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standardlovers · 8 months

Note

I want to hear about castor acklys

HI BEST FRIENDS I LOVE U BEST FRIENDS <33

castor is my oc who was invented when one time i was listening to preachers daughter and decided i wanted to make a plot that had an album style set up (i am not involved in music and do not make music), the main character dying & a complex sibling dynamic! it started off by outlining 2 albums which are the canon timeline (Saviour's Secret & Brother Of The Sky (Extended)) and then added 2 more for a lighter alternate ending (Husband & Keeper's Lover) but then there was a 3rd alternate ending created (Something Like God) and a final conclusion to castor's story in an album created at the same time as SLG (Gravesite)

it is supposed to have the vibes of southern gothic but its not southern! this all actually happening in britain! but still. GOTHIC, its dark, it has unpleasant themes

HERE ARE SOME WARNINGS BEFORE GOING FORWARD: THIS CONTAINS BRIER DISCUSSION OF KIDNAPPING, DEATH/MURDER, CULTS AND MENTIONS OF ABUSE

the album order is SS (aka C1), BOTS(E), H (aka C3), KL, Gravesite, then SLG and the album titles are all reflective or Castor's "identity"/viewing himself through the connections he has with other people, its not until Castor is dead that he defines himself by anything other than his connection to someone else (or he joins a cult and believes he is Something like God bc thats how cults can be sometimes)

as shown below there is one timeline that doesnt have an album ! there is an album i dont have written (and honestly dont intend to write atm) about castors life if he ran away AND found The Star again

these are also all of the tracks for the first 4 albums (im on mobile so i dont have the other 2 album tracklist available rn until i go home tomorrow night)

i can and will go into each song but probably not in this post bc it is 10+ tracks on 4 albums which will be a lot of me talking but heres what you should know !

NAMES:

i took a long time deciding character names so i will be explaining them (hyperlinked w the characters tag)

Castor Acklys is a star name (which i very much wanted for symbolic connections to other characters specifically The Star & Nova) + Acklys (from Achlys) is the blindness over someones eyes when they die + (from Achley) being the mythological personification of sorrow

The Star does have a name but that information is on lockdown you arent supposed to know their name and i personally do not even know their gender , but there is symbolism in BOTS(E) abt Castor seeing "The Stars" when he dies, he however dies at 2pm so there are no stars in the sky, he is hallucinating both the night sky and his sibling being present

Charles Mercy Charles is shortened to Chuck then Chuckle (as in laugh) and Mercy bc he is supposed to be the saviour (bonus tag Mercklys)

Abram is from Abam which is a feminine name meaning the second in a pair of twins and also i did just read AFTG when i started working on this project so i may have been influenced there (bonus tag CAbram)

Nova is an astrological name + means New (bonus tag CastorNova)

Dalilah Fare comes from Dalil which means guide but also means witness and Fare to represent the fare paid to ride into the underworld

Victor E. Casement bc Victor means conqueror and Casement means God's protector (bonus tag Victonna)

Donna Casement is supposed to be overwhelmingly normal and Donna was a very popular name for i think the 1960s when she would have been born, Casement is her married name and smth she carries from Victor

Irma means whole/complete

Winifred means holy/blessed reconciliations and is the patron saint of virgins

Calamity bc when i googled it, it said that "despite meaning disaster most people take Calamity from Calamity Jane meaning someome good to have in troubled times (idk if i have a calamity tag)

Alice was similar to Donna where its just a popular name from the time she would have been born

Simon just felt like a 1934 name

Angie , same as above

Kory genuinely bc I liked the name and it suited how i picture her in my head

THE TIMELINES:

the acklysverse is split into 3 timelines

1934

Dalilah Fare runs away to marry her lover Simon, she is sadly kidnapped and killed. This leaves behind her lover Simon and her younger sister Angie, who get married! (dw, Dalilah is very happy for them!)

1984: 50 years later,

Castor is the younger sibling after his sibling (The Star) runs away and is presumed dead. C1 & BOTS(E) (canon timeline) are following Castor's life before and leading up to The Star leaving, including Castor falling in love with Charles Mercy (the leading romance in C1!), Charles is very sweet and charming but has a bit of a saviour complex. He believes everything will always be okay because, for him, it always has been, and Castor's life issues (abusive family, flight risk sibling, confusing sexuality crisis, etc, etc.) will eventually just stop, he genuinely believes he can save Castor but the thing is he cant. Castor knows this and wants to cut his losses early but feels torn abt hurting Charles since Charles has not yet come to terms with not being able to help Castor. C1 ends with their break up after Castor has known for a while that it is not going to work out and Charles finally realises the same.

This is the first album bc its the first time Castor uses the song/album set up to explore his emotions on the situation. So BOTS(E) reflects on Castor's life as whole. I like to call it The Life and Death of Castor Acklys. This explores Castor realising his home life is unhealthy and then he loses The Star bc they run away which causes even more fall out. Living in an abusive household he decides he can not stay in and realising this is probably what drove The Star to leave, so he also runs away less than a year later and is also sadly, kidnapped from a bus stop and killed. The Extended of this album is one of my favourite ways the albums communicate anything bc BOTS is Castor's life and (E) is Castor's death, all extended tracks are post mortem.

Skipping forward a few albums bc the others are Alt84 (see below) we get to Gravesite ! This is the return of Dalilah <3 and the reveal that Dalilah's ghost has been here the whole time. Dalilah's death is cosmicly interconnected to Castor's (more on this later) and she has been watching his life happen since Castor was 13 when the events began that would lead to his death began being set into play by the universe. Gravesite is Castor's death and welcoming to the afterlife from Dalilah's perspective of trying to stop this all from happening! We also learn that Dalilah's death is almost a perfect mirror of Castor's, in the same location, by the same cause of death, same last words, same final regrets. They are soulmates in the most intimate but tragic sense.

Alternate 1984

Alt 1: C3 + KL,

Alternately, Castor never runs away. In a different time in a different life, Castor stays and gets married before he's 20 to Abram. Abram is amazing and perfect and Castor is deeply unhappy bc he doesn't want Abram as a husband but marrying him got Castor away from his home and into a life that was 100% his own. Abram loves Castor deeply and romantically and without any strings attached and Castor cant understand why he cant just love Abram back when all he wants is a friend (and maybe a little bit still trying to fill in the hole The Star left when they left) but will take Abram as a lover to avoid losing yet another person he loves. During their marriage, Castor meets Nova <3 a shopkeeper he begins to fall for and have an affair with. C3 ends with Castor and Abram's divorce and Castor trying to process a lot of things he has to deal with. KL then explores Castor's first 100% healthy and reciprocated relationship and unpacking and reevaluating everything he has come to know bc he lacked those healthy relationships !

ALT 2: SLG

Instead of being killed, Castor still runs away but chooses to walk to a different more active bus stop hoping it will delay his family who may look for him from actually knowing where he went. At this bus stop he meets Victor E. Casement, a current cult leader but ex professor. He slowly warms to Victor over a few weeks and ends up diving head first into said cult, where we see the inner workings of this cult through Castor's eyes as he becomes friends with Donna, Victor's wife.

2004

You may be thinking "hey if everyones dead and 2004 follows canon how could there be anything to happen next? is this another alternative?" well! 2004 does follow canon! in a morbid way! 2004 follows canon in terms of the fact that Castor was only the main character of his timeline!

THERES A BACKGROUND PLOT WITH THE MURDERERS!

The man who killed Dalilah is in fact the great uncle (grandmothers brother) of the man who killed Castor! This information about a family history of murder was not passed along but was found in Dalilah's killers old jounrals and then replicated by Castor's killer. The time jump is much smaller now bc that information has been passed on directly, Castor's killer talks to his child about his crimes and it is replicated in 2004 with the next in line, Kory. Kory is also cosmicly interconnected to Dalilah and Castor who are doomed to repeat the cycle of trying and failing to save the next victim. And its almost identical again, another soulmate !

SIDE CHARACTERS:

Irma : Castor's best friend who dies shortly after The Star leaves, the cause of death is never specified but her absense is smth he feels strongly about

Winifred : Castor's mother *was maternal grandmother for a while but that was altered as the plot developed

Alice : A cult member and Victor's friend since before they were a cult

Angie Fare : Dalilah's sister and Nova's grandmother

Simon : Dalilah's ex lover & brother in law, and Nova's grandfather

Calamity : Castor's maternal cousin

#asks #castor acklys #anon #long post #sorry this took so long after begging to be asked abt it i am in london this week and have plans that are very based on the moment #kidnapping tw #death tw #cults tw #abuse mention

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naresnani · 2 years

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Less Than Nothing

Fandom: Ikemen Prince | Ships: None | Characters: Leon Dompteur, The 4th Prince | Words: 1.947

Tags: Leon’s route spoilers, overall Depressive tone, mentions of slavery, discussions/thoughts of death.

Notes: This is an old-ish fic that’s always been an AO3 exclusive, but recently I couldn’t see why I shouldn’t also post it here. Just heed the warnings.

Also, the original end-note from the AO3 post: “This is so unstructured and abrupt and weird and ugh. But I need to get this out there bc i dont have a lot of time to attempt this fic again. I just want to point out what the game wouldn't point out in Leon's route: how horrifying this is for a bunch of kids to go through.”

Summary:

After a name is given away, what's left of him?

It's Prince Leon's 6th birthday and so he is about to die soon or something like that.

That number is common in his life. Now that he has actually lived that amount of years, nothing feels all that different. Nothing changes. No one applauds nor bursts out crying the moment the clock hits. There's no storm or rain brewing. There's no sun, either. The sky is bleached white. Everything is condescendingly normal. He feels as if wishes to say, ‘so look, I'm still here, see. No one wants to apologise? At all?’ And everything shuts up in front of him.

He blows out the six candles stuck on his cake, all at once. It's very satisfying. Some did applaud him. His mother refuses to look at him. He eats happily on his bed, because it's his birthday.

The day goes on like normal. He's just as lonely.

He had opened the window and let the air in. It's dry summer breeze with blooming roses. It's the same set of curtains as it was a year ago, waving in the wind.

He doesn't know what to do.

He may have to… spend the rest of his life wandering around, reading, maybe, singing to himself, maybe. Not to spend too much time in the sun, not to run, not to play. He couldn't be with his brothers, 'lest they'll know he's sick. Does no one notice his absence anyway? Is that the point?

He watches the Palace garden from his windows, waiting if anyone will be passing by. The Palace sounded vacant. No one can be heard speaking, singing, he may have been left here alone by everyone. Maybe that's how it is to die. Everyone will just suddenly disappear. How interesting wouldn't that be.

He chuckles. Once, he had cried himself to sleep thinking about dying. He imagined watching his family's grief from above. Maybe looking down from above his buried casket. Maybe he'll slowly float up, and his mother will hold onto his arm with tears on her face begging him to stay, and he cannot speak to her or go back down again because he keeps floating, and his words turn into clouds. Something is pulling him up, an angel of death, or God himself, maybe. Who knows how that works. Nevertheless all that seemed very sad back then and he likes to imagine it every night and it was just a childish excuse to cry. Now he's older. Crying does nothing. And mother wouldn't be that childish, either. She's not a crybaby, and she wouldn't beg him to stay.

