of the underworld, strife, discord, and vengeance. often seen accompanying balerion into battle in ancient legends.

meraxes was born to tessarion and balerion, and is the first of their four children. goddess of mischief, and the goddess of youth. she is described as more draconic in appearance then the rest of her kin. born with a dragon scale birthmark down the right side of her face - it’s alleged her interest in humans is what led to the first dragon bond with mortals.

arrax, the second eldest child. the clever one. and the herald and the god of travelers. he served his parents as a messenger. and was said to bless the ones who could figure out his identity.

tyraxes is the god of healers, and light and the elder twin to viserion. the goddess of the night and lady of the moon. she’s said to be more reserved then her brother, and who the old valyrians prayed to for safety when they couldn’t light a fire of their own.

syrax is the goddess of beauty, fertility, love and war. her domain is anything that might be prompted by passion, and by emotion. her eyes and hair are both golden. she’s who the valyrians prayed to when they needed help professing their love for another.

meleys is the goddess of strategy, the forge and crafts. and often patron of the scholarly arts. she was worshipped by the metalworkers who folded and unfolded the liquid metal to make valyrian steel.

vermax is the god of lighting, storms, and the winds. he is the father of daenys, and valarr. and credited as the protector of the stranger for the guiding hand stories claim he reaches out to those who are in unknown situations.

daenys is the goddess of the hearth, and is the one credited as being the creator of dragons in ancient valyrian mythos. she forged the bond between humans and the first dragon lords at the behest of her cousin meraxes, and is worshipped and revered by dragonlords in particular.

valarr is the god of orchards and vegetation, wine, and the patron of the theatre. he is the youngest of the fourteen and poets / creatives and farmers alike would pray to him for inspiration and fruitfulness.

vermithor is the god of the sea, oceans and rivers. and commander of all that lay beneath the surface. he is popular among sailors in particular, as they prayed to him often for safe travel on the waves.

caraxes is the god of single combat, justice, and heroic glory. another deity the dragonlords of old were especially fond of, he was the inspiration to many knights and warriors of the old freehold.

worship of the gods is primarily ? their temples were located in long since dormant volcanoes, though many would often pray over an open flame. this is because it’s said that the original six ( tessarion, balerion, vhagar, vermithor, daenys, and caraxes were all born fully grown from one )

upon the creation of the dragonlords a very ? important devotional act when it came to worship of these gods was to name your mounts after them.

the magic of the old freehold was primarily ? flame and blood based. as such the three goddesses most often worshipped by practitioners were tessarion , meleys, and daenys.