#instead of cheesy and hollow

[frantic-fiction]

Hear me out… my TAV’s background is that she was a sex worker that was sold into the trade from a young age, and this has been her chance to break free, and she’s romancing Astarion and he’s the first person she slept with that she CHOSE to and WANTED to, and all I can think of is the “you were just a transaction” line he has… and maybe he says it to her because he freaks out and is scared of his feelings? Just something SO angsty, HEAVY groveling, happy ending??

My heart ugh you monster (I love you 🥰)

I don't write angst very often. This was incredibly fun and heartbreaking to write...and I might have gone a little too melodramatic with it. Hopefully this lives up to what you were imagining!!

Transaction

Astarion x gn!reader

Warnings: Angst with a slightly happy ending, implied that reader was a sex worker, if I missed anything major let me know

Word Count: 2k

Masterlist

Transaction.

Transaction.

Just a transaction.

You were just a transaction.

It's a bitter realization that hits you like a cold wave crashing over your very being. How naive of you to believe that someone could see beyond your body? To look deeper than sex and find all the quirks and vulnerabilities underneath. The person who savors the taste of sweet rolls and red wine, who secretly indulges in cheesy romance novels but would never admit it out loud. The person who was forced to do unspeakable things but still stands strong in this cruel world.

You thought he understood. After all the nights spent sharing your history, baring your soul, and listening to him bear his own, you dared to hope he would be different. How could you have been so blind, so naive, to succumb to the romantic fantasy of finding someone who saw and understood the scars you carried and loved you all the same?

How could he do this? The laughter you once shared under starlight and the kisses captured behind tent flaps all feel hollow all merely a performance to win you over for his benefit alone. How could you have been so blind to his true intentions? Was it the desperation for connection that clouded your judgment, or simply the yearning for love you so desperately craved?

The signs were there. Astarion's gradual withdrawal began after the events at Moonrise Towers. You convinced yourself it was merely that the group was finally back in the city. You hoped that a night alone together would help. But hope was a fragile illusion.

Instead of finding solace in each other's arms, you are standing on the precipice of your unraveling. Each word, each action, reinforces the painful truth that you were nothing more than a pawn in his game—a transaction to be exploited for his gain. And as you grapple with the emptiness gnawing at your chest, you can't help but wonder why you failed to see it coming.

"Hey, Soldier."

The voice breaks through the haze of your thoughts, pulling you back to the present moment. Blinking slowly, you find yourself in the dimly lit confines of an alleyway, the stench of decay mingling with the chill of the night air. 

Moving like you're wading through water, you turn towards the voice. You stare blankly at Karlach, who kneels beside you with concern and caution as if approaching a frightened animal.

You sluggishly realize—you're the frightened animal.

Behind her stands Halsin, his attempt at a reassuring smile falling short in the face of your obvious distress. 

"We were getting worried about you," Karlach murmurs, her usual cheer tempered by genuine concern.

"I'm sorry," you croak, your voice raw with emotion.

You don't remember when the tears began falling, but they nonetheless stain your cheeks.

"You have nothing to apologize for," Halsin assures, his voice a soothing balm to your battered soul.

Wrapped in a cloak infused with the scent of pine and honey-suckle, you allow yourself to be guided through the silent streets of Baldur's Gate, the passage of time seeming to have slipped through your fingers like grains of sand.

How long have you been lost in your despair?

"He, As—" you choke on his name, the pain of his betrayal still fresh in your heart.

"You don't have to explain anything. Not to us," Karlach interjects, her hand a steady anchor in the tumultuous sea of your emotions.

"Thank you," you whisper, gratefully.

The journey back to the Elfsong Tavern is a silent procession, your footsteps echoing in the empty streets as you grapple with the weight of your shattered reality. Once inside, you are ushered into a bed. Gale gives you a sleep draught while Shadowheart heals your shredded palms, which you didn't realize you injured in your dissociation. After that, you're left with a fleeting moment of peace.

No one mentions the absence of a familiar presence, but the void he left behind looms large in the silence that envelops you.

*

From his vantage point on the rooftops, Astarion watches as Tav is led back to the safety of the tavern. Their frail form is a stark reminder of the havoc he has wrought. Guilt gnaws at his insides, punishment for the pain he has inflicted upon the one person who saw past the facade he so meticulously crafted—the person who began to love him.

He feels sick to his stomach, the weight of his actions crushing him beneath its burden. With each passing moment, the memory of Tav's heartbroken expression sears into his mind, the irreparable damage he has caused.

Astarion wishes he could take back the venomous words that slipped from his lips and erase the pain etched upon Tav's face. He wishes he could confess the truth that lies buried beneath layers of deceit and self-preservation and admit the depth of his feelings without fear of rejection or abandonment. Pull them into his arms, kiss away the tears, and whisper all the love Tav deserves to hear.

 But wishes hold little sway when your world is governed by fear.

*

You allow yourself one day to mourn, to grieve for the shattered illusions that once held sway over your heart. But with the dawn comes the realization that there is no room for weakness. You steel yourself against the pain, burying it deep beneath a facade of strength and determination. You still have a tadpole in your skull and a city to save.

The days blur into nights, a relentless cycle of action and exhaustion that leaves little room for introspection or regret. You throw yourself into the fray, tackling each challenge with a ferocity born of desperation and resolve.

Nights, however, offer no respite from the torment that threatens to consume you whole. In the darkness, when the world is shrouded in shadows and silence, the memories come rushing back with a vengeance.

Astarion's parting words echo in the recesses of your mind, a relentless refrain that serves as a painful reminder of your naive hopes. Despite the anger and betrayal simmering beneath the surface, you still hope Astarion's safe. Deep down, you still care for him.

It was another restless night. You were digging through your travel pack when a hesitant knock hit the sturdy wooden door of your room. It was late, but it was not unusual for Karlach or Shadowheart to pop in and check on you. Standing up, you stowed your pack away and moved to the door. Your socked feet padded against the wooden floor. 

"Shouldn't you be asle—" The words die in your throat, and your stomach drops as you're faced with the man you've been trying to forget. 

Astarion looked terrible. His hair was a frizzy mess, curls sticking out in unruly strands. He had dark purple circles under his eyes and hollow cheeks. His clothes–the same ones he left in–were covered in a splatter of mud and grime. At that moment, Astarion had never looked more like a corpse. Where had he been?

"Tav," his voice was a whisper, laden with sorrow that pierced through the still air.

The sound of your name on his lips was like a knife twisted in an old wound, reopening the fragile scare you hastily tried to heal over the last two weeks. You recoiled instinctively, the pain of his presence threatening to ruin you all over again. You couldn't afford to unravel not again, not when so many counted on you. With wide eyes brimming with unshed tears, you turned away to flee.

But Astarion's desperation refused to be ignored. His hand shaking with uncertainty, he reached to halt the closing door. "Wait! Please, Tav," he pleaded. "I know you owe me nothing, but I beg you, let me say this, and you'll never have to see me again."

Your throat tightened, a lump choking back the bitter retorts that threatened to spill out. The impulse claws at your conscience, tempting you. Yet, the crack of Astarion's voice, the tremor of vulnerability that seeps from him, holds your tongue.

With a heavy sigh, you relented, the door inching open just enough to meet his gaze. "Two minutes," you whispered.

Astarion's relief was palpable. "Gods, Tav, I'm so sorry," he began each syllable, a testament to the regret that weighed on him. "You can hate me for eternity, and I would deserve it. But I need you to know that every word I spoke to you was a lie."

A tear traces a path down his cheek, and you long to reach out and wipe it away—to soften the turmoil on his beautiful face and erase the sorrow that consumes his glistening eyes. But instead, you tighten your fist against your thigh and stare up at him blankly, waiting for him to continue.

"I need you to know that I pursued you instinctually because I needed someone on my side, someone to trust me," he continued his voice a fragile whisper against the silence. "But then you showed me love and happiness and became so much more. You were… you are… more than I deserve. And I hurt you, and I will carry that with me forever."

"Astarion," you began, the syllables catching in your throat, suffused with a longing you dared not acknowledge. But before you could find the words again, he spoke once more, voice quivering with regret.

"I love you, Tav," Astarion confessed, the words lingering in the silent room. "I don't deserve your forgiveness, but before I leave, I need you to know you are more than sex and safety. More than a Gods damn transaction."

"Astarion," 

 "And I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for ruining the one good thing in—"

"Astarion!" You grab his arm, ceasing his frantic apology. You're stunned, standing on the threshold of your room, feeling more confused than ever. Love? How are you supposed to feel when the man who tore you apart is telling you he loves you?

Astarion's eyes widen in surprise, his breath catching in his throat as he meets your gaze. His eyes swim with a mix of hope and despair. 

The weight of his confession presses down on you, threatening to suffocate. Wordlessly, you walk back into the room, leaving the door open for Astarion to follow. Collapsing onto a chair, you rub your face, struggling to make sense of your raging emotions. The heartbreak and betrayal are still so fresh, but the sincerity in Astarion's regret seems to chip away at your defense. 

"I don't know what to say," 

"I… I understand," Astarion murmurs, his resignation soaking his words. I'll leave you be. I promise you won't see me again, Tav."

But as he turns to leave, the ache in your chest intensifies, the void he leaves behind widening with each step. And that moment, despite the pain, the betrayal, and your base instinct to shut him out entirely, you still care for him. Maybe even love him, too.

"Astarion, wait, you call out, the words tumbling from your lips before you can stop them. "Stay."

He freezes mid-step, his back turned to you, body tense with anticipation.

"Please," you plead, the word heavy with the weight of your conflicting emotions. "Just don't go."

Astarion slowly turns to face you, his expression a mix of disbelief and hope, his eye shining with more unshed tears. The silence stretches in the room. Hesitantly, with slow steps, he walks to the seat beside yours. The two of you sit there momentarily, unsure where that left you.

Tentatively, you reach out and take his cold hand into your warm one. "You hurt me," you start, not looking over at the man but feeling his intense stare. You betrayed my trust, and I can't just forget that."

"I understand." Astarion's shoulders slump in defeat. "I didn't expect…"

"But I care for you," You interrupt, squeezing his hand softly. "I haven't been able to stop worrying about you since you left. I don't think I can handle you leaving again."

"Okay," Astarion says, simply rubbing soothing circles into the back of your hand. "So what now?"

"I don't know, but I'm willing to figure it out if you are?"

"There is nothing I'd like more,” he responds, pressing a tentative kiss to your knuckles.

Taglist

@heartfully10 @ayselluna @marina-and-the-memes @anixson @canonicalchaoticneutral @toadsbitch @meulinkitten-blog @ambr4armr @lotusandcrystals @venussakura @synapticjive @skittleabyss @asterordinary @lariatbunny @whispering-depths @butchboi-chihuahua-slumlord @darkest-part-of-the-forest @queenofcarrotflowers-s @sessils @d20bunny@cherifrog@ophelia-ophelian @bgthree @darlingxdragon @mothynyx @completelyshatteredbrokenmschf @babyqnn @mmendez0124 @kokoyu-art @lilah-asteria

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[thefrogdalorian]

A Crisis of Faith

Word Count: 6052 Rating: Teen Summary: Although travelling through the galaxy with a Mandalorian bounty hunter was a daunting prospect at first, you were pleasantly surprised by how swiftly the two of you bonded. However, despite your initial closeness, the man who you were thought enjoyed your presence in his life now seems disgusted by his every encounter with you. When you finally land on Nevarro after weeks of being confined to the Razor Crest together, you hope that perhaps, something might fix your fractured relationship... Content Warnings: Din is mean and gets drunk. Slightly rough with header, shoves them away/leans over them and raises a finger to stop you from speaking but it's clear you're not physically injured by his actions and are somewhat excited by it. Kissing. Physical appearance/gender of reader is not specified but Din calls them mesh'la (beautiful in Mando'a). Author's Note: This was inspired by the line "You're a crisis of my faith," in Would've, Could've, Should've by Taylor Swift. The song is quite different in tone to this fic but I just imagined what it would be like if Din was ever pushed to a breaking point of his faith before meeting Grogu. This was the result and I regret nothing. Thanks to @decembermidnight for some words of encouragement while I was writing this one, I appreciate it!

✯ My Masterlist ✯ Read on AO3 ✯

The metallic clangs of footsteps hitting the rungs of the ladder as your travelling companion descended from the cockpit caused you to look up momentarily from the holodrama you had been quietly watching. As he approached the bottom of the ladder, you fixed your eyes back on the holopad that was propped up against your knees. You sighed deeply. There was a time when Din Djarin’s presence had not made you feel thoroughly miserable and tense. But those moments were long gone.

You didn’t move your eyes to meet his steely gaze as his footsteps approached you in the semi-darkness of the hull. Instead, you focused so intently on the bright screen propped against your knees, which was currently playing a cheesy holodrama, that your eyes began to burn under the strain.

Before you had begun travelling with Din, you had scoffed at people who occupied themselves with such corny forms of entertainment, finding them melodramatic and hollow. Since spending weeks hurtling through hyperspace with no human contact aside from your bounty hunter boss, you had reneged on your aversion to holodramas. You discovered that they provided welcome relief both from the monotony of hyperspace and your constant rumination over precisely what it was you had done to drive such a wedge between you and the man whose footsteps were now getting uncomfortably close to your favoured position to relax in. 

You felt yourself tensing up as he approached. You had retreated to your favourite little nook on the Razor Crest after showering, hoping that he would leave you alone. It was your little sanctuary, your haven away from the tenseness that lingered in the air between the pair of you. Over the past few weeks, you were pleased that you had created somewhere like this to withdraw to. Although Din was fairly neat and organised by nature anyway, you had still helped to tidy the Razor Crest when you first came aboard, organising various objects which cluttered the hull into several large crates. When pushed together and covered in a blanket and pillow, you discovered that you had created a secluded little alcove where you could relax in your own space. So, after you had taken a shower, you perched yourself on your favourite crate and launched yourself into the cheesy drama that was currently playing out on the screen in front of you. It was a welcome distraction from the turmoil in your own life. 