Right, especially now that she's busy. He finally heard that he's about to meet someone very important. He should stop worrying about this. It probably wouldn't feel anything different. No one would be looking, no one would watch it happen.

"Close the door, I want to speak with him alone."

That attendant agrees silently, and out comes his very important 'guest.'

The angry kid that's supposed to replace him looks so... pitiful, and just like him . He freezes, for a moment.

Like seeing the angel of death… Like watching himself from above.

He can't help but burst out laughing.

"Amazing! They did it, huh, they really found someone. Mother had truly done it." They're really serious about replacing him!

The tips of his fingers turn cold, so do his toes, and his chest constricts. His laugh had twisted the kid's face even more. This kid hates him. He hates being here so much. He really wants to jump at him and strangle him and he's not sure what to do.

" You ," the kid speaks, with a squeaky voice the Prince cringes at. He's horrified. Maybe as horrified as the Prince is. "I'm- I'm not doing it! I'm not going to accept this! I'm…"

Then the kid said, with venom in each breath, "... I look just like you."

"Exactly." This kid even has his eyes. Amber and... tells that he's about to punch him in the teeth. "We're catching up real well, I think."

"What even are you people," he asks. "What have you been doing here? How do you get to live like this?"

"I don't... What? Who knows?" He shrugs. Inside, that question ticks him. He feels like grinning. Scream something out loud. He's not sure what this excitement really is. "I've been here since I was born. I don't know what you want me to say."

The kid turns red. That hatred, he saw his reflection in it. It fits. He wants that anger. He wants to hate this much.

"Screw off then, I'm not spending my life pretending to be bunch of toffs like you." Strangely, the kid didn't end up attacking. He turns and leaves.

"Wait... huh. Buddy where are you going?" He calls out. "Back as a slave? Run away somewhere alone? Are you kidding? You're pathetic!"

The speed at which that kid turns back at him, he wants to laugh. " What did you say? "

The kid stomps right at him and grabs his collar and he could knock him out right there. He cracks up! For once in his life the Prince felt a spark of catharsis. There it is, that's the word.

That feral anger on my face, I want it badly.

Weakling, childish, crybaby. It's so pathetic to be born sick and dumb, watching all the King's other sons get to be princes. Maybe this is right, then. Maybe it won't end in a mess after all. Maybe mother is not going insane. Maybe this kid will be a better him.

The Prince answers. "I said , are you just going to go back to where you were? Really. Just because you're upset and jealous? You are going to be a prince, kid! and you'd rather go back into the mud!"

"Prince? Who cares about being a prince! I've never met any prince that matters to me. It means nothing to me and you've done nothing to me. It's all made up and stupid!"

"Oh, grow up." He shoves the kid off. "It's time to face it. You're going to be a candidate to the King's throne. No King ever cares about a slave before, but don't you see what I mean?" he grabs him and shakes him, so he'll understand. "If you hate it so much, wear this stupid title, take it up, use it to as you please, change the world however you want. Someone a step lower than the king has so much more power than someone deep down on the dirt. So much. It's all up to you. I'm giving you this place as I die. Do you understand?"

He turns silent, and the Prince let go. "Then... what if I do that, huh? Use it however I please... What if I use it to destroy this kingdom?"

"What do I care?" This kid is going off places. Can't say he didn't like him though. For a slave, he's impressively stubborn and critical. Smart. He'll do just fine. "I'll be dead."

If you think it's all so stupid that it's worth destroying, then it probably is.

The kid frowns. He doesn't make any move. The Fourth Prince smiles confidently, having successfully convinced this boy of his fate.

If it is still possible to watch, after all, from above, then he can't wait to watch this kid do whatever he pleases. Runs and kicks and screams in anger.

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

He is always locked in his bedroom, now.

But Leon secretly hands him the key. He'd walk outside still even if he'll get caught. Even if he turns lightheaded and his chest feels even more painful.

The clock rings and hums throughout the Palace. His footsteps misses the floors. There are loud, muffled music and conversations. He watches Leon from behind doors.

Leon always looks docile and nice. Always looks smart. Leon has been learning to read very slowly and to write with his right hand. The tutor came to see them both sometimes, and as if in constant horror, he gave us books to read while he lost all of his energy and strictness. Lost all of his age at once.

But this isn't what he wants to see. He wants Leon to be him . Not him. Not another dull day. Not another colorless sky. But he supposed they're both now forced under the same rules. And under the same name, and title. And they're about to be the same person.

Wearing his clothes, wearing his coat, his mantle, his lion crest. He's wearing everything.

And when Leon struts across the ballroom, under the chandeliers and stands besides his mother, besides the King, besides the other sons....

The door was pushed open and he saw a mirror. The reflection does not say a thing.

He spoke first, "You're having fun, aren't you?"

The sick boy speaks with Leon under the dim light of the moon. They hid themselves in the dark corners. The stark cold summer wind bursts freely across the balcony. His voice is cracking, but it's because of the cold.

"Fun?... I'm doing this for you." Leon said, with a frown. "It's not 'fun'. I feel out of place. And everyone is watching me."

"You look like you are." He shivers. He wraps his hands together. "Have fun out there. I would try and have fun. Prince Leon is a... chipper. And smart boy. Yeah."

His voice gradually turns smaller. Leon looks confused, and spoke to him carefully. "... Fine. Look, I'm trying. I'm scared to speak with the other sons. And the King doesn't... I don't know. I don't know how to speak..."

"Speak? That's it? Just speak to them like you speak to me. Is that so hard?" He sighed loudly. "Listen, no one likes these parties. It's noisy, tiring, and it's too bright. Everyone is playing pretend there too, not just you. Chill out and enjoy it."

"I said I'm trying . I just want to be a good Prince Leon."

A good Prince Leon... Why does he say it like that?

That name, that title, as if it's a Thing that's not him.

He looks at him and sees….

"Listen. You're doing well as Prince Leon. You're going to be so happy, kind and everyone is going to like you a lot." He smiles, because he has to smile right now.

Now Leon is staring at him. And he is… What does he call himself now, he wonders. The word 'Prince' suddenly feels dry like inhaling dust.

Leon shakes his head. "Don't say that. Don't expect too much. I don't know how to be happy and kind and… I don't know ." He threw his arms up. "I don't know what to do if you're not here with me!" he says. "I don't even feel like going in there again."

Leon wraps his cape around the sick kid's freezing body, because it really is cold. And he must be rattling his teeth. Oh, what is Leon even talking about? Leon doesn't need Leon here, Leon has to go back immediately… One of him, one of them. The 4th Prince.

He clutches his hair. Surely someone sees this too, right? It's not only him that thinks this is insane? Off kilter? That he's about to be acted out by this kid while he can go die and be forgotten?

Why is he thinking about this all over again? He's tired. He's very tired.

"Prince Leon? You're okay right?"

Leon's palm is warm, unlike the kid's.

"I'll be fine. Go back inside and… just enjoy your life, alright? No one's looking. No one is watching you."

Except the kid who will watch him from above, floating.

(Home)

#ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri leon #leon dompteur #ikepri fic

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okamixxiii · 1 year

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Elijah 01

Being on tumblr makes me wanna feel more homely and less professional and then I suddenly remember I can just like,, lore dump anytime I want and post out of a time schedule just like back in 2014. Anyways someone on Deviant Art asked about Elijah! So ill be chatting about him in this moment. Cant say today because LMAO Ill probably be back on here later talking about another oc.

I dont really talk about him as much as I should and I have very few content of him in it. Truth is I purposely dont really expand on him as much as to try and bend/taint his character that I fleshed out for him to be. Its something that happens quite often when I try to dive too deep and I find that by a fault a lot of my characters end up feeling the same-- to me at least. So its a preventative measure. Here IS what i have about him though: Elijah Alan Spence, Agent Spence, Code name Black Rabbit, or for some: Eli! He’s an elite agent that has worked his way up through T.K.E.A ranks (ill make a t.k.e.a thing later just check lore tag or somn before I actually decide to learn how to structure my text posts). Although he’s an elite agent dont think that his views align with what T.K.E.A is doing. Hes mostly a ‘good’ guy wrapped up in bad things type deal since I love doing that for some reason. The initial belief was that he could work his way up and change it that way but its clear that because of him being brought into the agency as only an agent that there was a dead end when it comes to working yourself up to more ceo levels. The highest you can go would be what he is; an elite. When he realized that was also when he realized that T.K.E.A basically silences any defective agents so there was no way to change things without getting himself murdered. So he was put in a space where he had to continue his job while figuring out how to fix things undercover. Unfortunately until Chris (when T.K.E.A really started fucking up) there wasnt anything that was really pushing him to just make the jump without thinking. Now I know that sounds weak ended on his part but let me explain something: Elijah was very very inspired by tah-dah!

BBC Sherlock! *1# on all time favorite and comfort shows to watch and HAS seen it 10 times in total. No, Im not joking.*

So if you picked up on this, congratulations! Here's a cookie. Now that means in this he has a very similar qualities as Sherlock Holmes that he cannot operate without thinking things through. Not until a time really calls for it. I am NOT saying that Christian Edens is his John, gods no. In fact his “john” actually was his partner (in the work sense) died at a job. Its just more or so the situation with Chris was a final straw, one that really made Elijah say ‘enough is enough!’. He may seem brief and brutally honest on the outside that often makes him come across as an asshole but on the inside he truly does have a heart for those in need and a drive to stride for something better for everyone. Its just he will be doing it in his own way and gods forbid if anyone tried to change his direction he laid out for himself. Hes very stubborn.

Elijah took the cards he was dealt with and made the absolute most of them of what he could. It just, wasnt enough at the time.

Hes highly intelligent, though bit rough around the edges when it comes to socialization. Like Sherlock again as his inspiration, he can make quick deductions but has a hard time keeping his mouth shut when he makes those deductions. Not everyone enjoys his honesty and way of ‘no bullshitting’. Just because he has a heart doesnt mean he isnt a bit egotistical at times either. Its just not all the time. its like “hey look at how smart I am!”. Other things to note is wow! Hes a rabbit shifter! His pronouns are he/him strictly and hes *sighs* straight. One of the very f e w ocs I have that are cishet. Though sometimes I do make some interesting hcs about him at least trying things. >_> Idk if ill put those here though. They are sexual in nature. LOL

#lore

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an-angel-in-the-garden · 2 years

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I’ve recently found your blog thanks to your Hellsing tags (it’s hard to find active Hellsing blogs that write up requests) and I want to say I’m a fan!

