AzureTea

can survive anything with tea by my side

[teabutmakeitazure]

Zuri ✿ 20+ ✿ she/her ✿ INTP-A ✿ comp-e major ✿ originally from ao3 (account needed to view works. all of my fics are there)

This is a private blog where I occasionally post what I write (self insert fanfiction).

My inbox is always open to chat!

My most notable works are Twisted but Tender as well as Dissimulation for yan! Childe and Magenta Die, Cyan Bullet for yan! Aventurine, both on ao3. There's also Burgeon for Yan! Chrollo. currently yapping a lot about either Jason Todd (DC universe) and Childe (genshin impact). if you're curious who the fictional men imprisoned living in a room in my mind palace are, here you go.

pfp is by the very talented @yuniv812 <3

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links to help palestine, sudan, congo, and more.

vetted fundraisers

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A few things to remember:

• I don't write NSFW but some might be suggestive

• I only write female reader works

• The content I write is mostly yandere (nothing too horrible yet) so yes this blog will have dark content but it is appropriately tagged with appropriate warnings

• Requests are closed but brainrot is always welcome!

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tags used on this blog:

zuri rambles - rambles and shitposts

amazing tea - works i reblog and love

good tea - also works i reblog and love but shorter ones

arttea - artwork i reblog

zuri's tea recommendations - works i recommend (mostly on ao3)

azuretea requests - the requests i have written and published

tea is brewing - sneak peeks/rambles for wips

writing advice - posts for writing advice

[character name] brainrot - tidbits and asks about the character. mostly just brainrot

concepts - concepts i like

neighbouring teacups - lovely mutuals

tea recommendations - things like games or books or fics i recommend

uni tea party - uni and academics related things

the [character name] longfic - stuff about a characters longfic

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[Masterlist updated] , [Masterlist - old(privated)] , [Rules], [Zuri's Declassified University Survival Guide]

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Anons: catboy chrollo anon, moonie anon, ghastly anon, anvil anon, sunshine anon, spring anon, 🦊

[teabutmakeitazure]

I AM COMING LOML IMMIGRATION STOPPED ME BUT THE WATER CANNOT JUST YOU WAIT SNEZHNAYA IS NOT FAR I WILL BE THERE SOON

[chuuyanakahras]

GRIEVANCES; UNFINISHED

childe x reader summary: your plan for the vacation was simple: you and your boyfriend would have a great, conflictless, happy, and injury-less vacation in Fontaine. of course, what you should have realized was that the words 'conflictless' and the eleventh of the harbingers don't make for a good match notes: fluff and CRACK. only reason i did this was bc i was inspired very heavily off of me litr finishing the fontaine quest a day ago and being very depressed and sad that childe came to fontaine to vacation and in the end was back in snezhnaya to recuperate from his injuries bc my mans deserves an injury-less vacation masterlist

The vacation had rules. You'd written them on the ferry into Fontaine, on the back of the itinerary, in the good pen, while he read over your shoulder and objected.

One. No Harbinger business.

Two. No fights he started.

Three. No fights he finished that someone else started, which you'd added after he tried to argue that number two contained a loophole.

Four. If he got that specific look on his face — the one that meant a situation had just become interesting — he was to leave the situation and come find you and describe the look out loud so you could talk him down from it.

He'd signed it. Ajax signs things the way he does everything, with a flourish and no intention of honoring the contents. You'd known that. You'd let him sign anyway, because there is a particular pleasure in being able to produce, later, a document.

Eleven days into the vacation you were producing the document to a very tall man in a very fitted coat, in an office at the bottom of the ocean, because your idiot was in his prison.

"So let me be clear," you said. "He is not on trial. He has already been convicted. In absentia. Of a crime he — allegedly — committed while on vacation with me, which I can testify he did not commit, except I can't testify, because your court has decided the trial is already over."

"That is broadly accurate," said Wriothesley.

He had a way of sitting that made a desk look small. Behind him, through reinforced glass, you could see the dark water pressing in on all sides, lit here and there by the ghost-glow of the meka that patrolled it, and somewhere far below and worse than any of it, the thing the whole fortress had been built to sit on top of. You had done your reading on the boat down. You did your reading everywhere. It was the only reason you were currently winning.

"Broadly," you repeated. "I love broadly. Broadly is where the bodies are buried. Where is he."