Turmoil that was impossible to ignore any longer, as the looming presence of Din Djarin towered over you, cutting over what little light was reaching you. He did not even have the courtesy to speak one as he stood there wordlessly, hovering over the crates you were sprawled across. You huffed in frustration. Recently, the onus was always on you to begin a conversation. His abrupt change in behaviour towards you made it difficult to believe that he had once been so talkative and forthcoming in his interactions with you. It devastated you all over again to think of the contrast between those happy memories and the tension of the present. The times when Din and you would sit together, chatting for hours about anything and everything as you flew through the stars together were long gone.

“Can I help you with something?” you finally asked, your voice belying your frustration. 

“Came down to use the fresher. Didn't know you were awake,” Din mumbled. 

You swallowed thickly, feeling your eyes sting with tears at his words. He was so brazen in admitting to you how keen he was to avoid you, that you wondered what in the galaxy you had ever done to him, to have him treat you this way. 

“Oh,” you breathed, struggling to maintain your composure in the face of such harsh words. But you were utterly determined not to show any signs of weakness. After all, wasn’t that what he wanted? To hurt you?

It was difficult to believe this was the same man you had met all those months ago. When you had first started travelling with The Mandalorian, Mando as you knew him then, you had – to your surprise – quickly bonded with the mysterious man who had hired you for your services. Mando had wanted to hire you due to your expertise in navigation and ship maintenance. While he was the muscle, bringing in numerous high-value targets, you were his assistant, taking care of everything not related to the bounties he brought back. You were discreet, never asking questions about the nature of his work. You just knew that he needed to bring as many back as possible, to pay off the loan he had taken to afford this magnificent ship: the Razor Crest.

Aside from his line of work, though, in the early days, Mando was surprisingly happy to talk to you about anything. You sensed that before you came aboard he had been somewhat lonely as he led a solitary existence, barely speaking to others and hiding behind his armour. He still hid behind his armour to some degree, of course as he had never removed his helmet in your presence. It was a matter you were never to discuss, aside from him explaining that he would never remove it in front of you. Although you were curious about what he looked like, you respected his reasons for keeping his helmet firmly fixed to his head. Whatever they may be.

Even though you had never seen his face, the two of you had quickly become close in the isolation of hyperspace. Perhaps, even friends. You listened intently as he told you details about his life; the loss of his parents and his subsequent adoption by Mandalorians. Mando even entrusted you with his real name: Din Djarin. To demonstrate that level of trust in you meant a great deal and you delighted each time the syllables rolled off your tongue. The name Din Djarin gave you a thrill each time you said it, sending a shiver along your spine. It was a strong name, one that fit him perfectly.

You did not yet know it, but the night Din had given you his name was also the night everything changed. It was the last night you shared the closeness with him that you had come to appreciate during the months you had travelled together. It spelt the beginning of the end. Ever since then, Din had inexplicably taken a step back from you. He pulled away, retreating into the quiet, solitary figure that you had first met. It had been weeks since he had had a conversation with you that lasted more than a few words. 

Din had seemed increasingly distant and withdrawn and it was abundantly clear that you were the cause of his sudden change of heart. He had not even tried to hide the fact that he was keeping away from you on purpose. It felt as though he was disgusted by your presence. You did not have the faintest inclination of what you had done to make him feel this way. You exhausted yourself by racking your brain for answers that never seemed to come. You were consumed by grief. You missed him. His company had been one of the few things keeping you sane.

Despite his intimidating presence, you had discovered that there was a certain warmth to him that he displayed when it came to interacting with you. The times he had made you laugh so hard that your ribs hurt, the way he had taught you words of Mando’a and how to polish his armour. There was even one occasion where he had taught you to wield a blaster, in case of emergencies. You could never forget how Din’s strong arms snaked their way around your waist, how safe and protected you had felt in his embrace. You remembered in aching detail the touch of the soft, smooth leather of his gloves as he held your hands with such aching tenderness, in an attempt to steady your grip on the weapon. Although, if anything, it only made your hands shake more. 

That warmth and gentleness were gone now, replaced with the cold, hard version of him that was standing before you. This Mandalorian was unrecognisable to you. There was no way he could be the same as your sweet Din. Your Din who never hated to be alone with you. Who treasured your presence, rather than treating it as offensive. Now, Din spent most of his days in the cockpit, hiding away from you. He only descended the ladder to use the fresher or prepare some ration packs when you were in your bunk, behind a pneumatic door. That was how most of the trip to Nevarro had been. Until now, as he hovered over you.

“Well, you should know we’ll be landing in Nevarro soon,” The sound of his deep, raspy voice tore you from your ruminations.

“Okay,” you nodded, eyes remaining firmly trained on the holodrama. 

“While we’re on Nevarro, I have some matters to attend to. I’d prefer it if you stayed here on the ship, but I can’t force you to. You’re not my slave,” he shrugged. 

Then, Din turned away from you and retreated to the ‘fresher, leaving you heartbroken in his wake. But you were determined not to sit there and pine after him. You would not allow yourself to dissolve into tears in a place where he could potentially see the impact he was having on you. 

You promptly pushed yourself up off the crate and walked on trembling limbs towards your bunk. You hastily sealed yourself behind the pneumatic door of the only small space that was truly yours, sequestering yourself from the anguish that lay beyond the door. The bile rose in your throat as you remembered how he had spoken to you, as though you were of as much significance to him as a speck of dirt on his armour. The tears came, then. Flowing down your cheeks in earnest. You were stubborn, however. You didn’t want Din to know the power he held over you. You would not allow him to see how much his words and actions devastated every fibre of your being. The way he shattered your heart into pieces with each emotionless utterance.

So, you buried your head in your pillow, hoping it muffled the way you cried yourself to sleep. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much he could upset you. 

The worst part of the whole predicament was that you had realised you had fallen in love with him…

✯ ✯ ✯

The loud clunk of the Razor Crest as it finally made contact with terra firma for the first time in several weeks roused you from the fitful slumber you had eventually drifted off into. The noise which interrupted your sleep indicated that you had finally touched down on Nevarro. Your head was pounding. The tears that you had cried the previous evening after Din had been so cold towards you had torn through your body, leaving their mark on your fragile, shattered being. Despite how much your body was screaming at you to gulp down some water, you did not risk crossing paths with him. Honestly, you weren’t sure how much more of it you could take. 

So you waited until the doors to the ship had opened and closed and the latest bounties unloaded, before you emerged from your bunk. After gratefully chugging several flagons of water and quenching your thirst, you headed to the ‘fresher and gazed at your reflection in the mirror. The person who stared back at you was almost unrecognisable. You looked utterly broken, a shadow of the person you had once been. All the spark had gone from your eyes, which were sunken and lifeless; your eyelids were swollen from the sobs that had wracked your body before you slept. Your cheeks were gaunt, your hair limp. You couldn’t believe that the same man who had once caused you to laugh so hard that your ribs hurt had rendered you so miserable. It tore you apart to know that you had allowed someone to wield so much power over you. The man you had bonded with and trusted, who you perhaps even loved, had reduced you to this.

You knew then, that despite Din’s wishes, you had to get out of this towering metallic prison for a few hours. Even though Din would be disappointed, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. You were not a natural rulebreaker, though, evidenced by the way your heart pounded as you left the safety of the ship to wander around town. Nevarro was a planet full of scum and villainy, a backwater scughole most people would not choose to visit. It was certainly not the place you would choose for some convalescence. With the beggars and shady characters that lined every street, it was not the optimum environment to repair your shattered nerves. 

However, since you were travelling with an aloof Mandalorian, who appeared to be utterly ignorant of how much he was hurting you, you were left with no choice. If you wanted any air for the next few weeks, this was the best you were going to get. Din certainly wouldn’t stop somewhere more picturesque to grant you your wish. You grimaced as you stepped out. You had forgotten how stale and filthy the air of this planet was. Yet, it was better than spending another second in that stuffy metal tomb with reminders of the man who loathed you everywhere you turned. The man that you had been beginning to fall in love with before he woke up one day and decided he hated you.

Although you had hoped a day wandering around Nevarro would revitalise your spirits, you were left bitterly disappointed when nothing of the sort happened. The dismal surroundings only compounded your misery. You felt utterly trapped. If the only thing that lay beyond the confines of the Razor Crest were planets like these, perhaps a life with a man who hated you was preferable. At least you didn’t have to see such depressing sights every day of your life, although being trapped in hyperspace with the Mandalorian that hated you was still pretty bleak.

Despite ignoring Din’s request to remain on the ship, you did respect the rule he set to be back before sundown. So, when the sun began to descend in the sky and dip dangerously close to below the lava flats, you returned to the Razor Crest. You found your heart sinking as you ascended the ramp back to the ship. Back to unbearable tenseness and more heartache as you found yourself forced to survive in proximity to a man who despised you. 

The Razor Crest was silent, still. Empty. Din was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t decide if you were disappointed or relieved at that fact. You couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

At least it meant you would be able to eat the food you had bought from a market stall in peace. The local delicacy was a welcome break from the bland, cardboard-like rations that you survived on while hurtling through hyperspace. It was a meal that your tastebuds certainly thanked you for.

After finishing your delicious meal, you clambered back onto the crate and resumed the holodrama you had been watching before Din had interrupted you the previous evening. You sprawled out on your favourite position in the ship, regaining your strength and finally feeling calm for the first time since you had woken up. The drama unfolding on your screen was a welcome distraction from worrying over the fact that Din had still not returned from his outing. 

Despite how hurt you were by his actions, you could not help but fret for his safety. You were never sure how long Din would be gone during these visits, the times could range from a few hours to almost an entire day. But it was practically unheard of for him to be out so long after nightfall with no word as to his whereabouts. You tried to push those thoughts out of your head and lose yourself in the story on your screen. You settled in for the evening, engrossed in the story. Soon, your eyelids grew leaden…

✯ ✯ ✯

The thuds of the footsteps ascending the ramp startled you awake. You sat up swiftly, groaning slightly as you felt the stiffness of your neck thanks to the awkward position you had fallen asleep in atop the crate. The sounds were incredibly jarring to you, not just because they had woken you up from a peaceful sleep. By now, you were well used to every little noise produced on the Razor Crest, all of the little groans and clangs characteristic of the ship. This sound was different from any of them. You knew it had to be Din, as he was the only person other than you who knew how to unlock the ship. But the footsteps ascending the ramp were so irregular and uneven that it was difficult to believe it could be your Mandalorian companion. They were utterly alien to you, so unlike the careful, methodical way he usually cut a path through the galaxy. 

You found yourself panicking momentarily, wondering if perhaps he was in trouble and someone else had forced him to open up the ship. Until a few seconds later when, sure enough, the familiar brown chest plate and shiny helmet of the Mandalorian you worked with stood there at the top of the ramp.

You swung your legs around to sit atop the crate and waited to see whether Din would approach you. Whether he had even noticed you. Without speaking or making a sound, he moved towards you. You were startled at the way Din lurched towards you, his boots slamming against the floor before he hit the wall with a sickening clang. The way he was staggering, barely able to stand straight, struck terror into your heart immediately. You leapt off the crate without thinking and rushed to his aid. 

“Din, are you alright?” you asked, your voice full of concern as you approached where he was slumped against the wall. 

“I’m fine,” was his reply. Curt. Direct. Classic Din Djarin. 

You threw your arm around Din’s waist, feeling the coarseness of his cape underneath your hand. Despite his heft, you successfully managed to pick Din up off the wall. Din grunted as he threw his arm around you. You were about to ask whether he had been in a fight until your senses detected the smell which lingered on him. It clued you in to precisely where he had been. The characteristic stench of a cantina lingered in the air, emanating from his entire body. The smoke, sweat and booze of the dingy place was unmistakable.

Even though you were appalled at his drunken stupor and disgusted by his recent actions, you still cared about him. Without hesitation, you began helping Din towards his bunk. The first few steps were difficult, but soon enough you and Din settled into a rhythm. You wanted to make sure that he was alright since you feared that he had drunk too much and something terrible would happen to him in the night. You wished you could remove his helmet and ascertain his levels of drunkenness, whether he had any wounds which required bacta spray. You knew that was never going to happen. You may never have discussed his reasoning fully, but you knew Mustafar would freeze before Din would remove his helmet in your presence.

You were about halfway to the bunk when it happened. Despite the fact he could barely stand, Din abruptly shrugged off your help and shoved you away from him, as though burnt by your touch. Although he hadn’t hurt you, your throat tightened and your eyes watered. He hated you. You shakily exhaled from your nostrils. All your determination to never let him see how much he had upset you was gone. He had gone too far. You decided you couldn’t take it anymore.

“Din, please. Have I done something to upset you?” you pleaded as he continued stepping away from you, backing into the wall. Until it was physically impossible to put more distance between the two of you.

Din threw his head back against the wall, his helmet hitting it with a clunk. He sighed deeply, seemingly composing himself. After a few moments, he pushed himself off on unsteady legs and walked over to you, looming large over you. The backs of your knees were backed against the crate, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run or hide from this Mandalorian towering over you.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” Din grunted, voice tinged with something far darker than anything you had ever heard from him.

“Din, no, I…” you gasped, taken aback by his words.

You were practically falling over the crates now, feeling the hard surface biting into the backs of your knees as you tried to back away.

“You’re a crisis of my faith,” Din rasped. 

“Wh-what do you mean?” you stammered, stunned by his words. How could you, of all people, make this stoic Mandalorian lose composure like this? “Din, I don’t understand,” you begged.

He raised a gloved finger to your lips, shushing you instantly. You noticed your eyes widened in shock in his helmet’s reflection, standing there helplessly as the musky, leathery smell of his gloves filled your senses.