I’d like to request some headcanons of Alucard realizing he’s falling in love with someone ♥️ similar to that one shot you’ve already done with this request but can you also add some ways Alucard would also flirt with the person who caught his eye? After all, he would want to woo the person he grows strong feelings for ❤️💜

Thank you I'm glad you like my writing! I do love writing for Alucard so I'm happy whenever I get things for it. I hope this isn't to repetitive from my old one as I decided to make this what happens after so please enjoy! Kinda part one but not needed for this

After he realizes the depth of his feeling Alucard changes up his normal routine

No longer does he go off on his own after a mission was successful instead he come's to you hoping you might want to make sure he's okay or better yet that you would say you miss him again

Most spare time he has becomes time for him to be near you its not noticeable at first most the time his hidden away just watching you work and making sure you're okay

Slowly Alucard will begin to show himself more sometimes talking other times not its been a long time since he's truly cared for another like this so it will take time for any real flirting to start, once it does however it wont stop unless you say something

When Alucard flirts it will always start small he is not a man who rushes into personal matters no matter how confidant he might be about it

It starts with nicknames Alucard as is might call you a lamb and that wont change but every once in awhile he might shake things up Darling, Lovely, or Dear just to name a few and as time goes on his favorite become Moonlight or Starlight as to him you are a vision of beauty that shines the brightest at night

Gift are few and far between but they are always meaningful and from his trips more often then not however even before a relationship calls are frequent when he can make them

Any hobbies you might have are something he wants to learn about, any feelings or thoughts you have he loves to about them

Humanity is something he gave up on long ago but you make him see light again you are a person that makes him think humanity has hope

Alucard will begin heavy flirting once he's sure you have feeling for him as well so it might take time if you aren't an open person but worry not Alucard is happy to wait for the one he loves

Cheesy pick up lines dont happen much but if he knows you enjoy them Alucard will throw them in here and there

Most of his flirting is based on genuine compliments about what you do for him and the Hellsing Organization

How hard you work, how well you deal with things and the way you treat the people around you are all things that drew him in

Your appearance when working and when not are things he loves and should you need help with makeup, hair or outfits he's would love to take part if only to see you smile

Moonlight walks become common with him offering up his protection when ever you wish to walk in the night

Money has never been a problem for him and spoiling you is something he enjoys a great deal for Alucard his love even before your together deserves the world

Asking you out is what takes the longest and you would have been on many dates called hangouts more times then not before he makes a move

When he asks you out it will be very drawn-out a light talk to start the evening about things you like, a small gift he thinks you would like followed by him asking you to dinner

Something candle lit for you to enjoy in the basement he had nicely cleaned and finally as you both sit and talk he askes

"My dear lamb this past year has been the most amazing time for me I have enjoyed almost every moment and I would like to ask you to make then all even just as wonderful as now. Y/N would you allow me to become your lover?"

So I think this is one of my longest list of headcanons and I really hope you liked them and that this was close to the request! This took me quite awhile been struggling with keep my attention in one place but thank you for requesting and reading! -Lilly

#reader x #reader imagine #reader insert #x reader #hellsing x reader #hellsing imagines #alucard imagine #alucard x reader

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sapphirestuff · 2 years

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Sweet Valentine!

Synopsis: In which as tradition, you gave them your homemade chocolates for this sweet day!

Characters: Byakuya Togami, Chihiro Fujisaki, Makoto Naegi, Kiyotaka Ishimaru

Tags: valentine fic, time reverse! highschool!au, drabbles, dr thh boys, fluff, they/them chihiro

A/n: So i write this in where you are all hope's peak students, no despair just peaceful fluff👍 was about to write leon n mondo as well but i dont wanna stress myself too much sorry leon n mondo fans🙏

Byakuya has never taken any interest for these kind of festivities. He could even bought the entire chocolate factory all over the world, why bother have someone give him, right?

Even he has to run away from Fukawa because of it, hiding in a place he thought safe, never let his guard down the entire day, so you search a time when no one can interrupt him. You catched him while some girls are bothering Fukawa, so you have time!

On the library, as usual, reading what rich people read. You slowly approach him, taking a seat near him, while he does notice your presence, he doesn't even took a glance, continuing on his reading. You slowly slid your gift towards the book he was reading, covering the pages. "For you <3" was written above the box, suggesting a silent gesture.

You went back to what you were doing when he notice the gift. Denial struck him, maybe because he doesn't need to spend any money in it that he accept the gift, or that he does care deep inside. Either way, he slip the note from you and wrote his gratitude with how speechless he is.

The only thing left was a way to hide the present from Fukawa to not make things worse.

Yeah so everyone thought Chihiro was the girl, so normally they would be the one to give their crush the chocolate. So they're surprised that you're doing the same to them.

When you came up to them, they thought 'Right, I should give them the thing now..!' And that's when you hand them the box on your hand, panic caught them a little while 'Wait, why are they giving ME the chocolate here? Oh no... D-d-DID THEY KNOW-'

It was until you spoke out "I-i know that you're a girl and all, but I just thought of giving you some pretty endearing to me, so I decided to make some... ehe."

Oh. Ok. Thank god..

"I... Also wanted to give you this, y/n" As they smile innocently, thanking gods it turned sweeter than what they imagined.

Makoto has always been nice with others, including you. This lil sunshine can make things brighter, for example, your heart-

Like today, you caught him after school, "Naegi..!" You called out to him, he turns around, facing you. You hand him his present, "I hope you like it!"

Sure he loves it when someone give him something, but wether how you gave him his chocolate, he notices that the inside of the package...

is full of air, with just a fragment hint of the sweet chocolate was there.

"O-oh.. T-thanks, y/n.. the chocolates seems.. delicious..!" He smiles through the pain. That's just how his luck works it seems.

Taka sees a lot of students being more lovestruck than usual, going on dates after school, giving chocolates, literally just all over each other than usual. Which struck him "Just what are these 'giving guys chocolate' means?"

That's when you pass by him by the hallways, you forgot to put your chocolate for your 'someone' so you carry it along.

"Hold right there, y/n!" Taka shouts as he caught you, you froze immediately in front of him. "May I see what you are carrying around?" in a demanding tone. God you were so embarrassed, you were planning to put your gift in his locker, not to the person itself, just because this will most likely happen.

Well, you have no choice, you handed the gift to him. He inspect it closely, every nook and cranny, and further ask "Why are you giving someone this? They can just buy one for themselves" like he doesn't know who you want to give it to, until he saw a note that reads his name on the back of the gift.

"Wait, so, you're giving this to me?" He clears himself, his once big talk about how useless this activity was now too stunned to speak. You nod, shyly, as well. "O-oh, then... Y-you don't need to, you can take this ba-" "Please? Just have it?"

Noticing the awkward atmosphere, he has no choice huh? "W-well then, thank you for this..." He cover his redden cheeks as he put your gift in his pocket.

#shapphire; writes #danganronpa trigger happy havoc #danganronpa imagines #danganronpa #dr thh x reader #byakuya x reader #byakuya togami #byakuya togami x reader #dr1 chihiro #chihiro fujisaki #chihiro fujisaki x reader #makoto naegi #danganronpa makoto #makoto naegi x reader #kiyotaka x reader #danganronpa kiyotaka #kiyotaka ishimaru #kiyotaka ishimaru x reader

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jangofctts · 3 years

Text

Thing for Trouble (boba fett x fem!reader x din djarin) (part one) (part two) (part three) (part four)

Rated: explicit 18+

word count: 7.6k

warnings: threesome, smut, thigh riding, oral female receiving, handjobs, unprotected sex (dont be a deadbeat, wrap that shCMEAT), light choking, throne fucking, vaginal fingering, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampies, pet names, sub? din? more likely than you think (also lmk if I missed any tags!)

a/n: yall im sorry this is such garbage but kjkwejh here we be. I hOPE YOU ENJOY THE CIRCUS. thank you to everyone who’s encouraged this so COME GET YALLS MANDO MEAT

There isn’t much when he it comes to Tatooine and fun things to do. There’s pod acing, drinking, Sabaac tourneys, more podracing, gambling and scavenging. Unless there’s a festival or some wild event, you’re stuck with boredom and whatever you can scrounge up for fun in the palace.

Now, don’t get it wrong—if you had it your way, you’d spend every waking hour trialing behind Boba, but you don’t want to smother. Fennec too—while you enjoy her company, you know that half of the reason she sticks around is Boba’s order for your protection. Kinda ruins the fun when you know she probably only tolerates you because she’s being paid to. Eh whatever—doesn’t stop you from tagging along on as she runs errands in town—besides, today you actually have a reason to be here instead of loitering like a lost puppy.

Fennec tells you to be safe and com her the second trouble rears its ugly head and disappears into the weapons shop—muttering about her prized rifle being jammed or something. You don’t know, all you hear is that you have the entire afternoon to yourself to hunt down your oh so elusive prize. Star cherries.

The markets are always vibrant. Jam packed with people from each and every corner of the galaxy, hundreds of booths and stalls selling their wares that varies from foods to jewelry to even bounty services. Tempting as is it is to peruse the sparkly rows of dainty necklaces and rings or inspect the vast array of beige ponchos and manilla undershirts—you have a purpose. A once a year chance you refuse to let go to waste.

The shabby booth is tucked near the end of the street, the mountain of the little red fruits looking comical compared to the withered old lady who sits beside them. She flashes you a gap-toothed smile, the crowfeet wrinkles surrounding her eyes scrunch with the movement. “Ah! I was wondering when you’d show, dear.”

“Hello, Mrs. Feraan,” you greet, bending at the was it to kiss her wrinkly cheek. The old vender was one of the first kind souls you met here when you arrived on Tatooine. In return for a couple compliments or an offer to be the lab rat to test her new recipes for pie or tarts, she hooks you up with the best of the cherries—handpicked with love. “How’s business today?”

She waves her hand in dismissal, her silver rings glinting in the sun. “Same as always, child.”

Eventually you work your way through the pleasantries and a couple, long winded tangents. The sort that only old people can flawlessly spin and keep you engaged. Trials and tribulations to earn your prize—you don’t mind sacrificing a couple hours.

Finally you’re allowed to walk away—cherries in hand and exceedingly eager for your sweet snack. Unfortunately, suffering through Mrs. Feraan’s old childhood laments is not the only bump in the road you have to face.

Granted, it is your fault—not looking where your feet are taking you—

Your temple crashes into something agonizingly hard. You swear you hear a quiet bonk when your skull collides with the mystery material and fucking hell—you probably have a concussion from the force of it.

Unbothered by your probable brain injury, you’re far more concerned with the cherries spilling onto the ground and so, as you flail and dramatically topple over—the brunt of your fall is cushioned by your shoulder. Something pops and yeah, ok, maybe you just tore a ligament but—kriffing worth it for the cherries you miraculously saved from their dusty graves.

Your temper flares as you spot the dirty brown boots pointed in your direction. Maneuvering yourself up so you don’t also get trampled by the crowd, you bare your teeth and put on your best impression of a terrifying force of nature despite the fact you’ve been knocked flat on your ass. “What the fuck—“

The words shrivel up and die upon your tongue as your eyes slide up the stranger’s legs, broad shoulders sporting the shiny armor that twinkles in the midday suns. They then settle on an all too familiar helmet. Well, sorta—you’re familiar with a certain red and green one, not the equivalent of a wearable disco ball.

You squint as the stranger’s head dips to look at you crumpled at his feet. You dust yourself off and point an accusing finger. “Fuck is your problem standing in the middle of the road?”

The stranger quirks their head. “You ran into me—maybe you should watch where you’re stepping.”

The raspy voice is a striking sound. Mellow and silky even as it passes through the vocoder and dresses it in static charm. Some of your anger melts away—maybe this is the friend Boba was talking about—it’d make sense. They’re wearing the same type of armor…

You shake your head and shove down your pride. You don’t think Boba would appreciate you chewing his ear off. “Sorry—you’re right.”

As you readjust your clothes and precious cherries you introduce yourself with a tiny smile. Yet just as you're about to ask him his name he interjects with a step forward. You flinch away but all he does is sweep back a strand of hair from your forehead, revealing a little nick in the skin. You hiss as his fingertips scrape against it--great, an actual head wound. “Are you alright?”

