#And headcanons/different interpretations of characters exist

[some-pers0n]

I know I'm shouldn't expect much when reading fanfic, especially since this is a hobby and not everyone should feel obligated to psychoanalyze these characters and the media they're from, but sometimes I just kinda wanna sit down and read a fic where they're even vaguely reminiscent of the canon characters, yknow?

[crescentfool]

having the hc that minato is ace is incredibly funny sometimes when you think about how ryoji is oh so very bi because it's like. "ah. death stole my ability to be attracted to people," in the same way that ryoji stole minato's eye color and energy level. like wow, thanks ryoji, you just keep finding things to steal from minato!

[smallnico]

nobody asked but i want everyone to know that when i draw karlach doing a happy tail thrash, it's stimming. i'm drawing her happy flapping. i'm not trying to compare karlach to a dog (or, rather, i'm not trying to condescend to her or minimize her pain or awareness or intelligence). i think everyone knows she's got big feelings and she's a very physically emotive and fidgety person (we've all seen her little dance) so it just makes sense to me that she would vent her excitement physically somehow.

also it's what i would do if i had a tail. i'm stuck using my hands lmao

[curry-and-gunpowder]

Anyway today's discussions on the discord have cumulated in this meme.

[brutalmasks]

bunny mask is literally the living embodiment of songs like ' dog days are over ' by florence + the machine and ' rebel girl ' by bikini kill. and no, i will not be taking criticism

[ishouldreallybeelsewhere]

Episode one of Supernatural is so flawed that, had I watched it for the first time last night (instead of for the third), I would not have have watched the second. Ever. The flaws are things I simply didn't pick up on when I was thirteen, and memory glazed over with emotional attachment. I understand why these flaws are there, what the writers tried and failed to do through clumsy dialogue and strange character decisions. There's no subtlety. Everything Sam says is direct exposition, specifically the things that he would not have to say to his brother.

I do not do reviews so that's all I'm going to say.

[spite-and-waffles]

"But it's not like that in canon at all!" ok but have you considered I. Don't. Care

[islandiis]

12

interview the muse | always accepting!

12. Who made you feel most anxious when you were a kid?

I mean... Well — there are only really two answers to this, I suppose, which are Norway and Denmark. They're the only people I really had, "when I was a kid". But then, I guess it also depends how you define when I was a kid, because — I mean, I'm immortal, you know, so—?

[He sits and thinks for a minute, looking up to the ceiling.] The most anxious... It has to either be Norway or Denmark, right? They were my only real constants, when I was younger. At least, you know — [He coughs into one hand, and then waves it distantly.] Until Norway and I — yeah. And they're my family. I love them, and we have a good relationship, but they made me anxious sometimes, too. Norway was... Well, he was pretty strict. He taught me to stop being, uh, however you would describe me as a kid. And that was a lot of tough love, and I didn't always like it. So, you know. Denmark and I, we're very close. And we always have been close, but in the past it was a bit more... complicated. [He scratches at one cheek, and then smiles up towards the ceiling.] I was anxious with him sometimes, too. It was different when it was just him and I, compared to when there were more of us together, but I still felt anxious sometimes. I probably made him anxious, too. I think it's normal, in any relationship, to be anxious sometimes.

[But, on a lighter note, he circles his arms around his knees and laughs, softly.] There was a farmer in the south who I always tried to avoid. Any time he saw me, he would try to put me to work — this was way back. I was healthy enough to work back then, but I just didn't want to. So I always avoided him, I remember wading across a river once just to avoid his farm, and I would keep looking over my shoulder for this farmer to come find me. Now I think back on it, I don't even think he was unfriendly or anything — he was just stern, and I think he just really needed the extra help. [He laughs.] I used to be so scared he'd find me. I even dreamed about him a couple of times.

[dollsandmasks]

So, anyway, transmasc and intersex Micchy headcanons that are actually more like a freeform fanfic. From one queer to another, so to say.

First of all, the mitsumata don’t usually think in human terms when it comes to gender.

Being intersex for them is way more common than it is for humans – about one third of all mitsumata births are intersex to some degree. For some, it barely plays a part in their appearance or mating – it is not unusual for an otherwise male-presenting mitsumata to have a gonad which could easily produce female pheromones, and if you dig deeper, you might find that his chromosome patterns are more typical of female mitsumata as well – neither of which could prevent him from successfully impregnating his mate. Then there are the more obvious ones, the ones who, through anatomical combinations not seen in humans but perfectly plausible for three-headed youkai hydras, possess both the ability to inseminate and to give birth, and you can usually tell by their appearance – unless you are not a mitsumata, then they probably all look the same to you. Due to being relatively common among their species, as well as an entirely different culture with different sets of views on gender altogether, intersex mitsumata do not face the kind of stigma and do not fight the kind of battles intersex humans would, so comparing their experiences is not entirely fair.