“Kriff!” Din swore, his last reserves of composure dwindling. “So innocent, mesh’la.”

In happier times, Din had taught you some basic Mando’a. He was enthusiastic to educate you about parts of his culture and you were eager to learn. You loved the way his voice sounded when he spoke the ancient tongue of his people. However, you were unable to understand that particular word. Although you were able to observe how his voice had softened slightly when he said it. You attempted to part your lips to speak, but Din hushed you again by pressing into your lips slightly harder with his glove. He wasn't hurting you. In fact, you found the pressure and his demeanour somewhat thrilling. At least he was paying you some attention, for a change.

“Do you know what the consequences would be if I removed my helmet in front of you and pressed the kiss on your lips that I’ve been aching to place there for months?” Din growled, his voice low and rough.

You shook your head vigorously, eyebrows raised at his words. Although you had initially been startled at the way Din had backed you against a crate, you were grateful for the position you currently found yourself in. At least, trapped between his body and the crate, you at least had some surface to balance yourself against. Otherwise, you feared you may have collapsed onto the cold, metallic floor of the Razor Crest at his confession.

“If another living being caught a glimpse of my face, then according to my Creed, I would be shunned as an apostate,” Din explained. 

You sighed deeply, pulse thundering in your ears as you struggled to process the implications of his words. Your heart leapt as it sunk in that Din reciprocated your feelings. You realised that his erratic behaviour had possibly been driven by his desire for you. He wasn’t running or hiding from you anymore. Perhaps whatever beverage Din had imbibed from underneath one of the long straws you knew he used when in public had given him the push necessary to reveal his feelings to you. You silently thanked Maker as finally, Din was making it clear that he wanted you. 

Yet in an instant, the hope and joy you felt were snatched away from you. Your heart settled back in your chest, weighed down by the cruelty of your circumstances. That his Creed meant that you may never get to be together in the way you both desired. You nodded your head slowly, in understanding and after a few moments, Din removed his hand from your mouth, permitting you to reply. 

“Din, I don't want you to violate your Creed for me,” you asserted, horrified at the notion. “But I wish there was some way I could feel your lips against mine. I… care about you, Din. And since you stopped speaking to me, I’ve been a shadow of the person I was. Nothing makes sense without you.”

Din sighed, bringing his hands to your waist. Shivers traversed your flesh at the way he gently squeezed your body in his hands. The care and warmth that you had been missing from him had seemingly returned. Your Din was back. Even if you could never be together, at least he had returned to you. You hoped the callous way he had treated you would now be a distant memory.

“I’m sorry, mesh’la. I know I’ve treated you terribly. I’ve been too much of a coward to accept the way I feel about you,” Din breathed, his voice shaky under the weight of his words.

“Please don’t ever do that to me again, Din,” you pleaded. “I cannot take it, the anguish of racking our every interaction in my brain. Trying to figure out what in Maker’s name I could possibly have done.”

“You did nothing,” Din insisted, emphasising that fact keenly. “I am not good with… with acknowledging my feelings. How quickly I came to care for you terrified me more than any job I have ever taken. I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

“Oh, Din. I was terrified I had lost you forever,” you admitted, voice cracking as tears began to stream down your cheeks.

Din did not reply immediately. Instead, he lifted a hand from your waist and carefully wiped the tears that flowed down your cheeks with the soft leathery tips of his gloves.

“I know. I’m so sorry,” Din sighed. “I will spend tomorrow and every day that follows rectifying the damage I have done. Will you allow me to do that?”

You nodded eagerly, unable to reply with words given the way Din was cupping your jaw with his hand and stroking your cheek softly.

“Good,” Din breathed. “Why don’t we get some rest? I need to sleep the booze off. Then, I swear tomorrow will be a fresh start for us. No more hiding and ignoring you. Okay?”

“Okay,” you agreed, smiling for the first time in what felt like months.

You helped Din to his bunk. Although he had begun to sober up somewhat, he was still unsteady on his feet. He slurred apologies into the side of your face and hair as he went, and you felt the way your spirit lifted at knowing how truly remorseful he was.

As you rested your head on your pillow that night, you grinned until your cheeks ached. The smile had not left your features since Din had told you the way he felt about you. Tonight, your body ached with glee, not under the weight of profound sorrow. No sobs were afflicting you, just happiness over the future that lay ahead.

✯ ✯ ✯

The sounds of Din’s footsteps rapping against the floor beyond your bunk caused your eyelids to flutter open slowly. For a moment, your body defaulted to the way his presence had made you feel for the past few weeks and seized up in fear. Then, you recalled the events of the previous night and everything felt lighter. As you lay there for a few moments and processed the sounds, you were immediately relieved to hear that Din’s footsteps were much more even and steady, as they had always been before last night. Your Din was truly back.

You opened the door to your bunk and grinned at the sight before you. Din was rummaging around in some crates, searching for something. For weeks when you had entered the same space as him, he had not acknowledged your existence. Now, however, when he heard the door opening which signified your presence, he looked up immediately. Din did not use his task as an excuse to ignore your existence. He seemed to be honouring the fresh start that he had promised.

“Morning, mesh’la,” Din said softly, “How did you sleep?”

“I slept perfectly, thank you,” you replied with a smile. “What are you looking for?”

“This,” Din whispered, drawing his hands from behind his back. You watched with confusion as he held up an old shirt and tore a length from it. Then he beckoned you to approach him. 

“What if I told you that there was a way to circumvent the rules, without breaking my Creed?” Din questioned as you approached.

“Are you sure, Din?” you asked, voice filled with uncertainty, despite the way your pulse had quickened.

“Do you trust me?” Din breathed, answering your question with his own.

“Of course,” you nodded in an instant, even if his response had done nothing to allay your confusion.

His gloved hands held the strip of material up taut between them. You realised, as his hands moved towards you, cloth stretching across your face, that he was about to blindfold you. You knew you should have been terrified that an emotionally volatile Mandalorian, who had been so inebriated he could barely walk mere hours ago, was about to cut off one of your senses in this manner. A life of travelling through the galaxy meant that you were well-versed in sensing danger. On the surface, this appeared to be one such dangerous situation which you had spent your time desperate to avoid. However, the man in question who was about to deny you of your most vital sense was undoubtedly a gentle, considerate man. He was your Din, a man who you knew and trusted like no other. Your Din, who had returned to you. There was no fear or hesitation in your heart as the cloth was tied around you.

With your eyesight cut off, your hearing became more sensitive. You almost gasped as you heard the hissing of Din’s helmet depressurising. This was happening. You wanted to enjoy every second of it, every touch and sound. But it was difficult to appreciate every little noise given the way your heart thundered in your chest and resonated in your ears. You barely remembered how to breathe as, with one hand, Din steadied himself on your hip, while the other cupped your chin and turned it towards his face. 

Then, his soft, plush lips brushed against yours, moustache tickling your upper lip lightly. You almost giggled at the sensation. But just at that moment your lips began to curve into a smile, Din placed his hand on the side of your neck and slid his tongue into your mouth. All coherent thought vanished. 

You could not be certain, but you supposed that you were the first person Din had ever kissed. His inexperience should not be mistaken for inability, though. You were stunned by how he was applying himself as his lips moved softly against yours, conveying wordlessly the affection he held for you. With every small gesture of his lips against yours, you were beginning to understand just how long he had been holding back. He was desperate for you, a man possessed. Hungry for the touch of your lips against his. You braced yourself against him, hands coming to rest on the cool, hard metal of his chestplate.

Eventually, Din pulled away. Your chest heaved due to the exertion of the kiss. For a few seconds, you both stood there in the afterglow, unsteady, ragged breaths melding together. Din’s hands stayed on your hips, holding you close to him. 

“I love you,” you whispered, without really thinking. You momentarily tensed up, fearing that you had said too much. But you felt the way Din’s hands tightened their grip on your waist, his thumbs tracing slow circles into the skin above your rib cage.

“I know,” Din finally replied. 

Your mouth parted in shock. Then, he stole another kiss from your lips. This time it was languid, unhurried. You smirked against his plush lips as the turn of events sunk in. For weeks, you had been so convinced that Din hated you. Never again would you feel the closeness of your bond with him. When, in reality, he was not only aware of your feelings but reciprocated them. 

“I’m so sorry for the way I treated you,” Din whispered, as his gloved thumb stroked your cheek tenderly. “I was scared by my feelings for you. No one has ever made me feel this way before. I didn’t think anyone would ever make me feel this way. That was until I met you, mesh’la.”

“I was terrified I had done something to offend you,” you admitted.

“Never. You are the greatest thing that has ever happened to me. Your presence in my life is a gift. I am sorry for not making you feel that every day.”

You almost burst into tears at his words, utterly floored by his sheer sentimentality. You knew there was a gentle, caring man underneath all that armour. He may have disappeared temporarily, but there was no doubt that he was back now.

“Is there anything I can do to make it up to you, mesh’la?” Din spoke again when you were too overwhelmed by his words to reply.

“You can start by telling me what mesh’la means,” you smiled. “Then, perhaps another kiss.”

“Beautiful,” Din sighed, “It means beautiful, in Mando’a.”

“Oh, Din,” you whispered, as you leaned in for another kiss. This time, your hands came to cup his face, delighting in the scratchy stubble you found underneath your fingers. You could feel the strong outline of his jaw. You had never laid eyes upon him, but you knew he was gorgeous. After the kiss ended, you pulled away and held each other for a few moments.

“I love you too, by the way,” Din whispered into your hair, before adding: “Mesh’la.”

You couldn’t help but break into a wide grin. Now that you knew what the word meant, your head was spinning with giddiness. You and Din stayed that way, wrapped in each other’s arms, enjoying your newfound closeness. You would have been quite content to remain that way forever, but there was an entire galaxy out there for the two of you to explore. 

You heard the unmistakable hissing sound of a Mandalorian helmet pressurising and then gentle fingers at the material’s knot at the back of your head. When Din removed your blindfold, you were not surprised to be greeted with the steely gaze of his helmet once more. This was how it had to be. 

You supposed that perhaps it should feel strange to know that you had never laid eyes upon his face, but were certain that you had already fallen in love with him. Knowing Din Djarin, however, went far beyond seeing his physical features. You knew his heart, his inherent goodness despite the way he had lost himself for a while. You only knew what the touch of his lips felt like against yours and that he maintained a moustache and facial hair. Beyond those details, you knew nothing of his face. But you knew the bond the two of you shared, the nights discussing your pasts, your presents, your futures. The way you would laugh until your ribs ached. How protective he was over you.

So, sure, you had never seen his face… but you knew that you loved him all the same. 

You climbed the rungs of the ladder to the cockpit, following behind Din. You’d follow him to the ends of the galaxy if he so much as asked. You knew he’d do the same in return. You didn't know exactly what the future held for the two of you as you sat back in the red leather chair of the Razor Crest’s cockpit. As Din punched in the coordinates to your next destination, you sighed happily. This was a fresh start. The beginning of the rest of your lives together.

His crisis of faith had been averted. 

[kit-walk3r]

Heyy. I saw that one Colin fluff you wrote and I’ in love really. Could you maybe write a fluff in which reader is completely exhausted (mentally or physically idc actually) and he tries to take care of her? Hope you like the idea 🩷

Aw thank you anon, and thank you for the request! I hope this works for you 💗

So Proud (Colin Zabel x fem!reader)

Colin always knows how to make you feel loved when you’re having a bad day.

Warnings: sort of depression themes?

It was miniscule, the reason why you felt like a mess. “You must be so proud of your Colin,” one of your regular customers had said. “He’s a hero, doing wonders for this community.” You smiled and nodded. Yes, of course you were proud of Colin. How could you not be? But there was just something about that woman’s words that left you feeling… hollow. Was Colin proud of you? What was there for Colin to be proud of? You did nothing extraordinary, nothing special. Colin was out there helping people and you were… what? Selling milk to gossiping old ladies? Stupid.

Once your shift was over you headed straight home, rejecting your co-workers offer to go and get a coffee like you usually would. This time you just wanted to be alone.

You were sitting in the dark in the living room for what felt like forever until Colin came home.

“Honey, I’m home!” He jokingly shouted as he came through the door that evening.Usually this would make you laugh and you’d reply with something equally cheesy, but this particular night you just had no effort. You felt too drained to even respond.

“Y/N?” Colin shouted again as he hung up his coat, concerned about the lack of response. “You home?” You continued to stay silent.

Colin started to shout for you again as he walked into the living room, but stopped when he saw you curled up on the sofa.His eyes widened with concern and he immediately kneeled down in front of you, taking one of your hands in his own and giving it a squeeze. He knew these moods.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” He asked, his voice soothing and gentle. His eyes were filled with concern and love and he squeezed your hand again when he heard you sniffle. “Talk to me, baby.”

You wiped the tears away from your eyes with your free hand. “It’s just one of those days,” you muttered.

Colin’s eyes softened. He knew what this meant. He moved from his position on his knees and took a seat beside you, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you in so that you were curled up in his embrace. You rested your head on his shoulder and let the tears fall.

“It’s okay,” Colin whispered soothingly. He pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “You’re okay. Please don’t feel this way.”

“Are you proud of me?” you mumbled. Colin’s arm around you tightened in comfort.

“What…?” Colin was taken by surprise at your question. “Of course I’m proud of you. I’m proud of every little thing you do.”

“But what do I do, Colin?” You asked. “I go to work in that stupid store and that’s it. There’s nothing to be proud of.”

Colin refused to listen. “Don’t be like that,” he said. “There’s so much to be proud of you for. I’m proud that you put up with the assholes who come into your store and that you can put them in their place. I’m proud that you still manage to even go to that place everyday, even though I know how much you hate it. I’m proud of the way you care for your family, of how you take care of your mother. I’m proud that you still manage to get up and live life, even though I know you struggle sometimes.”