"That's the question everyone's asking." He turned a teacup a quarter-rotation on its saucer, unbothered, a man who had watched a great many people arrive at his desk furious and leave his desk furious and had made peace with the constancy of it. "Your friend was processed. Cell in the production zone. Standard forty-five day term. And then, three nights ago, he wasn't."

"Wasn't in the cell."

"Wasn't anywhere." He looked at you, and for the first time the boredom thinned out and something sharper showed through, because whatever else the Duke of Meropide was, he was a man whose fortress had just developed a hole in it that he could not account for. "I run the only place in Fontaine no one has ever escaped from. Three nights ago that stopped being true. I'd very much like to know how."

You sat down. Uninvited. You do a lot of things uninvited; it's one of your best qualities and Ajax has told you so, usually right before you get you both thrown out of somewhere.

"Then it seems," you said, "we want the same thing. So you're going to tell me everything, and I'm going to be appalling at you until one of us has an idea."

A pause. Then — and you'd hold this against him for months, the sheer nerve — Wriothesley almost smiled.

"There's tea," he said, "if you're staying."

"I'm staying," you said, "and it had better be good, because your prison is terrible and someone should tell you."

You wrote him letters after that. It became, somehow, a correspondence.

This was the part you couldn't have predicted. You'd stormed the Fortress of Meropide prepared to make an enemy of its administrator and instead you'd made — not a friend, nothing so soft, but an ally, which in your experience lasts longer. He had information and no jurisdiction. You had jurisdiction over nothing but were, in his professional assessment, "remarkably difficult to make leave," which he'd meant as a complaint and you'd taken as a career summary.

So you wrote. Every day, sometimes twice. Letters carried up from the fortress by whatever meka was surfacing that hour, letters that started as demands and curdled, over the following weeks, into something almost collegial, two people comparing notes on a mystery neither could solve alone.

Duke, you wrote. Your infirmary tells me the seawater concentration around the fortress has been climbing for a year. A YEAR. And no one thought this relevant to a man who vanished INTO the water? This is on the list.

The list, he wrote back, is becoming the longest document produced in Fontaine this decade. My condolences to whoever it's eventually for.

It's for whoever kept him, you wrote. And you should be more worried than amused, because I've decided that includes you, and I am extremely thorough.

Sigewinne — the small, ancient, terrifyingly kind creature who ran the fortress infirmary — added her own postscripts sometimes, in a rounder hand. Please eat something, one said. The Duke says you have been at the intake window for six hours. That is not good for a person. I have set aside soup.

You ate the soup. You went back to the window.

The Knave you handled differently.

You do not appall at Arlecchino. This is not fear, exactly, though fear is in the general neighborhood, the way the coast is in the neighborhood of the sea. It is that appalling only works on people who can be embarrassed, and the Knave has never once in her life been embarrassed, and so with her you did the other thing, the thing you're worse at and far more appropriate for: you were polite.

You requested the meeting through proper channels. You arrived on time. You laid out, in order, without heat, everything you had — the concentration data, Wriothesley's account, the timing, the fact that a Harbinger had gone into the Primordial Sea and no Harbinger business had officially been declared, which meant either the Tsaritsa didn't know or didn't care and you needed, urgently, to learn which.

She let you finish. That was the frightening part. She let you get all the way to the end.

"You've done more than his own division," she said, when you were done. Not warmly, you doubted the Knave had anyone to be warm to but her children, but nonetheless you imagined that there was a shred of at least acknowledgement in her words. "You built a case."

"I'm not building a case," you replied, your lip jutted out slightly, for you truly were not too good at polite. "I'm building a complaint. There's a difference. A case wants a verdict. A complaint wants him back."

Something moved behind her eyes, some flicker of an expression that on a normal face you'd have called interest and on hers you had no name for, and you looked into her red-crossed eyes and subdued a shiver. Intent.

"When this concludes," she said, "however it concludes — the House of the Hearth remembers those who go looking. Remember that we noticed."

It was, you would understand later, as close to a promise as she gives. At the time it only made the water outside the window seem very deep and very close, and you left, and you wrote Wriothesley a letter about it that you never sent, because you were no liar to yourself and you like some things written but never delivered.

But this appeared to have only been the least of your problems, because, as you realized, for those who don't know the extent things can become, they really do not know the end.