Some things stay the same, though, because they happen to come from the inside.

Micchy didn’t really think about it before hitting puberty. He was a boy, and Mizuchi was also a boy, but more importantly, they were both mitsumata, and that’s what mattered to them the most. Being proud of their three heads, of their fangs and slimy skin and a single eye. That’s all they had left, really, the orphaned, left-behind kids with nowhere to go. The community they once called home was gone now, and entering a different mitsumata community is not as easy as it sounds, not when you are just some punks with no real skills to contribute. Not like they needed it anyway, they were strong, resilient and, most importantly, together, sharing all of their experiences and thoughts.

Then puberty happened, and the things they experienced did not match. Though united in mind, they developed very different bodies. Mizuchi’s was male, no questions asked. Micchy’s happened to have two packages for the price of one, so to say.

And Micchy hated every second of it.

He hated the way his body felt, the way it curved and breathed and smelled. He hated the shape his three faces took on, and he absolutely despised the whole entire ordeal. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t him anymore.

Mizuchi, however, did not see the problem. “So what? You are still you. You are still a mitsumata, and should be proud of having the body of one, regardless of how it makes you really feel. You have double the chances of making an offspring with a mate you may find one day, isn’t that great?”

Of course, Mizuchi wasn’t that articulate in his response, but you get the picture.

It’s not like Micchy even minded having children in the future, or carrying said children himself, for that matter. He just wanted to look and feel different right now, and the more he though about it, the more guilt he felt inside. Was he being a bad mitsumata? Was he being a traitor to his kind for not accepting the body that was given to him?

The more he though about it, the more his mind shifted away from the things other mitsumata enjoyed, and more towards learning about different experiences altogether. Superhero comics from the human world fascinated him. The people in these stories were righteous and overcame their fears for the greater good. They saved people, they were beloved and accepted by many, while still being feared and detested by some, sure, but for a kid who was being feared and detested by practically anyone, this was a good enough deal. Their bodies were perfect, their deeds righteous, and man, did he want to become like them… And yet something still did not click, stopping him from fully immersing himself in his fantasy. These impeccable men in colorful suits, they were born like that. Sure, some were once scrawny and weak, some had no powers before a life-changing experience gifted them one or two, but there was always a potential for them to become the men he saw on the pages. None of them had to overcome an obstacle of having a body that was not it.

Then he started looking deeper and deeper into media and discourse aimed at both humans and human-like youkai, and he came to learn of the concept of trans men. And it finally clicked.

You don’t have to live with a body that doesn’t suit you. You can make your own.

And so, he began developing his Lightside form using the images that inspired him. He wanted it to be buff, strong, masculine, a form that would feel euphoric just to look at, to breathe in, to live with. A body he has made by himself, for himself.

Honestly, it was also how he discovered he loves making art. Taking something and turning it into something else entirely, something beautiful. Blank canvas into an art piece. A rock into a sculpture. A body that makes him sick into a body that gives him comfort. Something he couldn’t wait to show his brother.

We all know how Mizuchi reacted to that reveal.

I’m going to skip ahead a bit, because of course, things weren’t okay, and it took a while for them to become somewhat okay. Micchy still takes his Shadowside form from time to time. It doesn’t feel good, but when there’s no other option, he’ll manage. He has a lot of gripes with himself still, and he could be educated somewhat more on the ways to take care of his new body. He doesn’t have a problem with being feminine, and the idea of maybe carrying a child one day does not bring him any displeasure, his body is strong and capable and can do many more cool things, he’s just not mentally ready for parenthood yet.

Still, he is what he is. He is still a proud mitsumata, even if he looks different, because looks are not there to define you, they are there so you would look at yourself in the mirror and feel good. If asked if he is a man or a woman, he would probably answer that he’s Micchy, Natsume’s knight and part of the youkai detective agency.

All that matters is that he’s finally comfortable in his own skin.

[juney-blues]

June Egbert is, and always has been incredibly fascinating to me because of just, how many factors have conspired to make Homestuck fans show their collective transmisogynistic asses.

The main character of Homestuck transitioning is a planned future plot point for the official continuation of homestuck, that was spoiled in advance by a fan making a joke about finding some toblerones Andrew Hussie the author of homestuck hid in a cave.

The current main writers of Homestuck: Beyond Canon have went on record in an AMA confirming that this was indeed always the plan, even before they took up the project.

In spite of these facts, the general consensus among certain homestuck fans seems to be that "June Egbert" is purely a headcanon for the original comic that was "made canon" by a "Toblerone Wish" (a concept that didn't even exist at the time)

For a variety of reasons, the "canonicity" of the postcanon official continuations of homestuck is a mattter of much debate, (though a debate that most homestuck fans seem to err on a side of "it's not canon at all in the slightest," something the writers have feelings on I'm sure.)