The tears continued to fall as you listened to Colin’s words, but instead of tears of sadness and hurt, these were tears of love. Colin was special and he made you feel special. His words pierced the veil of negativity that engulfed you and you felt his love, you felt his adoration.

“I’m just so tired,” you sighed

“I know,” Colin hugged you tighter. He didn’t want to let you go. He wanted you to know how much he loved you and that he was always going to be there for you. You were his world. “How about a bath?” He murmured.

“I’m sorry, Colin, but I’m not really in the mood for that,” you apologised, feeling ever so slightly guilty about turning him down.

It took Colin a moment to realise what you thought he meant by bath. His eyes widened slightly when he realised and flushed.. “No, not like that,” he chuckled. “I meant just for you so you can relax. Some bubbles, maybe I could wash your hair…”

You smiled softly at the idea. “A bath sounds nice.”

“Great,” Colin smiled back. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and your eyes drifted shut at the soft feeling. “I’ll go run the water.”

As you watched Colin head up the stairs to the bathroom you wondered how you ever got so lucky.

•———•

Why is it impossible for me to write a happy fic? Also no shade to anyone who works in a store, I do too and I kind of just threw my own feelings about that into this, I do apologise 😂 Anyway, I hope this was okay for you anon! And thank you again 💓

Requests are still open!

Taglist: @jellyluvr @howtobesasha @dewberryobssesed @t4tes @kaismanwich @violetharmonstwin @daylas-life @mariefics @spill-the-t @hyperharlz

Want to join my taglist? Just reply here!

[stellasvault]

• ravioli and two glasses of water

my first ever hobie x reader drabble!! ☀️

pairings: hobie brown x blk!fem!reader

desc: 💜 it’s one of the rare occasions where hobie takes u to a fancy restaurant instead of a simple pirated movie, but it’s not going as well as you planned..

warnings: fluff so sweet you’ll get cavities, sfw, reader is briefly referred to as a lady

notes: i’ve been thinking about this trope for a while lmao 😭 um also this is barely proofread so pls excuse any errors/bad writing!!

—————————————————————————

“hobie, are you seriously still choosing?” you ask, huffing at the sight of your boyfriend sitting across from you, still choosing his meal for the night.

“hush love,” hobie said, still distracted by the large menu of italian delicacies in his large, dark hands. “gotta make sure i pick the right food so i don’t waste none of it, yeah?”

you sighed and ran your hands down your blood red dress, which looked well with your soft brown skin. you took in your surroundings for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. it was a fancy, yet cozy italian restaurant that was lit with candles and soft lamps, the perfect romantic setting. you also couldn’t help to notice how beautiful hobie looked under the lighting. his hooded eyelids showing off his lengthy eyelashes, his lip ring shimmering in the light. the smell of sauces and seasonings lingered on your nose, the hollow feeling in your stomach seemed to swallow you up.

you heard hobie hum. “hm, the cheesy garlic bread sounds nice.” he put down his menu before opening his mouth again to say,

“you’re overreacting about this whole ‘nice restaurant’ thing, sweets. it’s really not tha’ important.” he grinned at you before you rolled your eyes and turned your attention to the male waiter at your side, who clearly heard every word hobie had said.

you plastered a shiny smile for the employee, “hi! i think we’re ready to order, aren’t we, hobie?” you glared at him as you said his name, symbolizing your annoyance and anger at him. you subtly kicked his shin from under the table.

“sure, what can i get you two?” the waiter asked. to your surprise, he had an american accent and spoke in a stiff voice.

“i-“ you began, but hobie had already decided to order.

“i’ll take some cheesy garlic bread, if you don’t mind, and me and the lady will be sharing the large lobster ravioli.” hobie smirked as he said this, the waiter scribbling the order down.

“of course, it’ll be right with you shortly.” the waiter answered before bowing slightly and going to talk to a nearby chef. meanwhile, you were almost fuming.

“aw, lovey, why so blue?” hobie mockingly pouted before chucking almost silently. you squeezed the seat under you, cursing at him under your breath.

“trust me, restaurants like these ain’t all tha’.” hobie continued, ignoring your looming anger.

“can’t you just act respectful for once, hobie? this isn’t one of your band gigs!” you scolded him like a mother, it was only amusing to him.

hobie lightly kicked your leg in response, as your cheesy garlic bread had already arrived.

“thank you..” you nodded at the waiter awkwardly, taking the basket of the delicious bread.

hobie smirked at your sudden silence. the only sound between you two was both of your chewing, hobie’s appetite being bigger, his eating was more aggressive, his plump lips covered in melted cheese and bread crumbs.

you sighed. “hobie, pass me the basket.” you tried to hide the anger in your voice with no avail, your teeth gritted together.

he played with his lip ring using his tongue in response. “hm, why don’t you just come sit next to me then? it’s not practical for you to sit all the way over there.” he explained with a smirk.

“that’s not practical, hobie! i’m supposed to be sitting here!” you were full-on whining like a spoiled little kid now. you hated how you sounded like a little jerk, but you just wanted to have a nice date, was that too much to ask?

well, for hobie, it was definitely a big ask.

“you’re not supposed to be sitting over there in my book, lovey.” he snickered, patting the spot next to him. “here you go, enough room here, right?”

your mouth opened to shoot back with a comeback, ready to make him eat his words. but for some reason it felt as though you weren’t controlling your body as you obediently sat down at his side.

hobie clucked his tongue in satisfaction. “see, darling? was it that hard?” he asked in a mocking baby voice.

it was lucky that before you could throw a fit, the same waiter that had taken your order came with a large plate of mouth-watering ravioli and buttered lobster. the waiter swiftly put down the dish before filling up both your waters with fresh sparkling water.

“thank you, sir.” you thanked the waiter, hobie showing his agreement with a nod. the waiter nodded back and disappeared.

“looks better than i thought.” hobie noted appreciatively before digging in and shoveling ravioli in his mouth. you couldn’t help but giggle at the sight of your boyfriend devouring his food, sauce staining his lips.

you lifted your glass of water to your lips before taking a sip. the fizzy flavor exploded in your mouth, your tongue getting tingles all over.

“you’re right, hobie. it does look pretty good.” you agreed, picking up your fork and taking a bite of the hot lobster. you immediately marveled at the delicious buttery flavor.

you hummed in content. this wasn’t too bad, right?

you took your fork again to try the ravioli instead. but of course, right before the fork could reach your lips, hobie grabbed the fork from your hand and put it in his mouth instead. he excruciatingly appreciated the taste with exaggerated moans of delight and slowly licking his lips. you stared at him in shock. was he serious? doing this in a nice restaurant like this?

“i could get used to this,” hobie’s voice muffled by the food in his mouth, “we should go here more often.”

—————————————————————————

that’s it! that’s the end of my first ever written thing-a-ma-jig!

thanks so much for reading! i appreciate it so much! :)

• 💜💜💜

[benkeibear]

☰ 𝐌-𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐲

⧫ Character: Takemichi

⧫ Reader: female

⧫ Wordcount: 0.8k

⧫ Summary: You're Takemichis first and you're much older. Takemichi soon finds out he likes to call you mommy.

⧫ WARNINGS: afab!reader, dom!reader, fingering, handjob, oral (m!receiving), cum eating, mentions of unprotected sex, nippleplay

⧫ A/n: don’t want to miss a post? Sign up for my Taglist in my Navi! (This is a repost from my old blog)

You don’t know when you first laid eyes on Takemichi, maybe it was when you came into the store he was working in and he straight up walked into a cupboard since he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Maybe it was the way his cheeks shimmered crimson when you helped him pick up everything he dropped as a result of colliding with the wooden cupboard. His hands were shaking slightly and just like in those cheesy movies you hated so much, your hands touched and he let out the smallest whimper when he felt the soft skin of your hand.

The second you left he couldn't help himself but to think sinful things of the beautiful woman that just walked into his life, trying to imagine how your soft hand would feel wrapped around his shaft, pumping him slowly.

Just like when you first met him, his cheeks were crimson and his hands shaking with the bouquet of flowers in them, standing in front of your door. „Y-Y/N these are f-for you“ he stuttered out, clearly nervous. It was cute, really, someone his age having a crush on you, at least a few years older. He made you feel different than men your age, he made you feel wanted and adored so you let him in.

Once the flowers found a fitting vase he wiped his sweat drenched hands off on his pants, making you chuckle „What’s wrong Michi?“ You ask amused, grabbing his jaw so he looks at you instead of the floor. He just shook his head „You look pretty in that dress“ He blurted out flustered which made you giggle, deciding to tease him a bit. „I look even prettier without it“ you hummed, winking at him before leaving the kitchen, Takemichi still standing there frozen to the ground, mouth agape.

When he came to the living room, his whole head was red from how hard he was blushing „Please show me then“ He mumbled insecure, hoping you weren’t just talking but his insecurity was wiped away when he felt your lips on his, your soft hands cupping his cheeks carefully to not overwhelm him even more.

His hands were quick to land on your hips, digging his fingers into your sides from how nervous he felt, not believing this is actually happening. As the kiss deepened you led him to your bedroom, slowly opening the buttons on his shirt before stripping it off him, giving him a gentle shove onto the bed. Your hands traveled to the hem of your dress as you gave him a small show while taking it off, taking him off guard at how you weren’t wearing a bra and you could hear him whimper already just from seeing you like this.

It didn’t take long for the rest of his clothes to come off, not sure about how everything goes on so you guided his hand to your core, letting him touch you with his slender fingers as you wrapped your hand around his leaking cock, slowly pumping him, just like he always imagined. His fingers were moving quite clumsy, almost coming to a halt as his sweet moans got louder, making you hum and reposition the two of you, face right in front of his length which had him hold his breath.

„Be a good boy for mommy“ You smiled before planting a kiss on his hip bone, letting your tongue glide all the way from the base to the tip, swirling it over his slit to tease him before your soft lips wrapped around his swollen tip. Out of reflex his hips shot forward, overwhelmed by the feeling of your mouth around him, it amused you, how sensitive he was when you started bobbing your head along his shaft, making sure to hollow out your cheeks. When you felt him twitch, indicating that he’s close he tried to shove your head away „g-gonna cum“ he whimpered with a cracking voice which made you hum, picking up the pace more as you welcomed his cock in your throat, wanting to taste him. His hands tangled in your hair and kept you in place as he shot his load down your throat, sweet moans of leaving his lips. You didn’t want to overstimulate him just yet so you pulled away and kissed his hip bone again „How was that? You were such a god boy for mommy, maybe I will ride you as a reward“ You mused, one hand creeping up his torso to play with his pebbled nipples, making his head spin completely at your touches along with your offer. „Yes please… Take care of me mommy“ he begged, wanting nothing more than to have you use him for your own pleasure.

[sighonaraa]

🌹🌹🌹🌹 Can we have a little Jamie gets hugged six ways snippet? Pretty please? as a little treat?

ABSOLUTELY YOU MAY!!!!! i love this fic and i will NEVER shut up about it. here you go!!

“I won’t,” says Roy, which—isn’t what Jamie’d expected. “I won’t touch you, Jamie. Promise.” And there’s a solid surety to Roy’s voice, a grounded calm that hooks into the naked, vulnerable ache of Jamie’s chest and keeps him from running off the way he so terribly wants to. He allows a breath to escape his mouth. “O-okay,” he stammers; curls his fingers into the sleeves of his shirt. “Thanks. I—thanks. Thank you.” “You don’t need to—” But whatever it is Jamie doesn’t need to do, he never finds out, ’cause Roy cuts himself off before he gets to it and changes tact. “Do you…want to come back to my house with me? I can make you breakfast.” No. It’s right there, on the precipice of Jamie’s tongue, and he can’t speak it into being. Wants to, but can’t. All he can think about is the empty, hollow coffin of his own gaff, the way it all feels foreign to him, as though he’s become a stranger in a strange land except the strange land is his house and the stranger is his reflection. And more than he wants to say no to Roy, he doesn’t want to return to that place. So, “Sure,” is what spills out, fractured and hopeful in the cold dawn light. “Sure, yeah. I’ll—yeah. Please.” And Roy nods, seeming relieved, seeming unsurprised, and waits for Jamie to venture closer to him before turning towards the brightening horizon and the path that’ll lead them home. ** He’s never been to Roy’s house before, is something Jamie only realizes once he’s there, curled into the arm of the nice, deep couch in the living room, listening as oil crackles on the stove and the smell of diced bell peppers fills the air. He should be embarrassed, he thinks absently, to be sitting around on his arse while Roy makes him breakfast like he’s a child. Except shame is a distant thing, now. Beyond his reach. Scrambling around out there on the road, all hands and knees and panting breaths, a hunted animal biting desperately at any hand that comes near, has scraped him to the absolute bottom of his emotional barrel. He can’t stretch his mind around anything more than exhaustion. And hunger. He’s so fucking hungry. He expects Roy to call him to the kitchen once it’s time to eat, but instead Roy ends up bringing two plates heaped with cheesy omelets and fried potatoes into the living room, sets them both on the coffee table and then adds a mug to the display, topped high with whipped cream. “Hot chocolate,” he tells Jamie, which is good, ’cause if Roy Kent put whipped cream on his coffees then Jamie would just maybe have to re-think twenty years of hero worship. Then he points at the fork and says, “Fork.” “No shit?” Jamie asks, feigning shock, and almost slams his body back into the couch cushions, horrified. What the fuck. What the fuck. He can’t—he can’t—he can’t do that, can’t go around making fun of Roy when Roy’s wasted all this time bringing him home and cooking him breakfast and taking care of him even though Jamie deserves none of it, when Roy’s— Laughing. Quietly, shoulders shaking. Jamie stares at him, convinced there’s something deeper to it, that the laughter will crack open to reveal the cold, ugly innards, but it doesn’t. It slowly fades into a warm silence, and then Roy says, “Yeah, guess that was fucking stupid of me. Go on, you muppet, eat before it gets cold.”