And so, here is what you did not know, because no one told you.

You did not know about the Opera Epiclese, the trial that turned into a prophecy, the floor of the world opening up. You did not know that when the All-Devouring Narwhal came up out of that hole to swallow Fontaine, he came up out of it too, that after weeks in a sea that dissolves ordinary things he'd surfaced fighting, alongside the Iudex himself, and put the thing down. You did not know the water rose and the city didn't dissolve and the prophecy broke on the rocks of somebody else's centuries-old plan.

You didn't know any of it, because by the time it happened you were three days into a head cold, asleep in a rented room in the upper city with your window open and the list — the great terrible list of grievances, now some forty entries long — face-down on your chest.

And by the time you woke up, he was gone.

Not gone into the sea. Gone home. Shipped north on a fast ship with the injured and the Vision he'd left behind him, sent back to Snezhnaya to recover from wounds you hadn't known he had, from a fight you hadn't known happened, and the machinery of it had moved so fast and so cleanly around you that you'd slept through the entire resolution of your own vacation.

Wriothesley's last letter reached you the morning after.

He surfaced, it said. He's alive. He fought the thing that came out of the sea and then they took him north to mend. I'd have told you in person but you'd stopped answering the window, and Sigewinne informs me you were ill and were not to be disturbed, and I've learned not to argue with Sigewinne.

The list can be closed. He came back on his own, in the end. They usually do.

For what it's worth — and I don't say this to many — you'd have made a decent administrator. You never once let the case become the thing you cared about. It was always the man. Safe travels, wherever you're going.

You're going north. I know you're going north. Try not to appall at anyone important on the way.

You read it twice. Then you got dressed, and packed in eleven minutes, and appalled at three separate people on the way to the docks, all of whom were, in your defense, standing between you and a boat.

And such, you found yourself in front of the residence of Her Majesty the Tsaritsa, and as far as you could tell, where the Eleventh Harbinger of your Incessant Migraines was currently dwelling in what you hoped was agonizing pain.

Zapolyarny Palace is not built to be stormed by one furious person off a Fontainian ferry with a head cold and a forty-page list.

It is built to be approached. Slowly, up a white avenue, under white towers, past guards in white and blue who have been standing so long in the cold that the cold has become a kind of second posting. It is built to make you small on the way in, to let the architecture do the intimidating so the people inside don't have to.

It did not work on you. Very little architectural intimidation works on a person who has recently sat at the bottom of the ocean and been unimpressed by a prison.

"I'm here for the Eleventh Harbinger," you told the first guard, who did not move. "Tartaglia. Childe. Ajax. Tall, redheaded, absolutely no sense of self-preservation, recently vacationing, currently convalescing. I've come a very long way and I have a cold and I've got a list here that I would be delighted to read aloud in this hallway if that's the game we're playing."

The guard did not move. You had, in fairness, expected this. You had a plan for the not-moving.

The plan was to keep talking.

You got four entries into the list — you'd reached the one about the seawater concentration, which was a strong one, which usually landed— when a door opened somewhere down the white hall and a voice you would know underwater, would know through water, would know at the bottom of the Primordial Sea, said:

"Is that — no. No. Are you reading them my list?"

You stopped.

He was leaning in the doorway because leaning was clearly all he was cleared for. Arm strapped to his chest. A dressing along the jaw. Paler than Snezhnaya alone could account for, thinner, moving like a man who'd negotiated a temporary and grudging truce with his own body. Alive. Upright, barely, and grinning, that grin, the specific one, the one you'd crossed an ocean and appalled at a solid dozen people to see again.

"It's not your list," you said. Your voice did something you didn't authorize. You covered it by advancing on him. "It is a list of grievances, and a great many of them are about you, and you don't get to hear the good ones out of order, they build."

"You came to Snezhnaya."

"I came to finish the vacation. We had rules. You broke all of them. You broke a rule I hadn't even written yet — there was no rule that said don't get eaten by the sea and fight your way out and get sent home without leaving a note, and there should have been, and now it's on the list, it's entry forty-one, I wrote it on the boat—"

"You came," he said again, quieter, and the grin had gone somewhere gentler, somewhere that made your chest do the thing it does that you have never once written on any list because some things you keep off the record on purpose, "all the way here. Because no one told you where I went."