Maker—here you are, after yelling at him and he finds it in him to be compassionate. You wave away his concerns. “Y-yeah--peachy.”

He apologizes with a dip of his head and words soaked in regret and fuck--now you feel bad. You wrack through your brain and search for last ditch attempts to fix this little mishap and settle with a half baked idea. It’s dumb--but hey, if it works, it works.

“Seriously, it’s fine. But I mean, if you’re so worried, how about you walk me home and we call it even?” You propose, sticking out your hand to seal the deal. If your assumptions are right, he’d just be tailing you the whole way home anyway. “I’m headed towards the palace, so if it’s not too much out of your way then—“

He hesitates and interrupts by taking your hand. “Alright. Deal.”

You smile. “Lovely.”

On the return trip, Din is quiet—tells you his name and responds to your conversation fillers with interested hums—but other than that he remains on the silent end. Intriguing with a rounded softness unlike the armor he wears--a man of mystery much like a certain someone who awaits you back home. Well--Din is less grumpy--by a long shot...but still. It’s easy to spot some of their shared similarities.

-=-=-=-

Upon arriving at the castle you part ways with Din before he reaches the throne room--you’re not too excited about showing off your new battle scar yet and while it was an accident, making an entrance with Din will make it far too easy to link the injury with him. Besides, you don’t wanna risk scaring off your new friend if Boba decides to showcase that tightly sealed lid of anger and brutality.

Instead you take the long way around the palace. Soon, muffled voices carry through the long corridors, growing louder as you work your way back from the kitchens. You round the corner, catching glimpses of Boba and your new friend through the pillars that prop up the low ceiling. You don’t meant to spy, but you do so anyway, hesitant on interrupting.

That is...until Boba cocks his head to the side and settles his eyes onto the pillar you hide behind. “It seems we have a little shadow with us today.”

You suck in a breath as your heart skips in a thrumming pace. Boba addresses you by name and crooks his fingers in a lazy motion for you to step out into the light—revealing yourself to the small party of two. “Come here, little one.”

The low light catches off of Din’s helmet with a glittering sparkle when he swivels his head. The tiny, warped figure of yourself reflects in mirror-like pieces of smelted beskar as his shoulders pull tight with recognition. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep the smile that threatens to crack across your face at bay. Boba is no fool—he excels in the subtleties of shifting eyes and clenched fists to hide anxiety or closely guarded information—sickeningly familiar with your own quirks and tells, but—

There’s no reason to reveal Din’s little secret—not yet. Boba called him a friend but you truly have no clue what the depths of that word entailed. Friend could mean anything from a casual acquaintance, to an old childhood bond, and or anything in between. You sigh and brush past him, mentally congratulating yourself for keeping a cool mask of indifference etched into your features. If Din wants to open that can of worms then so be it—you weren’t the one offering to walk random people home.

You step onto the dais and slide your free hand into Boba’s outstretched palm. The worn leather tickles up your forearm and locks over your elbow, silently demanding you to sit on his lap. There’s plenty of room to both sit on the throne but no—Boba prefers you tucked against the cool metal of his cuirass. You grunt as the bowl of star cherries you cradle dangerously dips when Boba adjusts your weight over his thighs.

His fingers pull back a strand of your hair, tucking it behind your ear and then spider along your jawline. The ends of his mouth quirk as Boba pinches your chin between his forefinger and thumb, capturing your undivided attention. “I don’t like it when you lurk in the shadows, little one. You’re allowed to listen.

You huff. “I know—but lurking is fun.”

Boba releases your chin with a scoff. “Foolish, girl.” You dip your chin with a sheepish grin as heat rushes to your cheeks. You briefly forget about the tiny nick adorning your right temple, the only thing you were trying to keep hidden—but Boba is all too quick to notice. “What is this?”

He pushes your hair out of the way of the cut, inspects it, then curls his fingers around your jaw to demand an answer. You refuse to let your eyes wander over to Din—what a dead giveaway that would be—and instead muster up enough courage to hold the weight of his stare.

“I tripped at the markets,” you say—not a complete lie. “It’s just a little scratch—no biggie.”

Boba squints in suspicion and grumbles a soft hm. You feel his chest rise and fall with a deep sigh—he won’t argue about it right now. Not a battle worth his while when you’re keen on keeping the full truth behind a wall of teeth and anxieties. Boba’s hand falls away, gestures to Din who still stands stiffer than a stature, then lays it over the golden armrest. “I’m sure you’ve noticed our guest—“

Din tips his head in acknowledgement.

“The rightful ruler of Mandalore,” Boba continues. “Din Djarin.”

Din Djarin…despite already knowing his name (or half of it, at least) you like the way it rolls off the tongue—like how it’s seemingly made to be repeated and carved into the walls of some ancient script. Your knowledge on all things Mandalorian is…limited to say the least but you know enough about the rumors.

“Isn’t Mandalore supposed to be haunted?” You don’t mean for your words to be a pointy jab to the ribs but regardless, it strikes a tender chord within the Mandalorian. You wince as Din shifts his weight and clenches his palm—a long story. “Sorry—I—I’m sure your home is lovely, all I know about it are dumb ghost stories about evil wizards and laser swords.”

The blood under your cheeks burn red hot. Great. Not only are you a complete bantha brain, you’ve also managed to sound like an impudent child. Boba soothes a thumb over your thigh as you curl into yourself—bastard. He thinks this is funny.

“It’s not my home,” Din responds, albeit tentatively. “Never been.”

Your brows furrow. Alrighty then.

Boba snorts and shakes his head. He mutters something in Mando’a and lazily waves his hand, dismissing the line of conversation entirely. It was turning into a dumpster fire anyway—

With a slow exhale, you remove yourself from the discussion and instead tuck your head under Boba’s chin. The beskar is cold against your cheek but it feels nice against the sweltering midday heat.

Their conversation fades in and out as you rest your head over Boba’s cuirass, listlessly picking through the bowl of fruit for the ripest ones. You sigh—the next cherry you bring up to your lips is intercepted as Boba’s hand clamps around your wrist and redirects it into his own mouth. You don’t find it in you to be grumpy about the stolen treat when Boba’s tongue slides over your sticky fingers. Still holding your wrist captive, he sucks the tip of your thumb into the warm heat of his mouth and curls his tongue around the digit. Your index finger is given the same treatment before your hand is returned. The beginnings of arousal spark to life below your belly, and fuck—that shouldn’t have been so…so…hot.

Din’s smoky baritone fades into background noise as the entirety of your attention zero’s in on Boba’s mouth. You purse your lips and suck in a shaky breath, then return your hand to the bowl to fish out another fruit. You don’t need any guidance this time around as you bring the cherry to his mouth—the crimson juice spilling down your palm and part of your arm as his teeth pierce the fragile skin. You breath hitches as Boba dips his head, catching the bead of liquid running down your arm with the tip of his tongue, then swiping s a slow trail up, and over the lines of your palm. He plants a careful kiss there, then breaks away.

Before you have the chance to reach for another one, Boba plucks a cherry from the bowl and rests it against the seam of your lisp, inviting you to partake in this little game he’s created. A wicked smirk curls over his mouth as you accept—the tart flavor of the fruit spilling over your tastebuds as you chew and swallow. A little wine escapes you as his leather-clad thumb rolls over your bottom lip, bushes past the barrier of your teeth and seats the digit into your mouth—all the way down to the third knuckle.

You hardly notice the moment Din’s voice tapers off into silence—much too enraptured with the taste of leather and the smooth feel of it over your tongue. You gag slightly when Boba’s thumb reaches the back of your throat, then retreats just as slow. The string of saliva that still connects the digit to your wet mouth, drips over your chin and part of your lip, eliciting a jagged, echoey breath that crackles through Din’s vocoder.

Boba grins—something that better belongs on a sneering jackal just about to pounce on unsuspecting prey with needle sharp talons, rather than his face. His eyes drift up to address his guest. “Do you see something you like, Mand’alor?”

Din’s head jerks, averting his gaze to anywhere but the throne. He murmurs a weak apology and shifts his weight to his other leg—acting as if he were to look at you a second time, it’d burn him to a crisp or force him to confront Boba Fett’s wrath. Obviously, neither thing would happen, but Din still remains unsure with his foothold in this situation.

“I see how you look at her,” Boba drawls—not an accusation, just a statement brought to light. Boba’s hand drops to your thigh, the warm weight of it resting just past your knee as Din swallows his nerves and returns his gaze. “It’s alright—a pretty little thing like her is bound to turn heads.”

A blush hotter than wildfire licks up your cheeks as Din nods in agreement. “She’s beautiful…you’re a lucky man.”

Boba’s grip on your thigh hoards you closer to his chest. He is and he’s fully aware of that fact, but there’s no need to admit such a thing when it’s so blatantly obvious. A lull in the conversation creates a palpable tension—nervous energy and a choice to let this is fade into nonexistence or…or breathe life into that flickering ember of unsaid desires.

Your heart leaps into your throat when Boba shatters the silence and addresses you. “You’re awfully quiet, princess…what do you think?”

He’s placing whatever this is into your hand and leaving you to call the shots. You’ve always been a troublemaker and there’s no will or way as to why you’d stop now. You look between your lover and Din as a smile curls over your face. “I think…if he’s so interested—why not give him a show? After all, he did bring me home—he deserves some reimbursement for the trouble.”

Boba’s shoulders jolt with a chuckle. “How chivalrous.” You shiver as he strokes the back of his finger down your cheek. “Fine, as you wish, little one—go play.”

Giddy excitement bubbles through your chest as Boba offers Din to take a seat on the edge of the dais. Din still has an option to escape, to slip through the cracks and pretend this never happened—but stars, you hope he stays. Din takes a step forward, then another—and another until he’s standing before the throne. He studies the raised edge and gingerly takes a seat.

You abandon your bowl of cherries onto the forearm of the throne and slip off Boba’s lap. You drift over to Din, his gloved fingers clenching and unclenching as they rest over his thigh plating. He’s purposefully avoiding your eye as you kneel beside him—still locked onto that niggling fear that this could be some sort of trick or test in resolve.

Smiling sweetly, you skate your hand over his knuckles—guiding his large palm to your waist and then under and up your loose shirt and bra. Din mutters a curse as you place his palm over your breast. “I’m glad you stayed.”

Pleased with his reaction, you peel off your shirt and bra, breath hitching as Din pinches your nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “Same—I think…”

With a bit more bravery backing his movements, Din pulls away briefly, shucks off his gloves and encompasses both your breasts. They’re warm and calloused, riddled with silvery scars that stand out against his brown skin, a storybook of past battles—won and lost—all equally important to the fibers of his being that stitch him together into a whole. His hand whispers down the length of your ribcage, no doubt feeling the thrum of your heart beating wildly against the cartilage and bone. It tickles over the swell of your hips then—

“You said you wanted to give him a show,” Boba drawls behind you, a sharp twinge of hostility lacing his words. “So enjoy the show, Mand’alor, ’nd keep your hands to yourself."

Din recoils at the verbal reprimand and drops his hands speedier than a flash of lightning. You frown and throw a glare over your shoulder. Bastard. Boba quirks a brow and runs his thumb over his lip, the edged sparkle in his dark eyes taunting you into challenging him. You huff and turn a cold shoulder.