[anarkysm]

All of My Heroes Die All Alone - Part I: Easy they Come

Jason Todd x oc fanfic.

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Evangeline didn’t know why seeing Floyd this way had not become the normality in her mind. She thought by this point, now that he had reached the six month mark of being admitted into Elliot Memorial’s hospice ward, that she would have become desensitised to the sight of him. The myriad of tubing that protruded from every orifice, the hollow of his throat, his nostrils, the catheter, the colostomy bag, and the various IV lines that all form a cocoon around him like a fly in a spider’s web, waiting for the inevitable predator to slink it’s way down, long needle like fangs piercing flesh. It would be a quicker death than this, the sharp sting, the rush of venom, the paralysis, then… nothing.

How quiet that would be.

Instead the whirring of machines must be getting to his head. If he could still talk he would tell her as such. He would tell her to leave him be. But, there is a selfish part of her soul that wants to keep him around, that wants his advice as long as she can receive it. That wants to keep him as comfortable as she can before the inevitable happens. She’s selfish like that. She hates that she is, but when one good thing stays in your life as long as Floyd Lawton stayed in hers, those claws would stay buried in that flesh forever.

She eats the worst beef and butter sandwich of her life as she occupies the seat next to him. She stays like this throughout visiting hours, only getting up and leaving the room when the nurses clean him, changing his sheets, scrubbing his thinning skin that shows the intricate webbing of muscles, tendons, veins and arteries underneath. She can’t bear to look at him when they do it. His limbs, once thick and ropey with muscle and scars, were now wiry and fragile. She wondered if he would hate his reflection in the mirror, she wondered if it were the other way around that he would have left her body to give up on itself even if it were painful, so it would be quick. So he could mourn and his life would go on. She knew his would. She didn’t know if she was capable of the same.

Her phone rung with an alarm she had set to remind her that the visiting hours were done. She packed her things, a cheesy romance book that merely sat dormant on the arm rest of her chair, and a newspaper. She bid her goodbye to Floyd with a kiss to his temple, and headed out. The nurses were always lovely, there was a tiredness to their kindness that reminded her of him. The nights when he would come back after weeks of being away, but if she asked him a question, he would answer. If she wanted to tell him how the week had gone, he would let her. There would be a darkness to his skin, a sunken feeling in his eyes, but he would be there.

When she exited the building the chill of November nipped at the exposed skin of her neck and she shivered. She hunkered herself down further into her jacket and trekked through the car park until she was sitting astride her bike. The vibration of her phone in her pocket jolted her out of her thoughts and she dug her hand into her coat to fish it out. She recognised the number immediately and brought it to her ear.

”Hospital.” She greeted, knowing she was talking to a man who preferred to be blunt. “Five minutes to home.”

The voice was impatient. “Wherever else would you be?” Came the reply. The tone was edged, the sarcasm dripping with venom. “Meet me in the Canary Club. Got a job.”

Wonderful. She hung up, buried her phone back in her pocket and shoved the helmet over her head.

~

The Canary Club was home to most of Gotham’s populace on a Friday night, the place crawling with people and vibrating with music. It was humid and sticky and everywhere you looked the lights were flickering and there were girls dancing. It was the kind of place Slade liked to meet in. He liked the noise, it drowned out conversations, and he liked having something or someone to look at while he talked business. He wasn’t an easy man to figure out, but Evangeline liked to think she had a good grasp on why he was as picky as he seemed. The two had had this arrangement for some time, since before Floyd got sick. Floyd didn’t know, of course, it was one of the many secrets she kept from him.

Slade was in his usual booth upstairs, red pleather couches that overlooked the entire dance floor below. He ‘liked to see things coming,’ but Evangeline knew it was more than that, it was a sense of control he liked to keep over the room, even in his old age. And Slade had gotten older, being in his late 60s had thickened his skin but made his insides more fragile. He was tenser and more brutal, he needed opponents to stay down, there was less of a chance he would beat his way out of a fight with someone younger than him now, but that didn’t mean just anyone would pick a fight with Deathstroke. Certainly not Evangeline. She could see his white hair as she ascended the steps, and she followed it like a beacon as it caught the multitude of lights that cascaded over the room. She greeted him as she sat down, “here, again?”

Slade’s lip quirked up. His Deathstroke mask seemed to hide his nerve damaged mouth well. He’d gotten into a fight with the Batman, maskless, a batarang had sliced through his upper lip and chin leaving the area paralysed on one side. Though it didn’t make him any less menacing. “Why not? Gives us both something to look at.” He adjusted the glasses on his face. “How is Lawton?”

Evangeline straightened her back. “Alive.”

Slade made a noise, something tip-toeing between a snort and a grunt. “Not living,” he mused, fingers playing with the edge of the table. He had a folder resting neatly in front of him. “Middle Eastern prison. Libya. Rich man wants his ward returned here alive.”

Evangeline sucked her lower lip between her teeth. “Prison break? Isn’t that more of a mercenary’s job?” She asked. She’d never been tasked with a prison break before, though if it were one here in Gotham she would be oozing confidence, criminals seemed to just walk out of Arkham as easily as breathe. “How much is he paying for this ‘ward’?”

”Sixty Million.”

The world spun, and Evangeline dug her nails into the meat of her thighs to keep her mind focused. That was a lot of money. It was enough that she could… “Why didn’t you take it?” She asked. If it was simple enough that Slade thought she would be able to handle it on her own, then there was something else underlying that he wasn’t disclosing to her. Sixty million was nothing to Slade, he would have the kid back in a week if the rich asshole doubled it. “Seems right up your alley.”

Slade paused a moment, pursing the side of his mouth that still worked. “I’ve not been allowed in Libya for thirty years,” he explained, gently coaxing the folder across the table towards her. “Take it. Mull it over. I’ll give you three hours. You have my number, send me a message.”

~

The ride back to Floyd’s appointment was a quiet one, but not long. She had two hours and 32 minutes to think about Slade’s offer. Her mind kept wandering back to the reward. How much could this ward be worth? She had doubts it was Bruce Wayne, that pompous asshole hadn’t adopted a new kid in years and the media kept tabs on all of them. The computer whizz, the acrobat turned cop that moved to Bludhaven, the only one you didn’t hear about anymore was the one that died not too long after he showed up in the tabloids. Apparently, something to do with an accident while they were on a holiday somewhere overseas, but no one knew the details. Poor kid. She doubted Bruce would let one of his own leave the country after a devastating loss like that again.

There were rich people in Gotham, but none of them were that rich. She had half a mind to see if there were any missing persons reports that had sprung up within the last week or so, but there were people disappearing every five hours. Some got on trains and never made it home, others just packed up and left without another word. Evangeline wished she could do that, leave the world behind.

She sent Slade a message confirming her involvement and showered whilst waiting for a response. Once she was dried and dressed a message arrived, a date and time to board a plane to Egypt, and who to contact once she reached Cairo. She set her phone on the nightstand to charge, and went about trying to sleep.

~

Hey Floyd,

I thought I would leave this for the nurses to read out to you because I don’t know if I could tell you this in person but I’m going away for a couple weeks. Nothing serious, just took a job to get some money and it’s sending me overseas for an assignment. I’ll text you when I touchdown. Don’t get any worse until I’m home, yeah?

Angie.

[trulybetty]

oct 14' x spooky

Prompt: spooky Pairing: dieter bravo x gn!reader Word Count: 666 (quite apt for bravo 😏) Warnings: if this were a movie, rated T? nothing here but un-beta'd Dieter & bad jokes Summary: dieter goes bump in the night? sorry - I got nothing better than that, coffee hasn't kicked in this morning.

x. masterlist

You were awoken by the sound of the dull clink of what sounded like a belt hitting something solid followed by a hissed ‘shit’. As you tried to get your senses about you there were more curses and a dramatic shushing and for a moment you wondered if there was more than one person in the bedroom. More stumbling followed a string of curse words when the bed reverberated from the sound of a toe stubbing the end of the bed.

Now you were awake.

Rubbing at your eyes and pushing yourself up onto your elbows you watched as the sheet at the end of the bed rose as if possessed, forming a lumpy silhouette. Your heart skipped a beat and you considered screaming, but then you remembered—Dieter.

“Dieter?” you asked, trying to sound more annoyed than startled.

“It’s not Dieter,” came his muffled voice as added a wail to his voice, “I’m the spooooky ghost of your questionable past decisions.”

You laughed, “Is that why you sound like my boyfriend then?”

Methodically, he worked his way up your legs, his lips tracing a map of affection that made it impossible for you to remain sleepy. Each touch was light yet intent, calculated yet carefree. It was as if he were speaking a love language composed solely of his lips and your skin.

By the time he reached your waist, your breath had quickened, and your eyes were wide open, fixated on the shape of him under the sheet. “What are you doing?” you finally asked, the words slipping out in a whisper.

You could hear the grin in his voice as his nose grazed your hip, “Reminding you why that questionable past decision was a good thing,” he murmured before continuing his journey upward.

His lips found the sensitive spot on your neck, lingering there for a moment that seemed to stretch on forever, filled with nothing but the heat between you and the sensation of his touch. Then he moved up to your jawline, then your cheeks, leaving a trail of kisses that felt like tiny, delicious flames igniting your skin.

Finally, he reached your lips, but instead of sealing the electrifying journey with a kiss, he paused, looking deep into your eyes. “Hello,” he said softly, as if he were meeting you for the first time.

“Hello,” you replied, your voice tinged with amusement and a profound sense of affection. 

“Sorry for waking you,” he murmured, his voice tinged with genuine regret. “But you know me. Being surreptitious is not exactly my strong suit.”

You chuckled, reaching up to stroke his cheek, “That it certainly is not.”

His lips found yours, the taste of nicotine a ghost on his lips, a habit he was still trying to kick. There was a misconception that Dieter was hasty, quick to the finish and messy, he was absolutely the opposite. His tongue grazed your lower lip, teasing, before he gently nipped at your bottom lip.

You melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair. His hand found your waist gripping it tightly, holding you against him. His other hand snaked up your back, slipping under your shirt to trace the line of your spine.

In a swift move he rolled to his back, you atop of him and he broke the kiss reaching up to run his thumb over your bottom lip before he gave you a cheesy smirk.

“Why are male ghosts attracted to female ghosts?”

You rolled your eyes, but played along, “Why is that?”

“Because of their boo-bies.”

“Jesus,” you groaned, “I am really questioning these past decisions of mine.” 

“You love it.” He grinned as he placed another kiss at the hollow of your throat.

You smiled, you really did, but his ego didn’t need to know that right now.

“Now, Mr. Bravo,” you reached down to the hem of your sleep shirt, “how about we make the most of this unexpected wake-up call?”

He didn't need to be told twice.

[piss-pumpkin]

Scars (Soulmate au)

Reader is a librarian :)

3.38k words

~In a world where your soulmates scars appear on your skin once their healed~

You carefully traced your scar in the mirror, ghosting your finger over the mark across your cheek. It had appeared a few years ago during school, much to your friends surprises. You eyed it carefully, wondering how reckless your soulmate could be to give you so many scars. You knew you weren’t the most careful kid growing up, but you had given your person far less. You had long since accepted it as part of your appearance, but still found it easy to stare at. At least it was a conversation starter.

Sighing, you went to get dressed properly and go to the library. You squinted as you walked outside, the sun burned brightly in the sky. You were working alone today, Amity having taken the day off to study with Luz. You smiled to yourself, and looked down at the ground as you walked. Other witches probably looked at you funny for staring at the dirt and smirking, but you couldn’t help laugh internally at your lovesick friends.

You’d have to made sure to tell the children to tease Amity and ask her about her date tomorrow.

                                             …

When the reading hour for the kids was over, you boss moved you to the front desk. It was a Tuesday at noon, meaning it wasn’t busy. You watched the door in your peripheral vision as you read a book. Amity had insisted you read ‘Azura.’ It read awkwardly at times, and was incredibly cheesy, but it had its moments of heartfelt sincerity in the story. You had promised Luz and Amity a full review when you were done. 

Your eye was caught by a light, the sun shining through the door. The person went straight to the book shelves before you got a good look. Your eyes fell back on the book, and you continued to read.

The person didn’t come to the counter, instead opting to bring a pile of books to the tables, out of your sight. You noticed them go by the flick of a cape around the shelf. 

You laughed to yourself, a cape? What a cosplay nerd. Though you were one to talk, occasionally being dragged into the same kind of stuff by your friends.

                                             …

Upon closer inspection, you noticed that the cape nerd was in fact, the golden guard. Or at least a really good cosplay of him. Immediately you clammed up. A government narc was a neat person to be alone with in a library. You were glad Amity wasn’t here, she’d probably just punch him and get fired.

The guard was approaching the counter, where you unfortunately sat. He sauntered up carrying a few books. The covers reflected on the pristine gold of his mask.

He placed them gingerly in front of you, “I’d like to check these out, please.” He spoke with a strain and tiredness in his voice that you didn’t expect from such a high ranking guard. 

You nodded, and pulled the books closer to you to scan them. You kept your eyes low, avoiding looking at the hollow slits on his mask. He seemed to be doing the same, and didn’t face you directly. “You have a library card?”

”Hmm? Oh, no.” 

You nodded again. You very much couldn’t check books out to people without a card. But on the other hand, this was the golden guard. In a way, he was a little bit above the library law.

“Okay so, you do kind of need a library card,” you said, looking up at him. “But I’ll just put it on mine this time, okay? That means you have to bring them back or else I get fired.”

He perked up, and looked at you. “Oh- I didn’t realizzzeee….” He lost his voice as he stared at you, his finger tip curling around air. A chill went down your spine as the golden guard gazed at your face for an uncomfortable amount of time.