"No one told me anything." And there it was, finally, the crack in it, the thing under all the appalling, coming up your throat unauthorized. "You went into the sea, Ajax. You went into the sea and you fought a — I read the reports on the ferry, I read them  — and I was asleep, I had a cold, and the whole thing just — happened around me, and closed up, and by the time I woke up the water was calm and you were gone and there was a note from a prison warden telling me to close the list." You were very close to him now. You had not decided to be. "I don't close lists. I finish them. So I'm here to finish it. Every entry. To your face. And you're going to sit down first because you look like a bad watercolor of yourself and if you fall over during entry twenty-two I'll never forgive you, it's one of the good ones."

He looked at you. All the way through the way he does, past the noise of you to the thing the noise is built around, the way only about three people alive can.

"Entry one," he said. "What's entry one."

"No Harbinger business," you said. "You signed it. I have the paper."

"You brought the paper."

"I brought the paper, Ajax, I brought it across an ocean and through your terrible white palace, of course I brought the paper—"

He laughed, and it cost him, you could see it cost him, one hand going to his strapped ribs, and you got an arm under him before you'd decided to do that either, and the list crumpled between you, forty-one grievances and a signed and violated contract, and neither of you moved to fix it.

"Read me the whole thing," he said, into your hair, the way you say something you're afraid of ending. "Start to finish. I've got nowhere to be. Doctor's orders. Convalescence."

"It's long," you warned.

"Good," said Ajax. "Take your time. Take the whole winter, if you have to."

You took him at his word.

You usually do.

[chrollo-lucilfers-chains]

How do you think a Chrollo who’s MADLY in love with reader would be?

I think at first you wouldn't even notice. Chrollo has always been a gentleman with you. He's always charming and puts on the perfect facade of the perfect lover.

Instead, his actions and words begin to hold just a bit more truth and honesty in them and at some point you become aware of it. It's not that he didn't mean it before when he'd say you're beautiful. But you were always aware that he liked himself saying the words just as much as you liked hearing them.

When he says that you're the stars gleaming in his night sky now, there is a certain sense of reverence and awe in it, that wasn't there before. When he holds you, his arms wrap just a bit tighter and kisses last just a bit longer.

To be fair, I don't think he would realize it either, at first, as the role of the devoted boyfriend comes so easy to him.

Chrollo has always been a bit in love with you. After all, he wouldn't be with you if he didn't, and he's always liked himself in playing the role of the perfect gentleman so it came naturally to assume that role in a relationship.

In fact, he has liked it since he was a boy, reading about love in romance novels, when he was eating his way through any book he could get his hands on and romance was a secret pleasure of even his younger self.

So why does he feel the desire to hold you even closer every night lately? Why is he unable to let go of you in the mornings?

He no longer feels at peace when you give him a single kiss goodbye, when you part ways for work. Instead his body yearns to pull you back in and ravish you again, as if he hadn't been doing so just yesterday and the day before.

It's not enough to be besides you in the evenings, reading together before bed. Chrollo needs you closer, wrapped in his embrace, in his arms, constantly.

If possible, he'd burrow inside your body and wrap himself around your heart and live there forever.

It's only when he's gone for a job with the troupe that he realizes, how long three weeks can be.

And it's when he's standing in the door of your flat, watching you sleep in his favorite armchair, wearing one of his shirts with your pajama pants, a book almost slipping off your lap, that he really understands.

There is a plate with lukewarm food on the kitchen counter, clearly prepared a while ago but with so much care and attention to detail.

You must have been waiting for him but fallen asleep at some point, exhaustion even stronger than the desire to welcome him home.

Devotion wells up inside him and the familiar urge to wrap you in his arms and kiss you senseless nearly takes over.

But instead of sweeping you up with a kiss and taking you on every single piece of furniture around the house, like he was planning to after three weeks apart, Chrollo's steps become even quieter, his gaze softer.

He usually only makes noise to not startle you anyways (a habit from your early days in the relationship, when he had regularly almost given you heart attacks by not making sounds when entering rooms), but now he becomes completely silent.

He takes the book from your lap and neatly tucks it away, diligently placing a bookmark into the page where you had stopped, knowing how much you'd hate having to look for your page later otherwise.

Then he bends down before you, gently gathering you in his arms, taking utmost care not to disturb you even the slightest and makes his way to your shared bedroom.