All of these factors combined leave the concept of "June Egbert" in a very nebulous place. It's assumed by most to just be an "ascended headcanon" that was shoehorned in, it's a spoiler so it hasn't happened yet in any official media, and the official media it will eventually happen in is regarded by some to be nothing more than glorified fanfic.

If someone is talking about June Egbert, and you don't like the concept of June Egbert, you have your pick of a million different excuses for why she's fake and gay and not worth discussing and bad writing and just the authors doing a gay dumbledore*, paying lip service to representation while actually doing nothing.

And of course, lots of people *don't* like June Egbert! Rather than being introduced as transfem from the start, she's in this nebulous position of discovery where people have to truly reckon with the idea of a "Pre-transition Trans Woman."

You can try to write off *some* of the backlash as transphobia, because obviously not everyone in this fandom is gonna be cool about trans people.

But there's no shortage of fans just dying to tell you about how much they like reading her as transmasc, or the idea of her being nonbinary or genderqueer or genderfluid, or literally anything besides a trans woman. And since they're fine with all those other interpretations, there's obviously no implicit biases driving their distaste for the concept! (if you want to try explaining the concept of "transmisogyny" to people like this you're braver than I.)

you can trust them when they say it's *just* a problem with whether or not it makes sense with the writing, or it just doesn't feel right somehow, or any of the thousands of excuses that this writing situation gives them to just Not Like It.

It's just, so interesting to me. There's not a lot of characters out there that get a trans arc in this way, that leaves room for open denialism and insistence that we have our trans cake and eat it too... Because Homestuck is a timeline spanning multiverse story, lots of people seem to want it to be an alternate timeline thing. Assuring us we can have this character share space with a non-transitioning version of herself and it won't be weird or imply gross things about trans people.

If you ask me it feels like a plotline that'd be really good for exploring some gender horror though, finding your true self and then being demoted to a footnote, an alternate version, because everyone around you likes your pre-transition self more....

Anyway I have no broader point beyond "hey look at this isn't this kinda weird. You don't get this kinda stuff often!"

*side note: it's a little ghoulish I think to compare "a future trans plot point that hasn't been given the chance to even happen yet, in an already famously queer piece of media, from a nonbinary author" to "some stupid shit done by the literal most famous transphobe of all time" but that's perhaps a discussion for later.

[love-bitesx]

: ̗̀➛ PROTECTOR. hobie brown x reader

summary: spider-man makes a point of walking y/n home every night, but after befriending them as hobie brown as well, his feelings get complicated. words: 3.5k REQUESTS OPEN ! warnings: non-explicit sexual harassment (a man is very creepy to reader), reader isn't gendered! but be aware, author is female, so possible afab bias, i tried my hardest i swear. all characters are adults :) author is british so this is my interpretation of his silly little slang from what ive experienced hehe also divider credit: cafekitsune a/n: may feel a little ooc, but in my headcanon, when he's pining the way he is for reader, he's so soft. also, spider-man and hobie r completely different personalities u cant tell me otherwise. first time writing hobie so pls give me opinions ty. enjoy!!!!!

“is it home-time already, darlin’?”

there he was. the familiarity of routine washing over you, turning your head to see him propped up against the brick, spikes on display and guitar pick flipping in between his clothed fingers.

“spider-man, my hero,” you sighed and clutched your non-existent pearls, a smirk on your lips.

“you know i hate that,” kicking off from the wall of the pub you just clocked out of, he stuffed his hands into his patched up jacket, his bouncy stride meeting yours on the pavement.

“i know,” you smiled, allowing your bag to fall from your shoulders and into his outstretched hand, as always.

it had become a routine, over the course of a few months, that the one-and-only spider-man would escort you home from work in the late hours. at first, it didn’t seem real. why would he decide to spend valuable time most days walking you home, when he could be out fighting whatever darkness lurks in the shadows? you’ve asked him, almost every time, but he always gives the same, vague answer;

“who else is gonna keep you safe, love?”

his legs were longer than yours, by a mile. so he had to slow his usual pace for you. naturally bouncy, his booted feet tapped against the pavement like a kick drum, and you wondered whether that was the radioactive blood in his veins, or his natural energy.

laughter flittered through the dark streets as you caught up, it had only been a day since you last saw him, but being a crime-fighting, fascist-killing superhero, there was quite a lot to pack into a 24 hour day.

he bounced off the walls of passing buildings, recreating his fights with the air that hung between you both, throwing in some exaggerated punches here and there, to elicit an extra giggle or two from you. you almost got lost following his animated recreations, but he kept an eye out for the roads ahead. he’d memorised all the paths leading to your apartment.

it had all started a few months prior, after a particularly long shift at work. constantly over the span of a few hours, this guy would not leave you alone. no matter how many times you refused his advances, a smile on your face, masking the unsettling pit in your stomach at the sight of his grin. drink, after drink, after drink, he ordered just to stare at you the whole night, crude gestures and words thrown your way.

you’d gotten used to it, working at a pub in the depths of london, it wasn’t ever unusual to get unwanted advances. but something about this guy, you couldn’t shake it. ~

“what time do you finish, ay?” his accent was thick, you placed him somewhere up north.