Your palms were sweaty. “Well, uh, it’s cool,” you said as you slid the books back. He didn’t take them, staying completely still at the counter. You wiped your sweaty hands on your leg and tried to avoid eye contact with the hollow man holes of his mask. “I, uh- didn’t expect the golden guard to be reading about wild magic,” you said, trying to make small talk.

What was this guy’s deal?

He flinched out of his trance, looking down at the books, then back at you. His body language changed dramatically, shifting from that of a confident guard to that of somebody much more awkward. “Well, uh- gotta learn it if I wanna stop it!” He babbled. He looked stiff.

You looked up at him, a confused look painting your face. “Well, good luck,” you said awkwardly.

Weird.

The golden guard scooped up his books and scurried back to the table. Which was strange, because he looked before like he was leaving. Why check out the books if you’re staying? 

As your shift continued, you caught him glancing up from his book in your direction from time to time. You pretended not to notice at first, but it grew more frequent, and you had to say something. 

You got up, and walked over to him. As you did, you could swear he clammed up under his mask. 

“Um- golden guard, my guy. Can I help you?” You asked, lacing your tone with sternness. 

“Uh, y-yeah. I was uh.. looking for a good book recommendation… could you help me out?” 

You squinted your eyes, and your lips curled into an involuntary smile. What a lying bitch. This man wasn’t looking for jack shit and you knew it.

”Well me personally, I’m a slut for [favourite genre]. Do want one of those?”

He nodded eagerly. 

You sighed, “Okay, do wanna come with me?” You looked over at the shelves where your genre was, and flocked your head in that direction. “Come on, over here, I’ll show you where they are.” 

He scrambled out of his chair to follow you. The golden guard walked timidly behind you, which was very strange. From what Amity spoke of this guy, you expected a vile person.

Titan, does the golden guard have a little crush on me?

You smirked at the thought. It would explain the behaviour, maybe this guy never saw somebody as hot as you, you thought. You snickered as you approached the book shelf.

“Here, this one is really good,” you say, pulling a book off the shelf. “It’s written in a really unique way, and really hits hard in some moments. And the deeper themes of-”

You cut yourself off and laughed a bit, “Sorry, I should let you read it for yourself.”

The golden guard nodded, and gently took the book from your hands. Then all of a sudden, there was no reason for you to be there, and you were alone with him in the aisle. Just you and him, standing awkwardly, making half eye contact through the holes in his mask.

”Anyway, ask if you need anything else? I’ve gotta get back to the desk.” 

You escaped.

                                               …

Much to Amity’s detest, the golden guard was a regular after that day. You never quite understood why, but he seemed to come in fairly often. Which was even stranger because he was the golden guard, famous for being busy. 

Today just happened to be a day he popped by, and Amity wasn’t there to tell him to leave.

”Hey Goldie, need anything?” He came up to the desk, and you couldn’t help but smile. “Or did you just come to see little ol’ me?” You asked with a condescending tone.

The golden guard jerked his head away from you, and looked at the ground. “You know I have better things to do then come visit a librarian…” he said, flustered. 

“Sureeeee.”

He sighed through the mask. “I’m returning this,” he held up a book. You grinned, it was one you made him read. 

“So how was it?” You asked eagerly, tapping your hands against the desk. 

“Surprisingly not terrible, I suppose.” 

High praise coming from him. You did good.

”Aww, glad you liked it,” you said with exaggerated splendour. “You want another? I just finished reading one and I thought of you, it seems like your style…” you said, reaching under the desk to find it. You held it up to him and showed off the cover, “I think you’d like it!”

The golden guard stared at you, and fiddled with his gloves. “Uh- sure!” 

You gave him the book happily, excited on his behalf. 

“Thanks Y/n!” He sputtered out. The golden guard turned around, and began to walk back to the door.

”Damn, leaving already?” You asked, slightly disappointed.

He seemed as startled as one could seem with a mask that hides one’s face completely. “Y-yeah, important emperors coven stuff… you know,” he said. 

You grumbled and sighed. There goes one of very few people who talks to you on your solo shifts. “Then can I walk with you a bit? I can take my break whenever.”

He perked up, “Sure!”

You nodded and grabbed your jacket from the back of your chair, putting up a small sign saying you’d be back in 15. “So where we off to, Goldie?” 

“I’m doing a supply run today, nothing special,” he said. It was only a little bit of a lie, he was getting a supply of things, those things just happened to be more palismen. After the incident with Luz, he and the scouts started targeting the forest for wild ones.

”That’s kind of lame, won’t lie.” The two of you walked out of the library, and the sun seemed particularly bright to your dark adjusted eyes. “Ugh,” you groan as you shield your face. “Too hot.”

The golden guard looked at you. You felt your face heat up under the seemingly cold gaze of his hollow eye holes. He watched as you grew accustomed to the light. 

What gave him away was a neck movement. What could normally be dismissed as looking at a friend morphed into something more obvious. You saw his eyes were pointed at your arms, which were littered with scars. 

“Whatcha lookin at?” You asked teasingly. You didn’t mind when people stared at your scars, you’d grown used to it. It wasn’t something you’d expect from the golden guard though.

”Oh, sorry…” he mumbled. “You’re, uh, arms have a lot of scars on them…”

You laughed, “Yeah, I don’t know what’s up with my soulmate.” You looked down at your arms and the oddly shaped scars that painted them. The strange thing was that you had no idea how your soulmate got them. They didn’t look like normal scars. It was a toss up between playing in the wrong patch of prickly woods… or something else. You chose to think it was the woods, and your soulmate was just clumsy.

The golden guard looked nervous as he fidgeted with his gloves. “Heh… yeah.”

                                              …

Kikimora had you cornered in an alleyway. The dark of night bathed her in an ominous shadow. Her small figure didn’t serve as threatening, but she held fire in her fists, waiting for you to move. “Wild witch! Bring me to the owl lady!” She screamed.

Your back was against the wall, but you had no intention of helping her. She had you though. Attacking her wasn’t an option, her being an emperors coven official. Going after her would be suicide. 

Did you have a choice though?

She waited for you to speak. Her eyes were wild and bloodshot, and showed no hesitation. “Well?!”

You tried to edge backward, but couldn’t. The stone slab was cold on your back. You couldn’t help her, that wasn’t an option. 

You tried to make the movement of your fingers subtle, drawing a small glyph on the wall behind you. She didn’t seem to notice yet. “Uhhh, how do you know… that I know where she is?” You asked, stalling.

”WE’VE SEEN YOU COLLUDING!” She yelled, waving her hands in the air. She was growing impatient. 

You completed your glyph, and sent a tendril of abomination spiralling her way.

”AUGHHHH!” She screamed. It was a good thing this wasn’t a busy part of town.

You acted quickly, and drew another on the ground, shooting shards of ice up at her. She swatted aggressively, and melted them with her fire.

”ENOUGH!” She shouted, illuminating the entire alley with flames. She lunged at you, with fire on her fists. 

You pulled the abomination goo upwards into a shield, but she broke though. Her small body landed on top of you, and pushed you down to the ground. 

You slapped the floor, pushing out another blade of abomination toward her head. 

Kikimora ducked, and you missed by a hairs width. “HA! YOU’LL BE PETRIFIED FOR THAT!” She laughed manically. She stuck your wrists with abomination of her own, trapping you beneath her.

The heat of the flames began to sting your face, despite them not touching you yet. Kikimora laughed again as you tried to blindly draw a glyph with the tip of your finger. Your eyes closed in their own, bracing for an attack.  She plunged her burning hand towards you head.

You never felt it touch. 

“AUGH!” Kikimora screamed. She was knocked off you. 

You opened your eyes, but you vision was blurry. There was a figure above you, staff in hand. Their movement was a blur as they lunged at Kikimora again. 

The abomination on your wrists softened as she was knocked against the wall. You broke free, and stumbled to you feet. Everything was still a little blurry as you eyes recovered from the fire being so close. 

You could make out Kiki though, as your rescuer had her pinned. You laughed a spiteful laugh as you seized you opportunity. You drew a glyph and send a sharp abomination spear straight into her shoulder. 

This seemed to startle your rescuer, and they turned your way. They seemed to teleport toward you, grabbing your hand and running with you out of the alley. You looked back, and saw Kikimora was still pinned against the wall by your abomination. 

“What were you thinking?!?” They yelled at you. 

Wait a minute.

You recognized this voice. 

He was running in front of you and pulling you with him. You weren’t sure where he was leading you, but you didn’t question it. And you had your suspicions as to who your mysterious rescuer was. 

You ran to the outskirts of town, far away from anyone else. The area was lit by small streetlights.

“Why was she after you?!?” He yelled, slowing down. The two of you took a moment to catch your breath. You must have been running for a while, because your chest heaved as you panted. 

You finally were able to get a good look at this guy. Blond, red eyes, about your age, a little taller then you. He had a small bandana mask covering the lower half of his face. 

You didn’t speak, instead waiting to hear his voice again. You had a feeling you knew it.

”Well!?” He said, exaggerating his speech with his hands. “Why were you in a dark alley with her? How’d you even get in that situation!” He yelled.

Despite everything, you found yourself smirking. You’d recognize that exasperated bitch tone anywhere. You looked him up and down, trying to confirm it. You asked hesitantly, “Golden guard?” 

He sighed. “Ugh, I really hate you.”

It appears you were correct in your guess.

”Just… what happened.” He questioned. He seemed serious and tired. 

You sighed, and looked at the ground. “She pulled me aside on the street, and like… what am I gonna do, say no to an emperors coven official?” You said, recalling the events of the day. “She jumped me after though, and pulled me into the alley. She wanted me to take her to Eda…”

The golden guard held the bridge of his nose in his hand, and shook his head. “I really hope she didn’t see me…” 

“Yeah, uh… why did you do that?” You asked curiously. You eyed him, “And I’ve never seen you out of your uniform…”

You stared at his face. The bit you could see seemed to grow red at the ears. 

“Well, I was actually going to see you. I thought your shift would be over around this time.” He mumbled. He turned his head away from you, and stared at the streetlight. “And I wasn’t gonna just, what? Let her kill you? Horribly scar you?”

You looked into his eyes and saw worry and concern, rather then the usual sarcasm and exasperation. “Well, thanks. I, uh, really appreciate it.” You touched his shoulder gently, pulling his attention back to you.  Gazed at you with an unreadable expression. “I mean it, thanks Goldie.”

He nodded and looked away again, flustered. “You can call me Hunter, if you want.”

Your eyes widened, “Wait, is that your name?”

He looked at you confused, “Why else would I say that if it wasn’t my name, dumbass.”

You pulled away, and waved your hands in defence. “Hey, I don’t know. I thought you weren’t supposed to tell your name, so maybe it was a code name or something.”

He sighed, “No, you’re just stupid.” 

“Or your just soft on me,” you said, smirking. 

He scowled at you, and scoffed before turning away. “Can you be more careful next time? What would have happened if I wasn’t there, Y/n…” he said, voice low. 

You looked away. 

“I’m just glad I heard the screams,” he mumbled. His voice fell to a near whisper, “I don’t wanna be responsible for any more of your scars.”

As quiet as he was, you still heard him. Your eyes went wide. “Huh?” You babbled.

Hunter realized what he said. His face and ears flushed as he backed away from you, stumbling. “Well, uh, I-“ he stuttered, panicked. “I..”

You stared at him, your brain having turned off. There were no thoughts going through your head.

He sighed in defeat, and pulled down the mask on his face. What lied beneath were… scars. The most noticeably eye catching of which adorned his cheek. Instinctively, you reached your hand to your own scar. You stepped closer to him, and examined his face. 

They were the same.

”I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner…” his head was hung low, eyes fallen on the ground.

Your mouth hung slightly agape.

Hunter fiddled with his gloves and looked at you shyly, waiting for a response. You didn’t quite have one.

Shakily, you took a step closer to him. He gazed upon you curiously, holding his hands close to his chest. His stance was anxious.

You gave in, rushing forward to hug him. He flinched slightly at the impact, but quickly recovered. You wrapped your arms around him and rested your head on his shoulder.

He seemed confused. ”Huh?”

Nobody must have taught him what a hug was.

You squeezed lightly, getting closer. Hunter hesitantly mirrored your actions and wrapped his arms around you, hands resting at your waist. 

“Goldie… are you alright?”

His grip weakened, “Y-yeah, of course.”

You turned your head away, still resting on his shoulder but looking onto the ground beside you.

”You have a lot of scars, dude.”

”By that logic, so do you.”

”You know what I mean.”

You felt him grimace. He laughed, “Child prodigy life, you know?” You didn’t move, instead pressing your forehead into his shoulder. Hunter sensed your anxiety, “Don’t worry to much, Y/n.”

You nodded into his shoulder and sighed. “Thanks for saving me, Goldie…” you paused. You laughed slightly, “I guess I should call you Hunter now, huh.”

You didn’t see, but you could sense a smile creep onto his lips. Hunter seemed to relax a little and rested his head on your shoulder as he hugged you tighter. You could hear it in his voice as he spoke, “Yeah, I’d like that.”

You let go, stepping back to look him in the eyes. “Then thank you, Hunter.”

.

.

Hello! This has a part 2! i’ll post it sometime! 

[paper-gold-theories]

What if there was a thing called Villain Rehab where hero's take villains to rehabilitate them into heros

Heck- They even have a handbook guide on how to on how to look after their villains (Interogations, Heroic excerisies, how to handle escape attempts, make sure they don't become depressed, ect) with rules for the heros like don't kill your villain and don't fall for the villain before they become reformed

I imagine when Goldheart defeats Flug instead of leaving he picks him up and begins to fly away with flug who assumes he's taking him to jail only to notice that their heading to the hero agency and questions what's going on.