When he lays you down, he takes care to tuck you into the blankets so you won't get cold at night, before placing a single kiss on your forehead and wrapping himself around you.

His arm cushioning your head, he softly draws his fingers from the other along the side of your face, illuminated by the soft moonlight shining through the curtains.

Tomorrow, when you wake up in his arms, rested and happy to see him, he will have enough time to indulge in his desires for you and show you just how much he's missed you.

But tonight, Chrollo's devotion is quiet.

I wrote this instead of studying... oh boy...

[teabutmakeitazure]

manifesting Childe birthday art with some form of exposed skin everyone start praying

[bloodywankers]

Helloooo 🥺

I really really like your writing style UwU 😣👉👈

Would you pwease write more about your oc Luciano? 🥺 can you write a scenario of reader waking up next to him and cuddling in his arms?

🥺🥺🥺

Thankyuuu 🤗🤗

Trigger Warning! Mentions of Blood! Yandere!

He was asleep. Much less intimidating than he is when awake, so much prettier. Left vulnerable for you to admire. Perhaps that’s why you couldn’t help yourself. As the premature rays of sunlight peeled through the thick glass windows, you had tried breaking them before, and the sound of his breathing resonating through the otherwise silent room.

It was an unconscious act really, out of instinct maybe, or perhaps a desperate attempt at physical affection not involving any other, more intimidate, activities. An innocent hug.

Your arms snaked around his torso, basking in the warmth of his body against your own. You could hear his heartbeak.

It was strange, to see such a monster in such a human light. As if he was no different from you or any other stranger. As if he wasn’t bathed in the blood of some poor soul just last night.

It’s unfair, a man so cruel and twisted should not have the face of an angel, temptation shouldn’t be so sweet if it is so wrong.

“This is a nice sight to wake up to.”

Ah… He was awake. Wasting no time you prepared to retract your arms when his own wrapped around you.

“I didn’t ask you to stop.” He said as he placed a soft kiss on your checks. His expression still groggy and tired.

“If you keep spoiling my like this… I’ll become more greedy than I already am, tesoro…”

You could feel his breath fanning against your collarbone and his face buried in the crook of your neck. His chest once again fading into a slow rising and falling.

He was asleep again.

[bloodywankers]

Luciano Magnotti—

Hair: His hair is a dark brown with light maroon highlights

Eyes: Muted Pink

Physique: He’s tall (around 190 am), muscular but has a fairly slender build. He usually wears suits, coats, turtle necks… He doesn’t really have much “casual wear” as he is with his men most of the time so even in his free time he just ends up wearing button-up shirts, trousers and slacks half the time.

Personality: Under normal circumstances, he is extroverted, outgoing and playful but he can easily become angered. His surroundings and role models while growing up definitely affected this as things with him often end up with a few broken bones, just enough to keep you in your place for a while.

Possessiveness is part of him, remember that guy looked at for a little too long? He’s dead. That waiter then smiled at you a little too happy? Gone.

Position: son of a mafioso so the heir by default. His father was his role model while growing up, albeit not a very good one. He inherited both his violent tendencies and possessive behaviour.

Darling: He doesn’t have a particular type but if you catch his eyes for long enough then be prepared for a rough journey.

Relationship: Deep, deep, deep down he does want to be loved and cared for but good luck trying to do that. He would find excuses to have his way with his darling no matter how good they were. He doesn’t try to be subtle about his obsession, he knows its wrong but he just doesn’t care. That’s just what makes him so much worse. I’ve said this already but you’re his and his alone, he will isolate you so that you can only rely on him, to make sure that no one other than him can touch you.

He loves to spoil you (as long as you behave), his sweet loving wife. Though don’t get your hopes up, he buys what he deems appropriate for you, you have no say in the matter, you never do. And you better be grateful for everything he gets you too, we don’t want anyone to die tonight, do we?

Hello! I’m bacc again 🤡

Luciano is also one of my personal favorites, I have two-to-three more characters to make and then they’ll be all completed! If anyone has any requests with them please don’t hesitate to ask!