“i’m not sure,” you muttered back, forcing a smile.

“oi, come on! ‘course you know what time you finish,” his words were slurred, and his eyes hadn’t left yours once, “was thinking we could ‘ave some drinks together, tha’s’all.”

“sorry, i can’t tonight, i have to be up early tomorrow,” you giggled, and if he wasn’t so drunk, he’d definitely have picked up on the nerves lacing your words.

“come on,” vowels drawn out, he made an attempt to stand up to meet your height, the proximity of him sending a shock of fear to your heart, until a strong hand clapped against his chest, the force almost sending him backwards.

“pack it in, dickhead, they said ‘no’,” a deep, almost calming voice spoke, contrasted completely with the stern, threatening tone of his words.

you looked to meet your protectors gaze, and it almost stunned you. he was tall, taller than you, for sure. dark, smooth skin with an aura of pure mayhem, silver piercings protruding from his face. adorned with a ripped, skin-tight plain top and denim vest, littered with badges, patches and just about any accessory known to man.

his eyes were what really held you. a heavy look, dark brown with the most unique feeling of strength and power that you’d ever seen. you could’ve easily gotten lost.

deciding you’d stared at him long enough, though, you broke the eye contact, diverting it back to the man who looked a humorous combination of terrified and offended at the same time.

“‘s alright mate, we were just talking, back off, yeah?” his liquid courage built up, ignorant of the taller man’s hand still pushing against his chest, ring-clad hands seeming to leave an imprint.

“think it’s time for you to leave, mate,” he spat back, mimicking his slang.

a moment of silence followed. you’d fully expected the drunken creep to swing a punch, or at least bite back, but under the weight of the taller man’s stare, he seemed to lose all fight he had in him. with a final murmer of something you couldn’t quite hear, and unsure you really wanted to, he stumbled backwards, slipping into the crowd.

“thank you,” you broke the silence, to which the man shrugged.

“he was a pig,” he brushed it off like nothing, and you couldn’t help but smile at his attitude. raising his newly free hand, he stretched it towards you, tight in a fist.

“hobie, hobie brown,” he greeted, and his accent completely erased the ‘h’ from his name.

“y/n l/n,” you smiled, accepting his offer and spudding him, the cold metal of his rings against your knuckles. you couldn’t help but grin at the oddity of his presence.

hobie kept you company for the rest of the night, ranting about his thoughts and opinions of various important subjects, ranging widely from drinks of choice to the existence of capitalist propaganda in modern media, all of which you hung onto every word of.

it wasn’t long until he’d managed to book him and his band into a few slots on the pub’s makeshift stage that stood empty on the other side of the room, smiling to himself at how authentically excited you seemed to hear his music.

when he left, his vacancy was immediately obvious. the booming pub feeling oddly silent without him.

after closing up for the night, you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder, switching the lights off with one hand and fiddling with the keys in the other, shaking the door to double check you locked it well enough. body aching from being on your feet all day, you yawned, stepping autopilot into the darkness. the night air was chilling, causing you to wrap your jacket tight around your body. cursing at yourself for not bringing another layer, or pre-ordering a taxi home.

“oi,” you heard from your right, turning quickly to the familiar call.

stumbling on the pavement, the drunken creep from earlier pointed towards you.

shit.

you hadn’t expected him to actually wait for you. it’d been hours since he left, he was insane. what was he thinking?

grabbing the keys from your pocket, you gripped them in your freezing hands in defense.

“where’s your little friend, huh?” he spat, clearly enraged by hobie’s interruption earlier. he stepped closer, and you stepped back, trembling as you tripped slightly on the pavement.

“ay, is this twat bothering you?” a voice called from above.

wait, above?

craning your neck up, you made eye contact with possibly the last person you expected.

“spider-man?”

and from that night, he’d met you every time. waiting outside the pub doors, no exception, to walk you home.

“hey!” spider-man’s upbeat calling snapped you instantly back to him, jumping slightly as you finally noticed he was directly in front of your face, white eyes narrowed on your demeanor, “where’d you go, huh?”

“sorry,” paying him an apologetic smile, “just thinking.”

“wanna clue me in, darlin’?” his tone was playful, but the soften of his masks expression felt genuine.

“just thinking about the day i’ve had,” you lied, unsure whether his spidey senses could tell. not that it was rare for you to think about how you met, but you didn’t want to bring it up again. if he could tell, he didn’t let on.

“whataboutit?” he sped up, slipping back to your pace and slinging his lanky arm over your shoulders, basically hanging onto you as you walked. he liked walking with you like this. it made him feel powerful, like he was keeping you extra safe.