In which Goldheart mentions "Just a little thing called Villain rehab", however his tone makes Flug think some freaky brainwashing shits about to happen and tries to escape

P.E.A.C.E. having cheesy orientation videos like Black Hat Organization for their rehab centers and handbooks for heroes would be absolutely hilarious.😂

____

GoldHeart captures Flug and takes away all his weapons and lands outside of a hero agency. Flug asks him where on earth did he take him. GoldHeart replies in a low tone, that he is taking Flug to "rehab". Flug thought he was going to be brainwashed and started struggling against his grip, trying to escape from him.

GoldHeart, amused, went along with it to see what Flug will do and trails after him at an easygoing pace. Flug ran all the way to a building with an elevator and took it all the way to the top floor, only to see GoldHeart there when Flug came out of the elevator.

Flug shocked, asked him how did he know which floor he would go to. GoldHeart shrugs and says he looked at the floor indicator screen and flew at super speeds up the stairs.

GoldHeart then proceeds to carry Flug over his shoulder again and takes the elevator down before continuing their way outside and towards the hero agency.

Flug panickedly held onto a lamp post along the way and GoldHeart just ripped off the lamp post from the ground and carried Flug with it, much to Flug's shock. (GoldHeart could just have pulled Flug away from the lamp post but he just thought this way was funnier.)

GoldHeart, predicting the reason for Flug's behavior, finally explained that they were going to an actual rehabilitation center to reform villains into heroes. He's not going to brainwash or mind-control Flug or something like that.

----

Flug, finally understanding: Oh, you mean like therapy?

GoldHeart: Yes!

Flug: Take me to prison instead…

GoldHeart: Flug!

----

Even though the staff has a handbook on how to handle escape attempts, Flug does a crazy maniac escape plan a week later on Christmas Eve that no one would expect, while GoldHeart was busy at an event.

He built a rocket and attached it onto a Christmas Tree, before crashing through the roof and riding it off into the night. GoldHeart had to fly after him all around town just to get him back to the rehab.

(One exploding tree later)

GoldHeart interrogated staff and guards (Flug wasn't going to say anything) on how Flug managed to sneak and build a rocket into a Christmas tree.

Apparently, Flug found a glitch and flaw in the electronic ordering system and ordered a total of 3000 happy meals (GoldHeart: Flug! WTF!?) to be served to him for the week, but barely ate any of it, and slowly drained out all the oil from the burgers and fries to be used as jet fuel, and found a room with broken appliances and used the equipment to build a rocket and attaching the tree by hollowing out the inside of it while he was helping to decorate...

GoldHeart faced palms. He didn't know whether to be infuriated or impressed!!Probably both.

He went back to Flug's room who insisted he needs to get back home and to work at Black Hat Organization, while GoldHeart tries to convince him to try to at least take the rehab seriously for at least 2 months, if he does so, he can get him a probation.

Flug agreed, definitely because he needed to think of a new escape plan, (yup, definitely not because GoldHeart gave him a sad adorable golden retriever puppy dog look..)

But he didn't want to do any planned interrogation sessions. GoldHeart accepted the compromise.

Flug went to the activities in the rehab like the several types therapy sessions and exercise sessions while GoldHeart visits him when he can when he is not doing hero stuff to have a friendly conversation see how he's doing with the therapy and the progress, while Flug pleasantly shared with him that he’s doing well and asks him how’s he’s hero work, which GoldHeart also enthusiasticaly shares. So for 2 months, everything is going well...

Until Flug staged another escape plan while GoldHeart was busy with another mission. By the time GoldHeart was informed and reached the facility, he saw the Hat-Ship had already broken into the city and the carnage of beaten up guards left by the Villainous gang. The last thing he saw was Flug in the hat ship getting a hug from 5.0.5. and a friendly noogie from Demencia inside the Hat-Ship, before the before it flew off in high speeds. GoldHeart tried to keep but couldn’t because the hat-ship had somehow upgraded its engine while Flug is in the rehab.

GoldHeart and some P.E.A.C.E. officers tried to interrogate the guards, staff and the inmates on how did Flug manage to escape the facility, considering that he has been banned from using any technology (e.g. TVs) and was carefully monitored, after his last escape attempt. They eventually found out from some of the inmates that Flug has been doing a secret barter trade with the patients by making makeshift alcohol and drugs with only ingredients from the kitchen in exchange for multiple favors. With Flug being secretive and all patients kept giving different contradicting stories, (GoldHeart suspected might have asked also for random favors to throw them off) they had no idea how to piece the info on how Flug managed to inform his team to escape and do all this without the guards and staff knowing.

Overall GoldHeart felt frustrated that Flug was able to escape his clutches again.

------

A week later GoldHeart got an email. Noticing it’s from Flug’s BHO email address, he opened it up immediately. Flug wrote that the rehab did help him a little bit, so he felt he should at least give GoldHeart an explanation on how he escaped.

Flug suspected that the inmates might have told GoldHeart and P.E.A.C.E. about his barter trade but didn't know the exact details. He said that in exchange for makeshift alcohol and drugs he asked the inmates for scrap metal, in order to build the communicator to send messages to his team and explain his plan for them to charge in and break him out of the facility. He also sent a code to order and program his Hat-Bots to modify the Hat-Ship engine fast enough so that it can outfly GoldHeart.

How he was able to do all this without the guards and staff knowing was by asking some of the inmates for favors to put a paper bag over their heads and pretend to be him to distract the guards and staff while he goes to a secluded area to initiate his plan.

(GoldHeart laughed and couldn't help but be impressed by Flug's ingenuity and creativity, as he continues to read the email)

Afterwards, Flug said when he came back Black Hat was immorally pissed at him for taking an unprompted leave and had mountains and mountains of piled up work from over 2 months. But he said that he does feel a lot better after rehab and the therapy sessions help him deal and process some things about himself better. So, he thanks GoldHeart and appreciates him for bringing him there.

This put a smile on GoldHeart’s face and gave him hope that Flug could still be redeemed.

[houseofthelilypads]

To celebrate the onslaught of the holidays

There's a lot of talk about American justice, its vengeance driven policies; and substitutes like alternate resources, restoration and rehab. Two movies come to my mind when I think about the way restorative justice is used:

I am not kidding.

Now if you have been to my blog before then you'd probably expect me to drag Shrek the Third like a sack of wet gravel. Which is true but then, a sack of wet gravel is more entertaining. But do you know exactly WHY I don't like Shrek 3 and why I prefer TSC3? It lies with how these films handles its problems.

Charming lost everything including his mother but was able to find some support in the villains. Who btw, was depicted as a oppressed class with somewhat legitimate grievances with the status quo.

But it doesn't outweigh the bad: his new girlfriend babies him and only interested in being queen than actual loving him. Charming doesn't more moments to view his new faction as a new family. He doesn't challenge his own mother's toxic beliefs. No he gets crushed by a tower instead. Sure it was his own doing but there's no reflection on the heroes part. No "we could've saved him" or solemn, SOMETHING.

I'm Not saying the heroes should've forgiven Charming but they could've at least given him a proper burial! Or a scene where they actively help the villains the right way. The person who needed help the most gets killed in the most dumbest, most unsatisfying way. And then DreamWorks proceeded to not acknowledge his death at all. To say nothing about Artie and how his bullying was played for for meanspirited comedy, or how the rest of the villains were overshadowed in their own arc. The lack of compassion in thes situations makes the film's message ring hollow.

Despite having an entire season under his belt, all Jack Frost wanted his own holiday. It's nowhere near as dire as Charming's situation. You could say it's actually more selfish. Unlike shrek 3, when the say is saved the heroes confront Jack and...they iffer him another chance. Thhey talk DIRECTLY TO him, not down. The Santa Crew were able to understand/have empathy for Jack's situation. Lucy's kindness unfreezes him. Even more poignant earlier in the movie Jack froze her parents. And his timeline she became a spoiled brat. Yet despite what he's done she was willing to help Jack. It could've been so easy to destroy or banish him but they chose to restore him instead.

While the humor was REALLY cheesy, it wasn't as meanspirited and again, Jack is given a chance to heal. Heck, AU!Lucy is able to grow out of her meanness and help Calvin change things back. Both situations show that people aren't always born bad sometimes they're dealt have a bad hand in life

When the villain who had less sympathetic motives gets treated with more compassion, that's when you know you flubbed your message.

We don't always know what a person can be going through. A lot of times its much more worth helping them - if they choose it! But sometimes they can't choose. Sometimes they won't. But it doesn't hurt to try and it helps if you don't talk down to them, rather UNDERSTAND A THEM.

Overall Santa Clause 3 despite its flaws has a good message about the importance of compassion empathy and kindness, and moat importantly TRUE JUSTICE. Something shrek 3 could have done given its implications of hoe society demonizes people for their looks/deny criminals a chance to atone and rebuilt. But there wasn't just enough kindness and empathy in the story for that.

[shinycollarboneapologist]

hiiiii, just read style and illicit affairs and i freaking loved them both so much!!!!<3 i just saw the post saying that you were taking requests so i thought i’d give it a shot even tho i never send asks bc i get so nervous hdjdjsjd so could u pretty please write something inspired by good ones by charli xcx with matty or ross? im currently obsessed with it and i love ur writing style and how u incorporate the lyrics without making it cheesy :) could be a little blurb or social media au or even just a little list with thoughts 💭 wtvr u decide i’ll keep an eye out for your next fic whatever it’ll be 💖

AHHH ofc. also tysm bby, i love and appreciate you so so so so much.

he was great. really and truly was. he couldn't have treated you or loved you any better than he did. ross was a proper gentleman. he was loyal, and sweet. he would remember odds and ends of things you said in conversation, bringing them up later on to prove that he was really listening.

like that time you mentioned how you loved chocolate croissants. and coincidentally, each time you stayed over his the next morning there would be fresh chocolate croissants waiting for you on the kitchen island.

but it left much to be desired. you didn't know what was wrong with you. he was perfect. he is perfect.

the breakup was hard. and maybe that's why you had to make up convoluted stories to yourself, twisting a web of lies in your psyche that would lessen the ache of abandoning one of the best relationships you had been in. in these stories, sometimes he was the rude boyfriend that never wanted to do anything with you. other times, he was just the one that was better at leaving than you. your friends, most of which were also his, were shocked at the fact that you had called it quits. they thought he would have been the one to break the curse.

you had thought that, too. until the grass on the other side shone greener and grew taller than the comfort of the walls you and ross had created as a home for yourselves. you remember the way he sat across from you, arms crossed defensively and staring you down indignantly. it had come out of nowhere. you had grown distant, short with him. and then it was over.

he never really let you go, though. he would shoot you a happy birthday text, wished you well on all of the major holidays, asked about your friends and family, told you about the successes of the band. and it was nice. you kept him close, too, wishing him luck with the band, asking for music recommendations, making light conversation every once and awhile. all while trying to navigate dating again.

you'd picked some real winners. there was the guy with the monster truck who conveniently forgot to tell you he was married with a kid on the way. how could you manage to forget about the one with the weird obsession with sour cream? or the one with the rat tail pony tail? they made for good stories to tell, but there was something lacking.

and that something was ross, no matter how hard you tried to deny it.

your circles remained intertwined. which is the reason you find yourself sat on a barstool of a rented out local pub for matty's birthday.

there's an emptiness in your chest. a hole making you feel hollow as you watch ross lead his new girlfriend into the bar. he's probably telling her all of his stupid jokes, and she's probably laughing along and mirroring the glint behind his eyes. there's a fire burning deep within your chest, jealousy is rampant in your veins. you chose this though, and now you have to live with it. his eyes catch yours and he offers you a small smile and a wave, which you have to return in civility. but it still hurts. you still ache.

the grass would never be greener on the other side. instead it proved to be browned and dead, with no sign of life coming from it. no amount of watering or tears for that matter could save it. and as he's bringing her around the bar to say hello, you're perched on the barstool waiting for a text back. because if there's one thing about you, you always manage to let the good ones go.

[orisquirrelking]

When i tell you i RAN to this askbox.... Can i request some seasonal Egon fluff? Maybe something about carving pumpkins? Thank you so much!!!

OMG HIIII YESSSS HEHE i love Halloween and i love Egon so. Yes. i will be writing the shit out of this.

—————————————-

The firehouse was decked out in cheesy dollar-store halloween decorations. Orange and black tinsel fluttered above your head at the entrance of the building, and you grinned. This was totally Ray’s idea, you mused. He was known to be the firehouse’s local Halloween enthusiast.

As you walked up the stairs, you heard loud voices and sounds of things getting mushed onto walls. Stepping into the main living room, you began to announce your presence, but instead narrowly dodged a flying orange… glob?

“Jesus, did Slimer make a new friend?” You joked, wiping the excess of pumpkin guts from your shoulder.

“Excellent, you’re here!” Ray exclaimed, firing back at Peter, who was hiding behind an upturned table, shit eating grin on his face. “We were TRYING to decorate the firehouse but Venkman keeps goofing off!” He complained, and pointed your gaze towards the hollow pumpkins on the floor in-between the two men.

“I didn’t start this” Peter protested, peeking out from behind the table, giving ray the stinkeye. “Innocent ol’ Stantz dumped friggin’ pumpkin guts onto my uniform!” He whined. “Well maybe if you didn’t leave your uniform on the floor i wouldn’t have ruined it!” Ray shot back.

You sighed, picking up as many pumpkins as you could, piling the carving tools into them, peering over the edge of one to look at Peter and Ray. “Where are Winston and Spengs?” You inquired, raising an eyebrow.

“Lab and kitchen respectfully. Im sure you can figure out who’s where.” Peter said playfully. “Great! I’m going to go carve these, and you two are going to clean this place up before we get our next call.” You said, pointing at the two. “I mean it! If im up here and the Spud comes in for a slice of pumpkin a la guts, im coming for you.”

The two men jokingly saluted at you as you took the soon-to-be decorations downstairs to Peter’s office, then heading to the lab.