[teabutmakeitazure]

perhaps most of you all forgot but I have this idea for an original story that had originated from what was going to be a vampire tartaglia fic (i posted a teaser called "otherwordly desire")

I do not want to spoil the plot because it revolves around the concept of immortality, what it exactly means to be immortal, what makes up a person (is their memories or their flesh?), what it means to be "resurrected", and so on and so forth. however, i want to ramble about a question that is intended to be explored in this story:

if you are resurrected again and again after death, are you immortal or just stuck in a cycle of rebirth? and are you really "you" after it happens? (ramble utc)

i really like the idea of "memories are what make a person". it's helped me a lot when dealing with grief the past few years, but it also makes me further question it's meaning. if memories are what make a person, does being "reborn" again and again without those memories make you a different person?

i remember watching Noragami as a teenager, and though i've forgotten a majority of the story, there is a scene that i vividly remember. the glasses guy who was under bishamon (kazumon? i forgot his name) said that if she died, she will be reborn again, but she will be a blank slate, i.e., she will have no memories of her current, then past, self. thinking on it now, wouldn't she just be a different person? she won't have the memories that make her who she is, and being reborn again, there is no way the same events and happenings can be replicated to create the same "bishamon" again.

this reminds me of the situation with wanderer in genshin impact. after he lost his memories as a consequence of throwing himself into irminsul and erasing his existence, he was a blank slate (i know he didnt "lose" his memories, they simply never happened. bear with me here). when he was a "blank slate", he was a completely different person. that was no longer "kunikuzushi" or "scaramouche". that was just someone else. yet when he got his memories back, he somewhat turned back into who he was before the irminsul incident.

before i continue, i would like to establish the definition of immortality. there is a difference between immortality and invincibility. the former means that you will not die of natural causes but you can be killed, meanwhile the latter means that you can die of natural causes (debatable) but you cannot be killed. vampires are immortal (will not die of age but can be killed). superheroes are invincible (sometimes. cannot die of damage but can of old age).

as for the differences between rebirth, resurrection, and reincarnation, rebirth in this instance is that you are born again entirely. the whole exiting the womb shenanigans. resurrection is being brought back from the dead from where you left off. reincarnation is being reborn but differently, as in a different body (same soul but different "person") or a different form (human reincarnated into a tree or something idk)

moving on, i think immortality is still immortality even if rebirth or resurrection is included. resurrection is just a ctrl+z on the oopsy daisy that occurred and you continue being immortal. rebirth is just starting over from 0. but are you really "you" after rebirth? what makes you "you"? is it your soul? is it your memories? is it your body, what you look like? heck, what even does the soul have to do with this? if you look the same, have the same soul, but you are harbouring completely different habits and ideals than what you did in your past "life", doesn't that make you a different person? why else would we say that we don't recognise someone when they start acting differently than they usually do?

it's like how Kite from HxH got reincarnated into a different body after being reborn as an ant. it was still Kite, albeit in a different body, but her mannerisms were the same, she had the same look in her eye, and she remembered being Kite. she is Kite now. just in a different body because she has the memories of being that man before he got killed and eaten.

so what is a person if not just memories?

okay i'll stop and go sleep its 3 am goodnight

[bloodywankers]

Character Profile

tw; yandere, kidnapping, alcoholism, mentions of child neglect, car accident, some descriptions of injuries, major lore exposition dump

unedited | 1.5k wc | oc masterlist | navigation

Name — Alexei Chekhov

Traits — Obsessive | Possessive | Lucid 

Appearance —

He has ash blonde hair, violet eyes and two moles on his face (one under his eye and the other under his lip). His skin goes red really easily whether because of the cold, the alcohol or plain blush. 

He can be considered to have a fit or healthy build most of the time but he’s not buff by any means. (His face does most of the heavy lifting)

Personality —

Alexei, despite his best attempts, is an introvert at heart. He doesn’t have any friends because he never made an effort to get to know people, leading them to naturally give up on trying to approach him. He’s nice, sure, but superficial kindness can only get you so far. 

He acts like a smiling idiot most of the time purely because it's the path of least resistance. Nobody takes him too seriously. ‘He did something wrong? Well, what do you expect? It’s Alexei after all. That guy’s an airhead!’ But underneath it all he’s a petty brat who is quick to anger if things don’t go his way and tends to hold grudges for a long time even if the other person doesn’t even realise. 

After his accident the worst aspects of his personality suddenly became so much more prominent. Meaning he became even more irritable (didn’t know this was possible!) and him living alone led to many unhealthy habits such as a shit sleeping schedule and takeout for most meals. Purely because he felt there was no point in going through all that effort to take care of himself anymore. 