“hobie’s band played again!” you exclaimed, and if he’d been paying attention, he would’ve seen the way your face lit up at the memory. unfortunately for him, his eyes were trained on webbing a chocolate bar from a passing vendor. god knows why it was still open, but he was glad it was.

“hobie, again, huh?” taunted spider-man, punching your arm playfully with the fist that gripped the newly stolen snickers bar, “starting to think you’re replacing me, love.”

“never,” you teased back, elbowing his side, hearing the jingle of his badged vest, “hobie’s just…”

ears pricking, he clung onto the words you were speaking, anticipating possibly hearing something he didn’t want to.

“he’s just so cool,” you breathed with a smile, and he almost verbally sighed in relief, stopping himself in order not to rouse suspicion. he smirked under his mask, “just got this feel about him, so easy to talk to, and he’s so talented! you know, i’ve almost learnt all the lyrics to his songs.”

his heart just about exploded. in fact, he thinks he could pinpoint the exact moment it did.

he played off his burning cheeks, clearing his throat and incredibly glad his mask hid his flustered expression.

“you should come see him, you know,” you looked up at him, and though you knew his answer was ‘no’, it was worth a try, “i can hide you in the back if you don’t wanna be seen.”

“come off it, love,” he dismissed, avoiding your gaze, but his back was tingling like pins and needles under the warmth of it, “i’m not keen to meet the man stealing you from me.”

“fuck sake,” you laughed and pushed his arm off you, brushing off his playful flirting.

his confidence was excelling. the friendship you had formed over the prior months had stemmed from his childish charm, and it hadn’t faltered once.

“well, here i am,” you brought your pace to a halt, hovering in front of the door to your apartment building.

“i’ll miss you tonight,” he fell against the wall, eyes stuck on you. you couldn’t see it, but you could feel his smirk.

“i’ll see you tomorrow, i finish at 11,” you stepped towards him.

“i’ll be waiting,” he kicked off from the bricks, raising his hand to ruffle your hair, much to your protest, before practically disappearing in front of your eyes.

you were left grinning to yourself, much like every night.

“what’s up, bruv?” hobie’s friend elbowed him harshly in the ribs, causing him to rip his eyes from you.

“nothing,” he huffed, but by the lack of sustenance and playfulness in his reply, his friend was less than satisfied. hobie was a carefree, reckless guy with a constant spurt of irony, and seeing him with a sullen expression and no bite back, was worrying.

“come off it, hobie,” another one piped up, sitting across from him with an empty pint in one hand and cigarette in the other, pointing the latter in his face. he huffed, “you’ve been slumping for like 3 months now, and you’ve only been writing sappy love songs.”

the table snickered, and even hobie’s lips curled into a smirk. his friend was right, he wasn’t even nearly like his usual self. he blames you for that.

“who is it then, huh?” his friend pushed, cigarette still hanging in front of hobie’s face, ash crumbling off the end, “has our ol’ hobie brown got himself a partner?”

“oi, you know i hate labels,” he smirked again, knowing he was lying. not that he didn’t usually hate them, but he couldn’t avoid the fact that every time you made your way to the front of his mind, he was urged to call you his. his partner. his person. his love. just his.

he always did hate consistency, anyway.

“another round, guys?” your voice ripped him from his thoughts, your scent somehow drifting above the sticky smell of beer and cigarettes, he pinned that down to his spider abilities, but he’d be a fool to ignore that he had simply just memorised the aroma.

“please, darlin’,” hobie’s friends chirped up, grinning at you thankfully. he cursed the burning feeling in his chest.

“i could do you guys a deal,” you smirked playfully, and he looked up to meet your eyes. you looked beautiful tonight, like usual. he was fucked.

“if you lot give us a song, it’ll be on the house,” you smiled hopefully, taking note of their usual orders just incase they agree.

“sounds like a plan,” hobie reached his hand out to you, open for a handshake, to which you took. soft hands falling into his calloused ones, he couldn’t help but notice how nice it felt.

turning away, you left to get their usual set up sorted, feeling him still watching you, to which you threw him a smile over your shoulder.

it wasn’t unusual at all. his eyes would always find you. at the table with his mates, his gaze would swim through the crowd to yours. even on stage, lost in the moment with himself and his guitar, it was you he always found his eyes trailing back to. it wasn’t like the other men in the bar, it wasn’t predatory desire or lust, but it was warm. it was safe.

he had three options, really; confess himself to you as hobie brown, coming clean about the way he felt about you, the warmth in his heart that spread across his spine whenever you smiled at him, eventually having to come clean about his alter-ego. he could confess as spider-man, to which he’d have to come clean about his actual identity. or option three. stay silent and suffer in his own pity. bite his lip and pretend his heart wasn’t yearning for you.

but, he prided himself in being able to speak his mind without hesitation. confident in his word, suffocated in his silence. he would always say: if he ever bit his tongue, to kill him there and then. well, here he is; begging for mercy at the barrel, his tongue bleeding from keeping his heart locked in his chest.

he was fucked. well and truly.