“Sorry, Din,” you purr, scrounging up any and all back up plans to keep you both entertained. “Seems my king isn’t as generous I thought.”

Din withers a bit at the catty remark, keeping his lips sealed tight as Boba growls your name in warning. You don’t pay him any mind.

You puff up your cheeks and release the air in a steady stream, as your eyes scrape over Din’s armored thigh. Ok—you can work with that. It wouldn’t be breaking any rules…not technically. You step away, paw at your waistband and let the breezy fabric pool over around your ankles, your underwear quickly joining the pile.

Now bare, you return to Din’s side, his careful inhale distorted into choppy static as you straddle his thigh. He lifts both hands, intending to grab at your waist, but pauses midair. No touching. You lips tilt with a smirk as he clenches his fists and pins his hands to the cool stone instead, an attempt to curb that urge to reach for you. His shoulders knit together when you mold your hand in the gap between his shoulder pauldron and cuirass to give yourself some sort of balance—obviously not used to a soft touch.

You lower yourself and hiss through clenched teeth. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps rush up each limb as the wet warmth of your cunt meets the frigid beskar—the chill much colder than you initially expected. It’s one thing to touch the beskar with an open palm and another thing entirely to feel against such an intimate part of yourself. Din’s visor drops to look between your legs as you give your hips an experimental roll.

It’s different. You’re used to hardened muscle and fabric, or your own fingers while pleasuring yourself. Your breath hitches as Din’s thigh twitches, the smelted seam of the cuisse bumping against your throbbing clit.

“Sorry,” Din mumbles, “Didn’t mean—“

“It’s ok,” you smile, rocking your hips to ease into the sensation. “Just surprised me.”

The pace you set is slow, careful not to overwork your nerves as your arousal blooms and metastasizes like simmering coals low in your groin. With each lecherous pull of your cunt against his thigh, the beskar begins to warm to the temperature of your skin—the wetness between your thighs abating the friction and making the surface slippery. A low gasp escapes you once you find the right ridge and angle that just grinds perfectly against your aching clit. Your fingers dig into the cowl of Din’s cloak.

“Shit—feels good.” Like your voice and little moans jumpstart Din’s ability to move, his large hand drifts to the front of his trousers—an already sizable bulge tenting the dark brown fabric. You squeak as Din's leg jolts for a second time, a burst of dizzying ecstasy wracking up your spine with the choppy movement.

You suck in another raspy breath as your attention drops to his hand that cups his cock and palms himself through his trousers. You chew your bottom lip and clench your fist gripping his cowl, still gyrating your hips over the beska as Din hooks his thumb into his waistband and pulls them down, slow as molasses.

Fucking hell—he’s bigger than you initially imagined. Flushed a rosy brown, and half hard already, twitching as Din wraps his fingers around the thick length. Din lifts his head, gauging your interest or disapproval—but kriff—who the fuck would ever be unhappy with that sorta heat he’s packing? You bite your bottom lip, scouring your brain for ideas to convince Boba into letting you taste Din—but your plotting is abruptly cut short.

Boba sits up and off the throne, his presence looming over your shoulder as he lowers to one knee. You shiver and arch your neck, exposing more of your vulnerable throat as Boba runs the fingertip of his pointer finger down the side of your cheek. “Are you enjoying yourself, princess?”

You nod, eyes fluttering shut as Boba opens his palm and cradles your jaw. You groan and roll your head back onto your shoulders as Boba snakes one hand around your hip and jolts you forward and down—disrupting the slow rock with a catastrophic interference. Unrefined bolts of plasma shoot up your spine as desire licks up thighs—you need more.

Boba dips his head and nuzzles into the crook of your neck. You grunt when his teeth sink into your flesh, worrying a bruise into your skin. Boba laves his tongue over the throbbing area, then licks a wet trail up to the shell of your ear, all the while you continue to grind on Din’s thigh. Boba nibbles your earlobe and whispers your name—the sound sweeter than any symphony could ever hope to make. Like smoke over deep water or the surging crackle of energy just before a thunderstorm high up in the mountains.

“You’re allowed to touch…” he says with a rough chuckle. “Go on.”

Your noise of agreement is quickly muffled as Boba interrupts you with a feverish kiss—all open mouthed and breathless as his tongue curls around yours. Your chest heaves for precious air as Boba retreats just as abruptly as it began. With a satisfied smirk ghosting over his lips, he taps you below the chin and returns to his throne to continue observing.

Dropping your eyes between Din’s legs, his cock, hardened to its full glory and held casually in his calloused hand, is truly a sight. Your pulse thrums in your ears as Din rolls his wrist and pumps his length, the velvety skin shifting over what looks like fucking beskar underneath. It strains towards his navel as you watch with wide eyes, mesmerized with the way he touches himself.

Rolling your bottom lip between your teeth, you touch your hand to his wrist. Din shudders like your skin is made of sizzling embers that’s broken off the tail end of shooting star—like you’re something too luminous and dangerous to be handled by someone like him. You lift your gaze, smiling into that darkened void of the visor and gracing him with a toothy smile. “Will you let me touch you, Din?”

He nods and utters a breathy yes.

Fuck yeah.

Din sucks in a stuttered breath when your hand circles around his thick length. His hips jolt into your palm as you slide your fist to the base then all the way back up. Precum beads over the tip, dribbling down and coating your knuckles with sticky wetness. It eases some of that friction as you fall into an easy rhythm, matching your rocking hips with each pump of his cock.

Din’s stuttered moans fill the small space between you, dragging you closer to your release that’s suddenly so close. He whines as you abandon his length to chase after your high, your arousal leaking from your center and dripping down the sides of the beskar. Din takes his cock into his hands, fisting himself to your little show of breathy wines and rough jerking of your hips over his thigh.

Din says your name attached with a broken moan and it’s over—

Everything seizes up tighter than a jaw clamp as your tumble off that jagged peak of searing, white hot pleasure. It’s raw, sparking off like a blade to metal, burning you from the inside out as you cum. Your cunt clenches around nothing, your thighs shaking as you curl inward as if he punched you in the fucking gut. It feels like he did. Maker—the cool beskar against your throbbing clit is like you’ve been thrown to the mercies of an electrical surge.

It doesn’t help either that Din is still pumping his length, hips stuttering as he brings himself to his own euphoric high. The air in your lungs seizes when a fragile groan, light and airy passes through the vocoder. Din rocks his hips into his fist, once—twice and then he’s throbbing and cumming into his hand. Hot ropes of his release splatter up his chest plate and parts of your thighs, his helmet nearly knocking into you as he hunches foreword from the intensity of it.

Too exhausted to keep yourself upright, you smash your cheek against his cuirass, involuntarily twitching as the last little waves of pleasure prickle through the rest of your nerves. You whine as you watch Din move his hand to collect some of your wetness coating his thigh. He brings two fingers stained with your slick to the lip of his helmet, pushes it up with his thumb just far enough to sink the two digits into his mouth. He groans out a quiet fuck, and repeats the action, swiping his fingers through the mess you’ve made and feeding it to himself. Your cunt clenches as you catch a sliver of his pink tongue that twists between his thick fingers.

He groans and rolls his head back onto his shoulders. “Please—can I taste you? Fuck—I-I need my mouth on you.”

Stars—the mere idea of it stokes the dwindling flames into a blaze of want. You look up at Boba and puff out your bottom lip. Pouting and begging hardly ever gets you what you want under normal circumstances—Boba Fett is more stubborn than a rancor—but you hope just this once he’ll be lenient.

Boba holds out his gloved hand—summoning you to his lap without a lick of protest on your end. Din however makes a sound akin to a whimper when you leave him. Boba gathers you in his arms for the second time, the leather a strange sensation as it spiders down your ribcage and around your hips. You can feel his hardness poking into your backside once you settle against him—his chest plate a cold shock to your naked flesh. You shiver and bury your nose into the crook of his neck, poking your tongue out to taste him. Boba’s cock twitches under you as your teeth sink into him with a cheeky nip.

“Is that what you want, little one?” Boba rumbles in question. His right hand glides lower, grabbing a handful of your thigh and squeezing. You groan and keen out a whine of affirmation.

Boba cocks his head towards Din. “Well? You’ve got your wish—don’t keep her waiting.”

Din shakily stands—hesitating with removing his helmet for enough time that you notice the silence that follows. The vocoder crackles as Din sighs. “Do you trust her?”

“With my life.” Boba states it without a second thought. Your heart twists, golden light spilling from your lungs and staining your insides with devotion and fuzzy affection. You press a soft kiss over Boba’s jaw.

“Is she…” Din speaks a word in Mando’a you have no hope to decipher—either no direct translation or he’s purposefully left you in the dark.

Based on the way Boba almost imperceptibly tenses, you guess the latter. Boba responds with a grunt and an unsure dip of the chin. The answer is complicated—that much you can gather…you push it to the back of you brain for now.

Din nods, inhales, and steels his nerves. Plastering his hands around the shiny helmet, he tugs it off with a slow reveal of dark, patchy facial, plush lips and wavy brown hair that falls around his olive skin. And oh, his eyes—soft chestnut brown eyes that hold such ache within them—lost things, broken bones, wearing his wounds like decoration upon his chest. Forged in the flames of war, risen from the ashes with murder and mercy rolled into one.

You wish him a kinder future. One that doesn’t end with pain and a blaze of an unchecked wildfire—the same way how all heroes end up as martyrs.

Though—right now—you can be the beginning of softer things for Din. You smile and invite him closer, a vortex of anxiety peppered with arousal as his eyes flit over your naked body. He sets his helmet to the side with care and drifts to the foot of the throne—fuck, he’s broad. Why hadn’t you noticed that before?

Your mental berating is severed when cool air meets the wet heat of your cunt as Boba hooks your thighs over his knees, spreading you wide as far as your hips allow. Din’s unfiltered moan at the sigh of you, sends a volt of electricity through every vein. Din lowers himself to one knee, and then the other, shuffling between yours and Boba’s legs.

“Can I touch?” He asks, soft brows raising in question.

Boba lazily raises two fingers in a motion of permission. Your chest tightens at the sight of Din’s boyish grin—warm palms settling over the sharp bend of your knees. His thumbs trace soothing circles over the skin and right as Din decides to swoop down, Boba catches him by the hair atop his head and yanks. Din grunts—the long, arched line of his neck a tempting sight as he swallows. “No marks.” Din’s jaw clenches, but nonetheless, he agrees to Boba’s command.

Boba hums in satisfaction and untangles his fingers from the mess of Din’s soft curls. Din’s brows pinch together for half a tick but smooth out in the next breath. No use being irritated—especially right now.

As directed, Din leaves not a scratch. Instead he scrapes the blunt edges of his teeth along the insides of your thighs, threatening to catch soft flesh between them—but he knows better than to act on the urge. He laves his warm tongue over each freckle or blemish he finds, leaving no patch of skin undiscovered as licks a steady trail to his prize. Din mouths a warm kiss over the crease of your thigh, and smooths his calloused hands over your hips, settling for a moment to trace little circles with his thumbs onto the soft protrusion of bone there. Seemingly satisfied, he then shifts them closer to your aching cunt. His hot breath fans over your cunt as he uses his thumbs to glide through your folds, almost curious with his exploration. He makes a little hum of appreciation low in his throat when the pads of his thumbs part your soaking folds.