But underneath all that, he also has a strong sense of responsibility towards those he cares for, he likes to feel needed by them. This list of loved ones includes a grand total of three people: his brother, his dog and eventually his darling. 

Other Facts About Him—

Alexei used to be quite good at painting, something he was obsessed with since a young age. This was to the point that he was hellbent on pursuing art as a career.

A car accident in his 20s left him with lifelong scars all over his body, somewhat deformed hands that could no longer carry out high precision tasks and killed any shot he had at art. Ironically it was the other driver who was at fault for driving under the influence but this incident quickly turned his life around for the worst.

Prior to the accident, whenever people approached him they would describe him as uninterested or arrogant, resulting in him having no real friends or social skills.

Alexei is quick to anger when things don’t go his way, leading to him dropping the smiling fool act quite easily. 

The more he bottles up his emotions, the more he will overcompensate by leaning into the himbo persona. This unintentionally helped him attract women to sleep with (before he met his s/o) but none of them ever stayed with him. 

Despite being quite intelligent when he wants to be, he acts like a whiny brat most of the time.

Hates leaving his house, especially during the day-time but he has no choice since his dog demands to be walked multiple times a day.

Absolutely, under no circumstances would he want to have children. Part of this is due to his mother blaming the twins for ending her ballet career and his father’s general dislike for them as young children. Neither of them were quite ready to be raising children and Alexei is convinced that he will be no different.

Position —

As the younger twin, he’s always enjoyed playing hooky while his brother carried out the unenviable task of trying to live up to their parents’ expectations. 

Alexei shamelessly ignores anything he doesn’t enjoy, barely scraping the marks needed to pass his classes but only because retaking them would be an even bigger pain in the ass. 

After the accident he began his spiral to rock bottom. Drinking until the barkeeper has to wrestle the bottles out of his hands, sleeping with women in hopes that it might make him feel something besides that sensation of being a dirty, used, wet rag. His introversion and general dislike of strangers actively worked against him here as he’s always been happiest while painting (which stopped being an option for him overnight).

Relationships —

His mother  tries to keep up the caring act for appearances but they are largely indifferent towards each other nowadays. His father might contact him once in a blue moon just to give him shit for not obediently following whatever dull corporate life was planned out for him.

Viktor, his elder brother is the one person that Alexei could rely on and  felt understood by growing up, however, they have an unhealthy dependence on each other that neither brother seems to be aware of. While trying to show their affection in whatever way they can, most of their attempts end up doing more harm than good. Viktor blames himself for Alexei’s accident and tends to clean up after his brother’s messes to ease his own guilt. 

Walt is Alexei’s pet dog—he got the name from some old film he was watching at the time of his adoption. Walt, the little bastard that he is, insists his food is served a specific way, refusing to touch it otherwise. The AC must always be at a specific temperature, otherwise, he’ll start howling pathetically until you comply. And god forbid you try to deny him the right to sleep on the bed next to you (this is a tactical choice so that he can pounce on you first thing in the morning). Walt is a husky that Viktor got for Alexei after the accident in hopes that it might bring back his sense of purpose. Truthfully, caring for him is what directly enabled Alexei’s approaching and subsequent kidnapping of his darling (it made him realise how much he enjoyed being needed by others).

Darling —

It’s a common occurrence for Alexei to dislike most things whilst simultaneously becoming obsessed with the few things he does like to unhealthy degrees, his darling being no exception. 

Now, there’s two things that motivate Alexei more than anything: spite and his sense of responsibility. This means that he is one of the most likely yanderes to go for a disabled s/o or an already married one (why not do both!). 

With a disabled darling, Alexei would try to be much more understanding and gentle—as long as you don’t kick up too much of a fuss(emphasis on this)—as he sees a bit of himself in you. Everything from how much people are willing to tolerate him, to what basic tasks he can perform has changed now that his body isn’t what it used to be and he can’t do the one thing he used to be good at so part of him would hope you can understand him better than others would. Of course, it would be a lie to say he doesn’t also enjoy seeing how you have to rely on him to survive. Motivating him to go above and beyond caring for his darling in this situation, which is pretty ironic considering how little regard he has for his own body and health. 