“Spengs! You called?” You said, jogging down the stairs to the basement, opening the door. A call from your favourite buster was the reason you were at the firehouse at such a late hour in the first place.

Egon looked up from his papers, sliding his glasses back up his nose, looking almost shocked to see you. “Ah, yes. You sorted out the problem upstairs, correct? I couldn’t get anything done with those two bickering.” He huffed, standing up. You rolled your eyes at him playfully. “Yeah yeah, world war three is over. Need anything else?” Egon shook his head, nervously adjusting his tie. “I uh.. did you need any help up there?”

You instantly brightened up. “I actually do! There are these pumpkins, and-“ you explained your new task to him, mindlessly grabbing his hand and dragging him upstairs to Peter’s office.

“And here’s our stock!” You said with a dramatic flourish. “Roll up those sleeves, we’re going elbow deep!” Egon raised his eyebrows, amused, doing as you said. “Now… what designs do ya think we should have? Ghost is an obvious one, so…” you trailed off as Egon picked up a carving tool.

“I think we should do a mushroom.” He suggested, hand clasping his neck. “There’s nothing more fall-like than foraging. Did you know there’s actually a fungus called the Jack-o-Lantern fungus? It glows in the dark!” Egon rambled. You smiled as he pulled out an encyclopedia, flipping to a bookmarked page. “The cap is convex, flat, and has a funnelled shape all at once!” He pointed to each section of the pictured diagram as he spoke.

You took the book from Egon, taking a pen and carefully referencing, you drew up the said mushroom on the pumpkin. “Would you do the honours?” You said, pointing the carving tool at him, simultaneously placing his book somewhere it couldn’t get dirty. “Would I!” He eagerly took the tool from you, thrusting it into the pumpkin. You sat in Peter’s chair, propping up your head in your hand, smiling at how excited the man was. He was kind of cute, if you were being honest.

“Excuse me?” Egon said, visibly shocked. “Huh?” You said, shaking yourself out from your small rest. “I’m kind of cute, huh?” He grinned at you, face red.

“….Yes.” You said deciding to take your idiocy in stride. “Ha. Nice.” He said, still grinning, going back to carving the pumpkin.

You two would work this out later. For now, you were content in carving pumpkins with your closest friend.

[bluegekk0]

Has Hornet ever given Hollow a reality check about how “great” their dad is, or does she let them live in a fantasy land of worshipping him? How would/does Hollow react if she tried/tries?

well, my au hornet is kind of in a similar position as hollow. maybe not to the point of worshiping pk, but she was really close to him in her childhood, so that affects how she sees him. granted, the fact that he disappeared and left her alone hurt her a lot, and left her not only angry at him, but also at herself for seeing that something is bothering him and not helping (which she wasn't able to do because pk never shared his struggles with her as to not burden her). she definitely acknowledges that the whole vessel plan was messed up, but she's also aware that it was the last resort option, so it's not enough for her to hate him (though it definitely doesn't paint him in a great light). she may be angry at him for leaving her, and not trusting her enough to be honest with her about his struggles, but deep down she still loves him. does she still let him know about all his failures when she lets anger take over? absolutely, but she feels shame about it afterwards. she doesn't really mean those things, she just has trouble keeping her anger in check, and when emotions take control, saying cruel things just to hurt the other person us inevitable

there's that, and the fact that she's not particularly close with hollow. she didn't get to spend a lot of time with them before they were sealed away, so she never formed a bond with them. she still cares about their well-being, she'd feel like a monster if she just left them alone in the temple of the black egg, but past helping them recover she never really talked to them much. she's anything but open about her own feelings about pk, so she's not particularly eager to share them, even with hollow. she does feel bad for them, and a bit guilty about "stealing" all of pk's attention, but she keeps it to herself, instead showing it by taking care of them when they need it

if she tried though? i think it would make hollow think about it, but ultimately their devotion to their father would win. if anything, it would be pk opening up to them about his failures that would have a bigger effect, and he does eventually do that. so i think their view of pk would slowly shift from the toxic "my father is perfect and i need to impress him at all times" mindset, to something a bit healthier. the one quote from the last of us episode 3 really stuck with me: "paying attention to things. it's how we show love". is it a bit cheesy? probably, but i do believe that this is the mindset hollow would adopt in my au. so like i mentioned in a previous question, this would be anything from tidying up his workshop in his absence, or adding their own personal touch to some of his inventions, to making things on their own and showing it to them, or quietly sitting close to him when he's having a breakdown. they don't have to do any of that, as pk keeps reminding them, but it's something that they choose to do, so why stop them?

i mentioned it prior, but my goal with this au is to be hopeful in the end. they've all been hurt one way or another, but they're family, and they can get through all of it if they stick together. even if it takes a lot of time and just as many hardships to get there

sorry if this is all over the place, i just woke up and realized i have 20 minutes until my bus, but i hope its somewhat satisfying as an answer haha

[grasshopperdoingdogpaddle]

Do you prefer Omi's mentor-student relationship with Master Monk Guan or Master Fung?

I’d say Master Fung by default.

Master Fung never really praises or acknowledges Omi and comes down heavier on him to scold or punish him than he does any other student. There are times when some sort of emotional response is practically being begged for from Omi and Fung just completely no-sells it, even though Fung will have emotional mentor talks with Raimundo, Kimiko, or Clay.

And Omi cares deeply for Master Fung, more than he cares about anyone else, and has time and time again shown that he’s willing to die for Master Fung. He jumps into the Yin-Yang world not because he doesn’t care about the other’s inputs, but because there’s nothing the Yin-Yang world could do to Omi that Omi wouldn’t consider worth it to save Master Fung.

He’s so enthralled with Master Fung that he watched what he knew was a fake Kimiko with shapeshifting powers walk into the vault, and Omi ran in after her, and then when he sees “Master Fung” in there instead and Master Fung is uncharacteristically kind to him, Omi just drops all logic and walks away with this huge cheesy grin on his face. But that sort of just makes it sadder how little Fung ever visibly reciprocates or evens says anything about how much Omi clearly wants nothing more than to be seen as good in Fung’s eyes. That intense love and devotion comes across as tragically one-sided most of the time.

Omi has to praise himself and build himself up, and often just trains by himself and has little in the way of a childhood before meeting the other dragons-in-training, because his upbringing at the temple was deeply lonely. He’s on this pedestal and convinced that he’s the only one that has the weight of the world on his shoulders, which was a ridiculous thing to let Omi grow up thinking if there are at least 3 other chosen dragons.

But Fung did raise Omi and does seem to care about him in his own way. He shows it more openly to every monk aside from Omi, but there is that scene in the bad future where Fung finally returns a hug from Omi and offers him some comfort.

That has to put it above Guan, who I don’t think has any genuine positive feelings towards Omi in general.

He came back and saved the kids after he stole Dojo and left them all to fend against Chase themselves, and he specifically thanked Omi for helping him make that decision and gave Omi his Spear of Guan to show his gratitude. 

But Guan also goes out of his way to undermine that gift in front of Omi later, after he sets Omi up to have his heart broken and his body beaten black and blue by one of Omi’s own friends. He almost seems like he actively wants to rub salt in the wounds he sent Omi to get in the first place, and only the whole mentorship was based on a false pretense.

It gives the impression that Guan sort of holds a grudge against Omi for calling him out earlier.

And even though Guan does show Omi the physical affection and praise that Master Fung never does, Guan’s is very hollow and insincere. It’s so hollow and insincere that I think even Omi realizes how disingenuous the headpats and compliments Guan gives him are.

Omi really looked up to Guan, saw him as the amazing, noble hero, and he was even still willing to look up to him after he came back in Master Monk Guan, but I think The Return of Master Monk Guan is when Omi sort of stops putting him up on that pedestal, and why, by the finale, Omi has officially come to admire Chase much more than Guan.

While I think Master Fung is sincerely trying and just is not good at being either a mentor figure or a parental figure to Omi, I think Guan only ever sees Omi as a tool to be used, at best.

However, narratively, the fact that both Omi’s mentors on the side of good are really bad at mentoring him... is what makes his relationship with Chase so interesting. And I like that.

Omi’s only viable option for a mentor who likes and acknowledges him, shows him physical affection, will help him get stronger, is a legendary hero who’s fun to be with, and who actually will say and show that he wants Omi at his side... is also the one who Omi is diametrically opposed to. 

The fact that Omi has no any good options that were on his side is part of the reason why we get those deeply conflicted feelings he has towards Chase. 

[the-scottish-costume-guy]

I would love to read your essays on the Barbie movie

Okay so to do a proper essay I'd need to watch the movie again a few times and it'd take me weeks if not months - in all likelihood I will not be able to convince anyone to publish it. That said my partner really wants me to write something so maybe I'll make the time. Until then: an extended kinda analytical review: WARNING: spoilers ahead:

Whenever looking at a movie like this its important to establish the genre and genre conventions before doing any analysis. The Barbie movie is a comedy, its satirical, and it’s a feelgood movie made by a corporation. Some of my gripes with this movie are personal taste, some are flaws inherent in these genres or production means, please take everything I say as personal opinion. (I say this because I have noticed people taking my opinions as law because of what I study before and please don’t’ they are just opinions.)

The Barbie movie could be analysed with a queer lens, and a feminist one. Queer theory is more my area, but the parts I’m going to be talking about often overlap with feminist theory. I’m not going to talk so much about the opening, but I will talk a bit about character. Following Stereotypical Barbie is a good choice for the film as it lets us analyse some parts of toxic femininity. This is more subtle than the films analysis of toxic masculinity, but it is present. The non-normative Barbie is ‘Weird Barbie’ according to the others, and nobody wants to talk to her. Our Barbie is ‘malfunctioning’ because she has thoughts that are wrong, her day isn’t perfect, her body isn’t perfect, and she doesn’t want to open her mind and do the work to change – she wants to stay the same. Non-conformance is undesirable. ‘Weird Barbie’ is unwanted and alone while the others have girls night every night and are beloved by Ken. The film doesn’t analyse this too far beyond a brief statement at the end that things shouldn’t go back to the way they are, and an apology to ‘weird Barbie’. I do think its interesting that the scene where Barbie is ‘malfunctioning’ is one of the only times her outfit isn’t pink. Instead she’s in blue. Blue is a colour that to my memory wasn’t used much in the film – and it did well serving to make our Barbie stand out in that scene. So obviously Stereotypical Barbie goes on her journey and discovers things about herself and others – learns the world isn’t perfect. I don’t know how I feel about the conclusion of her becoming human at the end. I understand the thought process here – Stereotypical Barbie can’t exist as she is, her perfection is unattainable. She needs to become human because Barbie does need to reflect humans more, its why there have been so many variations over the years. That said it felt cheesy, the montage about understanding what being human means felt hollow and empty – I remember a lot of women and girls laughing and playing, I do not remember grief, failure in amongst the success. If the warning is “understand what it means to be human” I would have expected the good and the bad together. I know there are differing opinions on the concluding scene, but I personally think it was a misstep. Having Barbie becomes real = Barbie gets a vagina, felt like it went counter to the previous message of “Human isn’t something I have to ask for, its just something I realise I am one day.” Barbie already became real because of her thoughts and feelings, making her have a vagina at the end felt weirdly essentialist.

Now, onto the Kens.

The Kens are a great example of what one author (Jack Halberstam if you want to find them) I’ve been reading calls ‘Kinging’. They draw the term from Drag Kings, as a parody of masculinity – a bit earnest at times, but often exaggerating and playing off masculinity for comedic effect. The examples they give in their book include Austin Powers – but honestly this movie feels like the best example. The Kens are childlike, they’re a bit stupid and at least at times well meaning. Our Ken learns about the patriarchy but doesn’t understand what it means and brings it back to Barbie Land anyway. The inversion of reality to Barbieland is an interesting one – the Ken are too reactive and too stupid for politics – something the film barely comments on or analyses beyond a tongue in cheek joke about the kens one day having as much power as women do in the real world. I don’t think this is a bad thing, inversion for the sake of a statement is fine – and if men watching don’t understand that ‘of course men aren’t actually like ken’ is the point that’s on them. Also ‘I’m just Ken’ has been in my head for a solid day now. There could be a discussion about how “Sugar Daddy Ken” and “Magic Earring Ken” were not subscribing to the instated patriarchy Our Ken brings back from the real world. I’m not sure if this was a good choice or not, very ‘Ladies and gays’ moment. That said the ‘Weird’ Barbies and Kens do have to break the normal Barbies out of their brainwashing so I suppose its more of a commentary on counter cultures recognising the flaws of society? Now onto where I really think the movie fell flat. The CEO and board of Mattel. For the Kens, being stupid, bumbling and a bit over the top made sense – they’re dolls. For the board of Mattel it came off much more as ‘if we make this funny its less threatening’ when actually no it should be threatening? In reality the board has one less woman then men, though the company is still predominantly male. This whole running gag just sat badly with me. It really felt like “no no no the corporation is harmless, honest.” At the end of the day nothing changes in the real world – and again I get that’s part of the point, the real world takes more work than one imagination and one movie. But our lead, real women don’t even seem to be that empowered by their experiences? Its implied that one remains at her day job and the other, although having a better relationship with her mother, doesn’t see the real world any differently. Theres a little bit of an element of ‘whats the point’ that feels counter to the films message. I’m probably being just cynical here – again change is slow, change takes communal effort. Finally, although touched on the film could have done much more to look at its own consumerist message. Its kind of a throw away line – and that Barbie is unattainably perfect is ‘solved’ by one request for an ordinary Barbie which Mattel agrees to because ‘it will sell’. The film barely grapples with this which is a shame because given how much of the rest of the film had really interesting dialogue on society, gender and personal identity, I think they could have done some interesting things with consumerism and capitalism. Anyway this is just from one watch through and a bit of time to think, I’d need a lot more time to solidify some of these ideas and work out a full analysis (ideally with more costume elements involved).