You whimper and bury your face into the crook of Boba’s neck, his warm palms a much needed comfort as they tickle down your ribcage, then sweep back up to cup your tits. You cry and arch— Din’s tongue is scalding—like liquid velvet as he dips the tip of his tongue from the base of your cunt all the way up to your clit. Din sucks on the little bundle of nerves, rolling his tongue until you’re crying out, molten pleasure zipping through your abdomen. He grunts as your fingers tangle into his hair—kriff.

Fuck, you need more.

Arching into his mouth, all thoughts are transfigured and molded into a vicious loop—beginning with those adoring brown eyes, the color of freshly tilled earth and the warmth of sunlight over dappled aspen leaves in the balmy summer afternoons. It ends with soft lips—rose petal pink with devotion crystallizing in his mouth like sugar—madness and uncertainty and lovesick desire is all that he is and you’re not sure if you’ll come out of this unscathed.

He sinks two deliciously thick fingers into your clenching hole and curls them, only to retract them a moment later to shovel more of your wetness onto his tongue—as if simply using his mouth wasn’t enough for him. Like he needs to savor every drop of your arousal like the golden ambrosia the gods feast upon in their palaces of cloud and endless twilight.

That frenzied desperation lingers on the edges of his movements like he’s afraid you’ll fade away like a hand through fog—but you’re going nowhere. You’d stay here, suspended in time forever if the choice were up to you.

You whine and arch off Boba’s chest plate as Din strokes and curls his fingertips, plucking little gasps and moans from you easier than breathing. He zeros in on that little spot that makes your leg go all jittery and forces out high pitched mewls that echo through the throne room. You’re careening towards another high, the sensitivity of your last orgasm amping up the influx of pleasure.

“Stars—Din. Close—I’m so close,” you gasp, pulling his hair tight enough that you know it must sting—at least a little bit. He makes no sign that it does, just groans and buries his tongue into your dripping hole, licking alongside his fingers that shovel more of your wetness into his mouth.

Your release zips through your body like a flash flood—quick and fatal that leaves you gasping for air and struggling not to let your head dip below the waves. Your high seeps into each limb until they feel heavier than lead. Fuck—it’s so hard to work through the muddled thought and remember where exactly you are. You groan and toss your head back as Din keeps going.

“Another one—let me—“ He moans, opening his mouth as wide as it’ll go so he can devour more of you. You can feel the mixture of saliva and your own arousal dripping down your cunt and over your thighs, some of it pooling on the throne or onto the floor. Your thighs shake as Din pushes you towards another high.

You squeak as Boba’s palm sweeps up your sternum, locking his fingers around your throat in a loose hold. The tip of his nose nuzzles into your cheek—silently demanding a well earned kiss as his hips rock into your ass, grinding his cock for the barest scrap of friction. You moan into his mouth as Din doubles his efforts, raw and bordering that serrated edge of overstimulation and ecstasy.

Goosebumps rush over your arm as Boba places his lips right beside the shell of your ear. You feel the sticky heat of his breath fan over your throat and shoulder, and the way his lips skim your ear when they move to form the syllables of his words. “Such a filthy princess…”

You clench around Din’s fingers and moan a half garbled, “Boba—“

His weathered palm encompasses the entirety of your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his forefinger and thumb. “If only you could see yourself…dripping all over my throne and another man’s tongue.” Boba clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “Depraved creature—cum for your rightful king.”

Wildfire chars your insides as it begins in your core and sweeps through your body. Tears prick the corner of your eyes as you buck and squirm in their arms—no mercy as the prickly waves of your orgasm make you hypersensitive to each touch. Even the hold on your hip, while innocent in nature, is blistering as if you suffered from a fever. You shudder as a salty tear rolls down your cheek. Boba catches it with his tongue as your ears pick up Din’s raspy praise—thanking you while spattering reverent kisses up your thighs.

Struggling to keep your eyes open, you do spot the apparent wetness soaking through the front of Din’s trousers. Fuck—he—he came again while eating you out. You whimper and rest the back of your head over Boba’s shoulder.

Your belly flinches under his scratchy facial hair as Din travels up, seizing and worshiping every inch he’s freely given before intercepted. He catches your nipple between your teeth, tugs a bit then moves to the other, lavishing equal attention with adoring lips and sweet whispers. When he reaches your collarbone, you’re boxed in against his chest plate and Boba’s. A blush blooms under your cheeks hotter than stare fire as Din gingerly sucks your earlobe into his mouth and breathes out a muted moan of your name—committing the very essence of you to his memory for the rest of his days.

Your heart squeezes tight like a clenched fist when he mumbles another thank you. Plucking up a smidge of courage, he risks planting a kiss right on the corner of your mouth. You blink—despite the sweetness of the gesture you wince as Boba snarls a curt phrase in Mando’a. Din peels himself away with a minuscule frown and slinks away.

Yet before you have the chance to remedy the situation of wounded pride and territorial jealousy—Boba tightens his hold on your hips and flips you both, so that now your back is smashed against the seat of the throne, a bit crumpled and sorta folded in half. Your hips hang off the edge as Boba holds the majority of your weight, grinding his clothed cock between the apex of your thighs.

“Don’t forget, princess—” Boba barks, slithering a hand up the column of your throat. You breath hitches as he lightly presses his palm down. “—what belongs to me.”

Reaching between you, he slides his gloved fingers through your slick folds and sinks two of them inside of your clenching center. You jolt as his thumb scrubs over your clit, still sensitive and edging towards too much.

“You want me to fuck you here?” He asks, shifting his hold to grip your jaw instead—the rounds of his fingertips digging firmly into the flesh and bone. “Say it.”

You gasp and scrabble weakly at Boba’s shoulders as he grinds the heel of his palm into your clit. “Please, Boba! Please fuck me—I need it.”

Boba folds over you, his breath fanning hot and hungry against your cheek. He devours your mouth with a discordant edge, like he’s trying to prove to the entire galaxy you are unmistakably his despite the fact you’re already wound so tightly around his fingers. Boba wrenches himself free and tears at his robe and trousers to free his thick length, leaking and flushed a rosy brown at the tip. He doesn’t keep either of you waiting as he removes his fingers and replaces them with something bigger.

You both groan as he lines himself up with your entrance and sinks into you, a delicious stretch that leaves you shivering beneath him. “Fuck—so wet for me.”

The first roll of his hips makes an obscene noise that showers shame down your throat, but it’s quickly kicked to the back of your brain as he slams back into your cunt—obliterating all thoughts save for him. Boba’s lip curls over his teeth as he claws at your thighs and yanks them over his shoulder, crushing you even further between the throne and the weight of his body. Each stroke is a liquid fire, tearing you apart at the seems while at the same time stitching you back together and leaving your body begging for more. Like this, it’s as if he’s reaching the deepest part of you, pounding into your cunt and hitting every nerve with deadly precision. Your legs prickle with the stretch as you squirm beneath him, stuck with the brunt of rough thrusts and violent stamina with nowhere to go.

“Bein’ such a good girl for me." He hums into the juncture of where your neck meets your shoulders. He sucks a mark there and tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of you neck, forcing you into a steeper arch. “Maker, you look so fuckin’ pretty stretched around my cock.”

Your walls clench tight around him as you dig your nails into the fabric of his cowl. You voice cracks with airy moans—attempting to work through the haze of lust and respond. All that tumbles from your lips is a pathetic whine of his name—so close to that precipice again.

The friction of each thrust scraping against your clit, the way he fills you and the possessive hand curled over your throat. You wiggle an arm between your bodies and rub the little bundle of nerves in a frenzied half-circle. You wheeze as Boba increases the pressure over your throat.

“Tell me who you belong to,” he demands as devastating ripples begin to spark through your core, a live wire an inch away from a puddle of water. “Tell me—“

“You! It’s you—“ You sob, desperate for another release only he can give. “I’m yours—“

Boba snickers and gives your throat another squeeze. “Cum on my cock.”

There we go.

You seize and cry out, violent shivers forcing your back to arch high off the throne and into his chest plate. It tears through your being, quick and deadly through your core, spreading to every nerve and shredding through it with molten pleasure. Boba’s voice is a gravelly scrape that vibrates next to your ear, sprinting towards his own deserved euphoria. Your climax still boiling through your blood, is dragged out as Boba continues thrusting—an endless echo that leaves you incredibly oversensitive sore. For the next few moments, his thrusts are too sharp, the grip he has on you too abrasive—but then he’s cumming too. A couple more rough jabs and then he’s seating himself deep inside your cunt, his warm release coating your insides with thick ropes.

You’re panting breaths fill the air between you, settling like fresh snow over a silent wood. By the time Boba pulls out, leaving behind a sticky trail of his cum and your arousal over the throne, you’re toeing the line of hazy unconsciousness.

“Such a good girl,” Boba praises, threading fingers through hair and tracing the lines of your face. The the soft drone of his voice mixed with Din’s gentle baritone, murmuring something you don’t catch, casts a dreamy haze over your reality. You’re not afraid that this could back fire and blow up in your face—to move inches from two serrated blades, each seeking for a taste of blood and flesh, is always a risk. But yet, the calloused hands and the sweetness of brown eyes reach through chaos and silence to offer you salvation. You take it with a smile.

You should invite Din over more often…you think, as you slip into content sleep.

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kicktwine · 3 years

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do you have more thoughts on keyblade fighting that you need to put somewhere, because i have two hands ready to catch Should The Need Arise

anon: hey I heard you mention you’d analysed the combat styles in KH and what you said in the tags was already alluding to really neat stuff, but I for one would love to hear more of what you came up with!! so if you ever wanted to share any of your analysis then the floor is yours

aHAH, MY EXCUSE!!

Okay, so first some words on “standardized wielding styles”. These are styles shared by Terra, Aqua, Vanitas, Riku, and Xehanort and every other scala and daybreak kid. I will make the argument that the red style is the fanciest standard style, while the purple is seen often to make it easier on the little chibi sprites. BUT, I cannot discredit Eraqus, who uses the purple variant in bbs, nor can I discredit half of the Foretellers (Gula and Ava, at least, use this. Invi and Aced use the first type). So, two standard styles. For simplicity, let’s say one for primary offense, one for primary defense. The standard offensive style really wasn’t popular before Scala-era society.

check this difference out, specifically between ava invi and gula:

then between eraqus, hermod, and xehanort, and eraqus and terra.

These two were likely popularized and standardized for education in Scala ad Caelum for their predominant lack of obvious weak spots.

After this, we have unique styles. Those include Sora Kairi and Xion’s (similar to standard defense, but more mobile at the expense of form — Kairi takes after Sora but less confident, she hasn’t been hit that heavily yet), Ven’s (backhand, heavy range and mobility), Roxas’ (modified for two keyblades, but takes after Sora), and Axel’s (taught himself, comfortable with chakrams).

So! Let’s go.

Standard (offensive)

All styles have sub-variations, of a sense. Different wielders can choose where their keyblade points, and how they hold it exactly, based on what makes them most comfortable. Terra and Aqua point theirs downward, while Vanitas and Riku hold theirs above their head. What is recognizeable to this style is a hand for the sword, and a hand for guarding/blocking/items/magic.