He treats you almost like how he treats Walt, meaning he expects the same type of loyalty from you as well. But his main reason for pursuing his s/o in this scenario is just the fact that a dog can’t substitute his base human desire for connection and nobody he’s met so far could understand him like you did. Well, maybe his brother but the thought of spending the rest of his life single with no one to talk to but Viktor makes Alexei shiver in disgust, no matter how close or mentally ill they are, they’re still siblings in the end. 

On the other end of the spectrum, we have an already married darling who would definitely suffer more. Partly because in this scenario, Alexei would likely be motivated by spite. 

Maybe he’s invited to the picture perfect wedding of some acquaintance (he didn’t even know you until that night) and sees you smiling up there on the altar with your groom. Seeing how perfect your life is (even if just on the surface) just pisses him off, especially after his own became such a mess so he will actively ruin your marriage any way possible just to see you miserable and swoop in, not as a saviour but instead to laugh in your face. You’ve unintentionally become an outlet for his bottled up frustration but Alexei doesn’t do passing fascinations, he’s in too deep to just toss you aside so you shouldn’t be surprised if you wake up in an unfamiliar room with an eager dog and his haughty owner.

Regardless of who his s/o is, all Alexei wants is someone he can take care of and push himself to get up in the mornings for. A body worthy of being nurtured and cared for because he can no longer see his own as such.

[danijaci]

the bucket tool when there's a small gap:

[teabutmakeitazure]

reading the dissimulation freaky 2.0 wip is making me cringe but this one scene in particular made me chuckle

[teabutmakeitazure]

if you want to read it as it's possibly being written in real time, please dm me or send me an ask. i'll send you the ellipsus link to it. (writing this is lowkey embarrassing)

(also, if you ever want to read a wip of mine, just lmk and i'll send you the ellipsus link. idm)

[teabutmakeitazure]

reading the dissimulation freaky 2.0 wip is making me cringe but this one scene in particular made me chuckle

[teabutmakeitazure]

happy friday everyone

i am going to remove geralt's armour when i boot up witcher 3 because i have free will (i want to see him shirtless)

[teabutmakeitazure]

closing my tabs on researching logic devices so they don't have to witness me writing x reader fanfiction

[teabutmakeitazure]

I have had so many blisters on my feet this year that I've found the routine (utc) that will heal them fast and with the least amount of hyperpigmentation around the healed area

the aim is to keep it wet. the entire thing that's basically a bubble on your skin? yeah. keep it wet. put a thin layer of aloe vera on it or vaseline if it's burning too much, but put that on and put a band-aid or an equivalent on it. change daily. do not pop the skin bubble. it may be tempting, but do not. once the bubble is no longer a bubble and flattens on its own, you may remove the band-aid and leave it open now. you must continue to moisturise it once or twice a day (thin vaseline layer is necessary) and keep your greedy little fingers away from it. do not touch. do not peel. leave it. peel it when the skin is removing itself. do no accelerate it's eviction. let it leave on its own or else it will cause wreckage in retaliation

blisters on feet are horrendously annoying. may all our blisters go to Childe because he's both a man and orange so he deserves it

[teabutmakeitazure]

I'm wasting such a good outfit on today whyyyy

[teabutmakeitazure]

cropped full sleeve black button down (with a soft U shape at the hem that reaches my tailbone), dark grey trousers (high waisted), short black lace layering wrap skirt (to cover my butt), antique silver ring stack, and grey bracelet + black wristwatch

I'm still mad I'm wasting this phenomenal fit and makeup on this boring lab day but I am dripped out meanwhile my coworkers will be in a white t-shirt and dark shorts so I think we can all see who the winner is here

[teabutmakeitazure]

I was too powerful (we all got sent home immediately after getting there because a different group had a deadline and needed the equipment)

[teabutmakeitazure]

I'm wasting such a good outfit on today whyyyy

[teabutmakeitazure]

cropped full sleeve black button down (with a soft U shape at the hem that reaches my tailbone), dark grey trousers (high waisted), short black lace layering wrap skirt (to cover my butt), antique silver ring stack, and grey bracelet + black wristwatch

I'm still mad I'm wasting this phenomenal fit and makeup on this boring lab day but I am dripped out meanwhile my coworkers will be in a white t-shirt and dark shorts so I think we can all see who the winner is here