“anything special happen today?” spider-man nudged you, taking a worried note of your unusual quietness recently. it was the same night, he’d picked you up like normal, and hopped along beside you.

“the band played again,” a swelling smile bloomed on your lips, “other than that, not really.”

your voice was hollow tonight. easily mistakable with your naturally soft tone, but to his trained ears, it didn’t feel right.

stopping immediately in his path, his bouncy steps ceasing, you quickly copied him. confusion slipping behind your eyes.

“what’s up?” you questioned.

“you know you wanna tell me,” he stepped around you, arms falling over your shoulders from behind, heavy with his full weight. something about the mask, it gave him a confidence with you that he’d quenched as hobie.

you sighed and rested your head back against his chest, taking him by surprise. there was something intimate about the way your eyes were closed, body resting against him. your brain was hectic, he didn’t need his spidey senses to see that.

“there’s just…” you spoke, eyelids feeling heavy as you opened them, looking up to see him. head split in two, you were unsure if you even wanted to say it out loud, “there’s this guy.”

it was almost cruel how fast his heart dropped, plummeting like a boulder into the pit of his stomach. body stiffening, his head was spinning so fast he didn’t even have the conscience to mask it.

“i just can’t get him out of my head, it’s so stupid,” if your wistful look wasn’t answer enough, the outpour of dissonance he could feel from your body told him it was serious.

“not another fella tryna steal you from me,” he chuckled, but his voice was weak, vulnerable. you hadn’t heard it like that before.

untangling yourself from his weighted grip, you leant against the wall of the building you were stood in front of, staring up into the night sky. there was something so embarrassing about admitting a silly little crush.

“not another one, technically,” you spoke softly, a hint of a smile tickling your lips at the thought of him, he stepped closer, “i’ve already told you about him.”

and he stopped dead in his tracks. mind racing a million miles an hour, picking apart every word you said. was he stupid? was he reaching? seeing something that wasn’t there? he was the only one you’d spoken about, but surely not, right?

shifting closer again, his body begun to feel the heat radiating off you, barely an inch between you both. he towered you, as always, the spikes on his jacket and mask hitting the streetlights perfectly, giving him an orange glow. you bought yourself to look at him, and though you couldn’t see the eyes beneath, you felt his gaze.

insufferably close, closer than you’ve ever been, you could feel your heart in your chest. a tension that you hadn’t quite felt before, bubbling in the air between you.

“say his name, love,” his voice was low, lower than normal, and a twinge of familiarity hit your chest hearing the deeper tone, one you couldn’t quite pinpoint. chills dripped down your spine at the new found feeling.

gulping, you could feel his name in your throat, struggling it’s way out.

“hobie.” your voice was barely above a whisper, but considering he almost had you pressed against the brick, he heard every syllable. and god, did it sound good.

“again?” he croaked, just wanting to confirm, needing to hear it again, needing to hear you say it, relish in every beat.

“hobie,” you repeated, louder this time, more conviction in your chest, “i like him, like a lot.”

he went silent. dead silent, barely moving. heat radiated from him, and you could’ve sworn in the vacancy of sound that you could hear his heart pounding against his chest. reaching up, your hand trembling slightly, you placed it there. on his chest, feeling the material of his suit, the humanity of his heartbeat. he melted into it.

“are you o—“

“i need to tell you something.” he interrupted you.

it was your turn to be silent, eyes heavy with intrigue, begging him to continue.

without a word, his ring-clad hand ghosted your skin, drifting past the air between you and to the base of his mask, sliding along his neckline for the seam, and dragging it up over his face, revealing the man within.

your heart stopped, a thousand things flashing through your head, through your heart, surging in your bloodstream. you didn’t even know what to say, what to think, how to comprehend it.

“hobie?” your voice was small again, shrunk beneath the look in his eyes, the desire.

embarrassment waved through you for a moment, a sudden panic of the earlier confession, your chest pounding at the possible rejection.

he didn’t even leave the thoughts enough time to fester, however, because his hand that was holding his mask was suddenly flush against your jaw, the material falling softly onto your neck. thumb trailing the comfort of your cheek, revelling in the feel of your skin, warm against his hands, he leaned forward.

his lips were on yours, without a word. gentle, but rough. the tension escaping through the feeling of him pressed into you, desire leaping out of every shared breath. his other hand fell to your waist, and yours stayed firm on his chest, bunching the fabric in your hand to bring him closer. he obliged, of course, and the kiss deepened. his head spun.

pulling away for breath, you kept your eyes on his lips, disbelief swimming around your brain, colliding with the need to kiss him again.

“y/n,” his hand brought your eyeline to his, “i like you, too.”

you couldn’t help but smile, relief washing your body out.