It’s incredibly efficient. With only one hand on the weapon, you not only free up a hand for other things, but increase your range of movement with said weapon. Test it out yourself! The keyblade hand is always your dominant hand, held behind you for increased power when attacking (since you lose a significant amount of it by choosing not to grip with both hands). This style also decreases the speed of the defense you have, but with that increased mobility and swing power, along with a hand free to brace against the keyblade (defense strength up!), it makes up for it. Many people who use this also have strong barrier spells — both a testament to their preference for coverage and an acknowledgement that any directional block will take a little longer and be weaker if they try it with one hand.

The pointy end, though. What difference does it actually make, the height it’s at?

I think it’s half a matter of attack style preference and half intention. Riku, Vanitas, and Xehanort stab quite a bit. Aqua and Terra slice more. Not that they don’t do both, but it’s the first instinct. Aqua and Terra are also likely taught to hold their keyblade neutrally, in a safe position, until someone starts attacking. It’s polite! Eraqus also holds his one-handed, neutrally, until he gets into position. Riku and Vanitas learned to fight assuming everyone was out to fight them. Invi and Aced may like this style because of range (i hc she’s blind and strikes very very quickly, and he’s already very powerful with just the one arm and wants better motion).

and on character specifics: Terra often switches to two-handed, to copy his dad and add extra power to his hits without always sacrificing the empty hand. Vanitas likely was forced to relearn how to fight, as instead of solely being trained to be better at withstanding, he was constantly being made to better his own attacks. The moves Xehanort uses would best be replicated in the same style. Vanitas is wild for holding the massive spiky x-blade like that.

Now, what‘s good on this style does not correlate to what’s bad in the other. The two standard styles simply have different ways of dealing with each con they create or taking advantage of each pro.

(Here’s an interesting side note — Gula uses standard defensive, but in this instance, swaps. One hand… likely to display confidence! Wrong move, but hey. He got cocky. He’s also doing it wrong, and swaps back to two-handed to take Aced’s attack.)

Standard (defensive)

The main detriment of this style is the lack of ease of long range movement. Hold a wrapping paper tube out in front of you with both hands, then run. It goes to the side, or tucks in to your stomach, right? Dodge. Your legs will get in the way unless you know where to move that sword. It requires, interestingly, a little more discipline. You’d think Aqua would like that, but no, she wants movement and practicality, and she loves magic, and remember that you must take a hand off this style to grab a potion. You’d think young Eraqus wouldn’t, but remember that he’s a fancy royal lad.

The main draw, though, is tankiness, readiness, and power. You don’t need to move as much if nothing dares hit you! Ava and Gula might be attracted to this style because they’re not as physically strong, but want protection in close-quarters fighting. Using this style when your muscles aren’t as big but you still want to Hit Things Good, or when you want to be a boy you can’t knock over with a pail of water (horse stance rules), is probably solid advice.

Traditionally, this is a lot less like fencing, and a lot more like a samurai sword or kendo. Your blade is held in front of you, giving you very easy access to blocks and frontal attack/defense. In losing some twirly spinniness, you gain power and minimize your opponent’s ability to parry and block.

you gotta dodge master Eraqus so mcuh

All styles will swap between one and two hands for different moves. Eraqus, notably, swaps to a stance very similar to Xehanort when channeling a metric ton of magic.

Both of these styles require a degree of upper body/core strength, as does all swordfighting. I would be interested to see someone whose keyblade style relies on leg strength.

Sora, Xion, and Kairi

please look at the difference between the foretellers’ or eraqus’ two-handed grip and Sora’s. Do this with your shoulders and a top-heavy object.

They’re both in a hard stance, but hon. What are you, a gremlin? Anyways, a traditionally taught master would have… better form, even if it’s harder to learn at first. It’s habitual. Sora nearly crouches, and holds his keyblade back-pointed with two hands, which makes it easier for him to dodge roll, push off his feet quickly, and pull off those spinning combos he loves. It‘s really gonna hurt his muscles, in the future, though, since he’s doing a squat for like…. hours. Pulling on those shoulderblades and neck. Xion, too. Replicas had better have correct muscle dynamics. Kairi is brand new, so… maybe Aqua can teach her how to hold a sword so it doesnt hurt you.

Okay, now look at the grip itself. Held in front versus held to the side-back. They’re really attempting to combine both standard styles subconsciously, giving themselves more attack power while really wanting to keep that hard defensive parry, wanting to prevent all attacks to the front while also wanting mobility. It’s working for them really well, they fight like an anime character, and manage to get the best of both, with a minor sacrifice of length range that they don’t care about. We’re flexible and full of magic, baby! Holding the blade like this makes it pretty easy to let go with one hand without sacrificing that crouched defense position.

Now, Sora, specifically, is very adaptive. He’s had two keyblades, claws, guns, yo-yos, and a giant shield, to name a couple. He retains a bit of that alert crouch no matter where he goes, but Sora knows how he wants to attack and how to balance that with the most effective way to use his current weapon. He’s a smart kid! Sora has the most ridiculous shotlocks, which are also probably due to not always wanting to go standard for it. He also prefers to keep his focus on the enemy, which is evident in his reprisals and lack of very many effective “escape” moves.

Xion is very similar to Sora, but she does have some moves that are all movement. She switches to one handed for strikes a lot — using two for defending, one for smacking. In her data battle I’d swear some of those heavy hits are claymore-like. But anyways, since we’re magic, Xion cares not for the laws of exhaustion, and will ping about as a ball of light everywhere. Short range? Up in your business. Mid-range? In your business with one hand. Long range? Throws a boomerang. Hit her? No you dont. Ball of light. She’s above you and wants to bash your head in. (Vanitas also does this! A lot. It’s an easy way to catch someone off-guard. I’ll argue that the soras are very tough and strong, but not tanky. they want to avoid being hit a lot)

Another interesting note about Kairi. I say “unconfident” not because she doesn’t hit hard, but because her stance is also often tilted back, ready to dodge. It’s two handed, but almost all her moves are one. She does love spinning and throwing the thing! It looks like she’s been taking notes from the wielders she knows. It would be easy to teach her a standard style, I think. See here, she lets go on the strike, and by trying to do both, actually ends up with an advantage (being confusing) and disadvantage (losing both the power of two handed and versatility of one handed).

A counter to Sora and Xion is difficult to pin down. Time? Probably. Lack of heating pads. Something that takes all their attention is about the only way to get a sneak attack in, and then you have to hit hard. A counter to Kairi would be anyone who can knock her off balance. She needs a sturdier stance. .

Roxas

Roxas is interesting. He takes after Sora for the one blade. Wielding two, however, nets him a totally different way of fighting. Roxas’ clavicle muscles n… deltoids and stuff must be Ironclad. Also, two handed means you are very fast and sharp all the time. He has the advantage of standard defense (horse stance), and the advantage of offense (range of one sword, but twice).

Roxas generally attacks in two ways — simultaneous hits, and follow-up hits. Either he hits with both at once, or hits hard with the first one, and adds the second one as a bonus smack. He can attack by hitting in opposite directions with the two, like a drum, but that will be a little awkward and leave him prone to being tangled. That established, the follow-up hit method means he spins a bunch. As do we all.

Roxas gets a little complicated because we are not in the real world. We have magic and turning into light and physics that let you become a circular saw. So, typically, disadvantages would include: being unable to let go of a weapon to grab something or use an item, having just a very big silhouette to attack on, having difficulty with close-range attacks because Oathkeeper and Oblivion are kinda long, and convenience. Roxas gets to dodge #1 (keyblades can be unsummoned) and #4 (keyblades can be unsummoned). Speaking of dodging, he also gets to skirt the difficulty of dodging and rolling with two swords because he turns into a beam of light. But he can’t dodge how difficult it is to use two swords effectively — he needs to concentrate on fighting, and nothing else, or he risks messing up. He has to be very, very coordinated, and undistracted. Luckily he’s pretty good at making his opponents shut up, most of the time. Blocking is another thing — theoretically his blocks could be strong, but Roxas has no real brace: crossing your blades and taking a hefty stab might smack one of them back into your face. He mostly uses reversals and dodges, because of this.

The takeaway to this is Roxas is built for speed and power, and he is very strong. He’s a mid- to far- range fighter who if you’re not careful can snap you in half if you’re too close (be SO careful of that cross blade scissor).

A perfect counter to Roxas would be a tank that can grapple, and also be very distracting. If you can take hits, be talkative, and get close enough to stop his blades, you have a chance.

Ventus

This is a bizarre choice, my guy, but I get it.

Backhanded weapons are very impractical for a lot of... attacking, mainly in mid-range combat, and Ven likes to either fight very close or throw the keyblade like a boomerang (and hey, backhand gives it a good whip for throwing). His attacks aren’t meant to one hit KO, but they do come with a bit of power to them, especially on the backslash. Like holding a knife for gouging. It’s for very close defense — pretty good when Wayward Wind and Missing Ache have hooks.

Backhand also, while retaining that empty hand for potions and guarding, gives you an extreme coverage boost. By which I mean Ven’s sword hand now has a nearly 270 degree sweep of “I see you, don’t touch me”, very quickly, based on just flicking his wrist. It sacrifices a ton of strength/sturdiness, but you don’t need that if you’re dodging. You also don’t really need to block, which is slower, but relatively sturdy when Ven does it, as he blocks with mostly the chunky hilt between crossed arms. He sacrifices (again) a bit of strength for coverage — an attack would hurt his arms, not his chest, if he were hit head-on.

His attacks often have him flip the blade around in his hand, too. Quick swaps between standard moves and backhand ones. Basically, Ventus is built for moving, protecting himself, and quick attacks that wear down the enemy, not outclass it. Likely because he’s good at fighting, but everyone he’s fought hits harder than he can! It doesn’t matter how he holds it, getting hit will hurt. So he just. Doesn’t. He’s not a buff little guy — but he is a persistent one. Ven very likely made this up on his own, in Daybreak, and it was too hard to fix his whole style, but it was enough to correct most of his form so he doesn’t hurt himself too much. He is going to have to really stretch that shoulder and wrist (maybe get a brace), though. At least his neck is ok. … not sure about his knees tho dang boy that crouch

A perfect counter to Ven would be someone big and fast, who hits hard mid-range. He’s already been sparring with Terra, though, so when in doubt, try scruffing him?

Axel

Theres not a ton to say about him — he‘s not a swordfighter. He uses his keyblade like it’s a frisbee. Because that’s what he’s used to! His neutral is behind his back on his shoulder, which is terrible for readiness, but okay for chucking the thing. It’s good it has a sort of… ripstik like… boomerang quality.

Axel’s fighting style is completely made up, like most of the self-taught wielders’. His strengths lie in some of the benefits of standard offensive style (one-handed), and some of the same coverage stuff as Ven, having a cocked wrist most of the time so no one can sneak up around him without risking getting whacked very quickly, and having an interesting range due to the pointy end being basically on a spinny swivel wherever his hand moves. He’s not going to be good at close-range and he knows it — his attacks are mostly distance. And the guy has ZERO defense, combined with zero coverage when idle, so it’s for the better.