“like, a lot.”

he kissed you again. and again.

a/n: hope u enjoyed!! pls let me kno if ur did, this is my first time writing for him <3 thanku!!!

[kits-ships]

ppl always strive to be canon-accurate w/ their selfships or ocxcanon but who cares ! it's YOUR f/o whether you hit them with an OC beam or not. headcanons already exist and people will always interpret a character differently. love them however you want.

[bigshotautos]

I really like your theory about Spamton basically haunting a mannequin after death. Have you ever touched upon the reaction from Jevil (or anyone, really) upon seeing the new Spamton? Especially considering Spamton isn't even aware he 'died'.

^ how i think jevil's first sight of Spamton would go. i love this ask. this is referring to some headcanons I made a while back, I'll link it here for the one post and the general ghost spamton theory is linked in that one as well. Going to elaborate on it more under the cut for those interested + more art.

In general I think that people from Spamton's past wouldn't really care if they notice at all, since he wasn't in the business of making close friends with anyone. With the Addisons, in my interpretation he had a "weird co-worker" relationship with them, and while Addisons in general treated each other like potential business competitors that they had to make-nice with, Spamton is especially easy to single out for being visibly and temperamentally different. His altered, current state is something they'd feel at least uncomfortable by, but many wouldn't have been too close with him to begin with for them to talk about it with him directly. Would get whispered about between each other for sure, like we saw with them talking about Spamton after the NEO fight. It moves him from the "disgraced guy I used to know" category to the "actually unpleasant to look at or think about" territory. This goes for Swatch, Queen, and Seam (less so), who seem to buy heavily into the Lightner and Darkner dynamic, with Spamton corrupting the Lightner's dream being a strong taboo against what it means to be a Darkner.

As for what Jevil thinks, Spamton during the NEO fight is both a beautiful and horrifying display. Jevil at this point hasn't seen him in years since his imprisonment, and in their time apart Jevil has grown to find novelty in the cage that everyone else besides him is in since he's created huge emotional distance between him and the reality he lives in. Seeing the fact that Spamton had corrupted an abandoned dream of a Lightner and was causing so much chaos to the established order of the world would be exhilarating, but at the same time seeing that Spamton had accomplished this and still had his strings visible (and changed to a marionette puppet with no symbolic agency), it'd be a painful confirmation of his worldview that even Spamton, who deep down he still cares for, could never have been free.

Jevil would think at first he'd just gone through some nebulous situation to change what he looks like, since ofc he himself has toy-like traits (arguable if that happened with Gasterfication or not), Seam is a plushie cat, and other Card Castle Darkners are based on toys, but feeling the lack of life combined with the symbolic body of Spamton would mean to him something bigger had went wrong. He wouldn't dare to bring it up in an empathetic way, stuck in his mindset that it doesn't matter, but it'd still hit a part of him he doesn't like to think still exists. It's something he gets over quickly, almost performatively going back to fucking with him and taking advantage of his fear for entertainment, but it didn't sit well at first.

To me, the fact Spamton "died" isn't really a huge deal, kind of like with the ghosts in Undertale where no one really cares they're just ghosts. They're just doing their thing. To me it'd be fine if neither of them find out what happened for certain, but it's something that adds Flavor to his character.

[thefrogdalorian]

A little love letter to Din Djarin writers... 🤍

I love that some of you write him as soft and gentle while others focus on the darker, harsher parts of his personality. I love that he can be both a quiet, kind man caring for his child or an intimidating, terrifying bounty hunter who is a lean, mean killing machine... depending on what the fic warrants.

I love how you write him with other characters from The Mandalorian or even with those who would never cross paths with him in canon, from Star Wars or elsewhere. I love how you write him interacting with yourselves and us, and some of you even create your own original characters to exist a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away alongside him.

I love that some of you ship him with that one other special person, while others recognise how desirable he is and ship alllllll the ships. Not forgetting those of you which are here for none of those ships and/or even headcanon him as ace. I love that any of those options allow you to explore your own identities and sexualities through him.

I love that you can write the most tooth-rotting fluff or filthiest smut, and all of those things in between. Whether it's for general audiences or explicit and strictly 18+ ... all of your fics have an audience and someone out there who appreciates your writing.

I love how differently you can interpret him, but there are also so many common themes and tropes running through your writing. I love that there is room for all of your Dins here.

I love that he means so much to you and that all of us here hold him in our hearts a little bit. I love that we can all watch the same episodes and come to entirely different conclusions about him. I love how much we love him.

Getting to be a part of this wonderful community and interact with so many people who love the space tin can man as much as I do has truly been one of the best things that happened to me recently. I'm so glad I made this little blog... It reminded me just how good fandom can be. I am blown away by the number of talented people here!

So, I just wanted to take a moment to express some gratitude towards all of you! Thank you for writing your Dins and please don't ever stop. Finally.... last, but not least:

I love Din Djarin!!!