Distance-wise, though, he rocks. Treating the blade like it’s a flaming throwing weapon means his idle is actually great for sudden flick-tossing and attention-guiding for sneakier attacks, and his stance itself (…nonexistent) serves a different purpose: bait. Basically a big "come hit me". Fun, when you have a lot of fire magic and two friends who are beasts and love to take advantage of a distracted enemy — distance on the blade, proximity on the burning.

A perfect counter to Axel would be someone pinging around very close <—> very far and circling him incessantly. Like, data Xion could wreck him, as he has to wait for the boomerang to come back -- he no longer has two spinny wheels. Also someone with water magic.

SO! In conclusion! Having a teacher who teaches you correct sword usage rather than instinct may detract from overspecific styles that benefit you most but leave weak spots, but your muscles and your oversights will thank you. Everyone is glad we have the power of the Mouse and anime on our side.

Keep in mind again that I have done cursory research, and have had minimal actual sword instruction, I am not an expert and this is all for fun anyways :]

#I ran out of images which is homophobic #KH #ask #mojimallow #THANKS MOJI #If you’re wondering what the counter would be to Terra and Aqua; in terms of counters there are no counters #not style-wise anyways. That’s why they’re standard.#Terra can’t react very fast and Aqua needs more mp but that’s individual #and we are mostly talking BASE COMBAT here #of course lingering will can use keyblade transformations and there’s magic strategies — but that would make this post… much longer #brrrrrrr #kh analysis #kh meta #thanks to the handful of other people who asked me to expand on the same thing <3<3<3 #REALLY wanted to include one of Invi blocking — just go watch invi and aced fight for two standard offense #it Shows off their strengths and weaknesses #… no living adults do the two handed grip. Watch Sora and Xion’s data battle for an approximation I guess??#you. Hey you. Look in the notes rn #metazone

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eulangelo · 3 years

Text

callout for @genderfluidlucifer

google docs

tw for transmisogyny + TERFs + emotional manipulation

Transmisogyny

Lucifer is a huge transmisogynist who will complain 24/7 about how TERFs hurt the ace community, but the moment @randomclustermissile , a trans girl (who is not an exclusionist at all) tries to point out transmisogyny in inclusionist circles (in the most vague and general way possible, without pointing fingers nor calling anyone names) Lucifer will immediatly jump to block her and so they did with me (another inclusionist) and i have to suppose to everyone else who agreed with that post, even arriving to vagueing about us in private group chats to suggest that we were “sympathizing with exclusionists”. all because we dared point out transmisogyny in inclusionist circles. lucifer is TME but apparently they think they’re the authority on TERFs and their talking points but actual trans women are not, according to them, since this is the stuff that they would go and spew to other people. (screenshots from @enbyoctoling)

here’s more examples of Lucifer (again, a transmasc person) going deep in detail about how according to them, TERFs/SWERFs hate aro/ace people and are an active threat to us

1. link

[Image ID: Three screenshots of a post by Genderfluidlucifer. The first screenshot is of a paragraph that reads, "Hey. So I can actually answer this. Anon your commentary about how you thought terfs would approve of sex repulsed aces is sort of it. Except...not. Basically terfs hate ace people for not wanting sex in the approved by terfs way. Terfs are actually extremely interested in [forcing] amatonormativity onto everyone. Because for as sex negative as terfs are...they don't want to actually acknowledge or change the fact that amatonormativity is at the root cause of rape culture and misogyny."

The second screenshot is a zoomed in section of the post that reads, "So yeah no I have NO idea where exclus allies are getting this idea from that terfs would even remotely care about the sexual rights of ace people. Terfs generally hate any sexualities in the LGBTQ+ acronym that aren't LGB because they can't force a gender binary onto those sexualities. At least, not as easily. That's why it's actually a massive sign of someone who doesn't call themselves a terf being a crypto terf if they use the term LGB in a positive manner. Along with the term SGA, as it is deliberately exclusive of nonbinary and not inherently SGA centric queer-aligned sexualities. /END ID]

link to the full post, these are just excerpts but the whole thing is just a very long rant about how TERFs hate ace people and so on (i think it’s worth noticing that although the actual post is kinda long, trans women are never once brought op in a conversation about TERFs issues and the only time transmisogyny is mentioned is not relevant to the conversation)

2. link

[Image ID: A screenshot of a reblog by genderfluidlucifer. The original poster is nothorses. It reads, "Because apparently I have to say it: Testosterone is not a 'violent' hormone. It doesn't make you 'more aggressive' or a worse person, it doesn't make you 'dangerous,' or 'toxic.' Transmascs do not need to be 'warned of the dangers of T.' We do not need to spend our transitions terrified that we're going to become a danger to those around us - that HRT is going to turn us into a monster.

Everyone experiences mood swings during hormonal shifts (pregnancy, menstruation, menopause, estrogen HRT, etc.) and while you might have grumpy moments or feel anger/frustration that you need to learn to handle differently, that doesn't make you a bad person.

Testosterone can change the way you access/process emotions somewhat, but if you're already thoughtful about how you handle your feelings and treat others, you're going to be fine. It's normal to lash out on occasion, by accident, then apologize and work to do better. It doesn't make you a bad person. Everyone on HRT is prone to this, and everyone experiencing hormonal changes is prone to this.

Getting HRT should be positive and affirming; you should not have to spend your entire transition terrified of becoming a monster."

The post then has a reblog by captainlordauditor that reads, "The big danger of T is that needle ouchy." /END ID]

here’s them reblogging from known transmisogynist user @nothorses (once again, the irony that a post about how testosterone is seen as the "aggressive hormone" does not mention transfem at all which are literally the main victims of this rethoric in the first place)

3. link (1), link (2)

[Image ID: Two screenshots of posts by genderfluidlucifer. The first screenshot reads, "Queer exclus: We're not repackaging terf rhetoric! Saying that is transmisogynistic! Also queer exclus: Remove the plus from LGBT!" and has tags that say, "I will pay these people to grow some god damn self awareness. Imagine being this dense. Queer discourse." The post has 15 notes.

The second screenshot reads, "Honestly it is so stupid and frustrating to see ace exclus continue to deny that the ace discourse was started by terfs. Proof was given countless times. And a big name terf like galesofnovember even admitted to starting it. Those of you who demand proof but ignore all of this never wanted proof to begin with." and is tagged with, "ace discourse. The post has 38 notes. /END ID]

heres another two post of theirs conflating TERFs with ace exclusionism

4. link

[Image ID: A screenshot of a reblogged post by furbearingbrick. The original poster is boxlizard, Lucifer's old account. The original post reads, "By the way for people still in denial about it, here's galesofnovember, a terf, admitting that she intended to start the ace exclus movement. She's taking credit for it. Normally if the victims of this behavior weren't ace/aro or other queer identities y'all be ready to rightfully lynch her. But since it's us, y'all just still wanna stamp your feet and go, 'Nuh uh!' instead of acknowledging facts." The part that says, "admitting that she intended to start the ace exclus movement" is a link to a galesofnovember post.

There is then a reblogged addition from furbearing brick that reads, "archived versions of the receipts" and has two links to the webarchive. The tags read, "Bringing this back since it's apparently still relevant. Terfism mention. Aphobia mention. Queerphobia mention. Blocklist." and has 1,455 notes. /END ID]

this is their post that ive already talked about but basically they found a 52 notes post made by a TERF in 2012 and this one person said "i dont know why i dont get to be the princess of the anti-ace-brigade" and apparently they are convinced that this means TERFs started the ace exclusionism movement and that this is one of their goals. which is insane when TERFs in real life only care about making life miserable for transfem people first and foremost.

5.link

[Image ID: A screenshot of a reblog by genderfluidlucifer. The original poster is yu-gay-fudo. It reads, “Just in case you happen to be unaware, some of the “radfem lite” they post to warm you up to their rhetoric, just off the top of my head:

- Ace/aro exclusionism

- Bi exclusionism or claims that bi people are “less queer” bc of “straight passive privilege”

- Saying you have to be dysphoric to identify as transInvalidating nonbinary people

- Calling queer a slur regardless of context, saying people can’t identify as queer, and saying that it can’t be reclaimed

- “Mogai hell”, “kweer”, or otherwise mocking less common labels and claiming they are “just cishets who want to feel special”

- Excluding sex workers from feminist discussions or claiming that sex work is inherently evil

- Basically anyone who thinks they can determine what other people identify as”. The tags read, "queerphobia tw. twerfs tw. no id." and has 70,727 notes. It was reblogged on March 22nd, 2021 /END ID]

another example of conflating radfems to things that, while wrong, have little to nothing to do with them because being a radfem, again, is something very specific that has all to do with transfem oppression.

Emotional manipulation

Lucifer has done nothing but block, break boundaries, spread lies and vague about people, some of which were even mutuals with them knowing they would see the posts. when confronted about it Lucifer's only answer was "just say you hate me and block me" but they actually ended up blocking everyone first, making it impossible for anyone to set some boundaries with them or even just to calmly confront them about anything.

[proof: Io(popncourse) and Lucifer had a disagreement in a shared discord server, which prompted Lucifer to vague Io in a vent post. Io confronted them, as being vagued is one of buns triggers, to which Lucifer initially agreed to delete the vent post, but then proceeded to victimize themself and immediatly blocked Io. later on, Jude(malewifedeckard) was confronted by Lucifer, then after Jude told them “I’m worried that you’ll vague me just like you did with Io” they proceeded to block Jude and vagued about him too. when Io made a post (which was not a callout, it was just bun setting buns boundaries) explaining what Lucifer did, Lucifer immediatly jumped to victimize themself, acting like they were being called out and straight-up lying, even going so far as to say that no one tried to hear them out, which is a blatant lie if you consider the aforementioned Io and Jude’s attempts at doing so, with Lucifer immediatly blocking and cutting ties with the both of them. ]

(screenshots taken by @popncourse and @malewifedeckard)

as seen in the proof above Lucifer’s behaviour is not ok because they don’t accept any kind of confrontation and immediatly jump to blocking, and after blocking, they'd immediatly go and vague about the people who confronted them pacificly, spreading more lies and painting themself as the victim and even arriving to say “no one hears me out at all” which is simply not something you can say when you block people who are trying to hear you out in the first place.

this is by no means an invitation to go and harass them, send them hate or anything like that. i absolutely don’t want anything even remotely hateful or negative to be sent their way after this post.

this post was only made because:

1. as an ace person who fully supports the inclusion of aspec identities in the lgbt+ community i don’t want to support an enviroment that costantly downplays transmisogynistic oppression in order to be taken seriously. there are hundreds of ways to make aspec activism without acting like we(as in TME aspecs)are the victims of a system that seeks for the annihilation of transfemenine people in real life everyday. i especially don’t want to support TME individuals who act transfem-friendly but then block any transfem who tries to speak on transmisogyny without a second thought.

2. Lucifer’s behaviour has hurt two friends of mine and i don’t want to associate with someone who actively breaks people’s boundaries without taking accountability when messing up.

3. i cannot associate with someone who spreads lies about me accusing me of sympathizing with exclusionists all while having me blocked so that i can’t see it nor defend me. they complain about people not hearing them out but they’re the very first person who does not try to hear people out, and instead jumps to spread baseless rumors. this is not someone i can nor want to associate with.

(image descriptions provided by @malewifedeckard)

#genderfluidlucifer #transmisogyny tw #terfs tw #ask to tag #txt #long post #ok to rb

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