[carlyraejepsans]

So in a way, is there a difference between headcanoning frisk/chara as girls or boys and headcanoning them as trans/nonbinary if it's all headcanon in the end anyway and everyone is equally wrong?

yes there's a difference because arbitrarily deciding that canon established neutrality is something that you get to override and is automatically more "debatable" than a character being established as male or female is a very obvious double standard.

interpreting them as nonbinary is only a way to translate their neutrality while assuming that the rest of their race thinks of gender as we do in real life. it doesn't change anything about how the character is referred to. rather, it preserves it. headcanoning them as a boy or a girl throws aside their neutrality entirely as irrelevant and "arbitrary". for what. YOUR discomfort?

while i might not think the characters in the text itself are trans, this attitude REALLY speaks to people's ignorance and weirdness around trans people in real life. because outside the game, real gender neutral people exist and they ARE, of course, transgender. someone who has gender neutral and nonbinary friends and is normal about it is not going to scramble to immediately fit any neutral characters back into the gender binary like a fucking 5 year old. because for someone who isn't transphobic, neutrality is just another way for human beings to exist.

anyway how many gendered characters are there out there? how many textually neutral ones, to compare? go play with another one of your billions of toys, if not retconning an entire character is sow hawd fow u

tldr: yes. kiss my ass

[breached-containment-script]

Some arguments KA shippers make are valid and true. But that they don't necessarily do anything nearly enough to be valid anti-zutara arguments!

Stuff like, that quick burns probably wouldn't scar (Katara's hands) or that if she had gotten scarred, that Toph's feet should have gotten scarred too. This is valid.

That it's true that when Aang's negative aspects get developed to their final extreme forms in theories and fanfiction, it can feel weird and offputting to people who naturally gravitate towards staying approximately around canon vibes; that some descriptions of behaviour sound too strong to some people which results in pushing them away from zutara as a negative reaction to associated criticisms of Aang. But that also personal headcanon developments (even those with strong foundation in canon) are individual preferences and people are able to choose which headcanons to like, without using disliked ones to paint an entire show interpretation negative.

It'a true that most of Aang's bad behaviour in the show can be attributed to him being just a kid and not being self-aware enough yet. He's not intentionally malicious in most cases. His negative reaction towards Water Tribe culture and food is a depiction of a kid not knowing how to respect something that makes him uncomfortable, even if this kinda clashes with him having already had friends from all over the world. Unfortunatey, canon progression doesn't depict him learning as many lessons as he should nor does it show him outgrowing negative traits even though it should have. THIS is the source of headcanons which appreciate intentionally exploring main character developing in a negative light. His negative traits constantly repeat and have a common stay in his canon character. This is a fact, especially with his claim that he'd be in the Avatar state had it not been blocked, out of frustration that actors on a stage implied Katara doesn't feel the same way about him. This is a very bad thing, we've seen both him and others being afraid of it, it causing massive destruction and Katara having the burden of calming him down. How would she theoretically calm him down in the case he did enter the Avatar state because of this reason? Assuming she didn't have romantic feelings for him (which should always exist as a valid option for any character, to test if they have a healthy interaction) - she could pray he'd accept it and calm down on his own, or be under extreme pressure to lie that she likes him back. Even if she did like him back, having to admit under the threat of a destructive force being unleashed, IS NOT GOOD. Especially as the characters never addressed this later.

Yes, Zuko did a lot of bad things but not only are they overblown by KA-fans and Zuko-antis, they constantly purposefully ignore that he got punished repeatedly, suffered in canon for his actions and kept doing very risky and selfless things to make up for his past, they also forget that time flows FORWARD and that WHEN events happened on a timeline MATTERS. It's not an argument that Zuko burned Suki's village in book 1 when he helped rescue her and others by risking his life in book 3 and she forgave him. One thing is collateral damage in a cartoon filled with cartoon violence, and another when for example Long Feng kills Jet. Viewers should be able to discern the tone difference, because shows (or any creative work) especially with multiple writers, aren't homogenous, and aren't tonally or message-wise completely unified. Don't start your deduction argument from the idea that a show is fully consistent and is absolutely sending a singular message, start an inductive analysis from ideas about what a show's context is, what its goals are, what the tone feels like in each section, did it accomplish what it was aiming for, etc. Likewise Zuko could have been written even better in some areas and with more context!

However him hunting down heroes, knocking out Katara etc. isn't a gotcha argument some people think it is, because Katara knocked him out as well, twice even so badly he didn't wake up for quite some time; and he was struck, rejected, ignored, mocked and criticised by both Iroh, the gaang and Katara especially after he sided with Azula under Ba Sing Se, but then they forgave him as he actively worked to atone, and Katara herself forgave him for what he did. She then risked her life to save him back. The writing is very logical and consistent in this.