#(not saying this happening was a good thing in fact i very much think it was not. but it is still a fact and something that happened)

[wolfgirlcoven]

Technically Theriomythic, but I prefer the term Were. When it comes to my Werewolf, Kitsune/Multi-Tailed Fox (or maybe a multitailed Enfield?), and Ambigous Big Cat types,

My Primary theriotypes are Werewolf, Kitsune (or some kind of multi-tailed fox or Enfield, which to be fair is basically a fox with wings) and Winged-Lion I think. Still figuring out the feline self, and I'm pretty sure both types are winged for me.

Im pretty much in a constant state of phantom shift at any given moment in time. Lately it's been wings, tail, and fangs. I do get the occassional horns and ears, but good gods THE WINGS ARE EVERPRESENT.

My alterhumanity is inherent to who I am as a person. If i were not a Were, I would not be me. Simple as that.

I don't really involve myself with the community as much as I wish I did tbh. Mostly due to some shitty experiences and toxicity within it.. I have a lot I could say about the community BUT i wont spill it here. Though a lot of it boils down to the definitions of words getting muddied, alterhumanity treated as a trend rather than something integral to oneself, and general toxicity.

Honestly my Phantom shifts are what make me the most comfortable and euphoric in my alterhumanity. The fact they're there is a reminder of what I am, what I TRULY am.

Honestly yes, I do experience species dysphoria. So much so that I do genuinely have to fight the urge to fall back into the P-Shifting community, as I started out as a P-Shifter back in 2012-2015. Obviously P-Shifting cannot be done, but the urge to try again JUST IN CASE is strong.

Please please PLEASE Do Not get involved with P-Shifting groups or anything adjacent, such as Supernaturals or Mythicals. I know because I WAS ONE. I was a proud Mythical back from 2013-2015. The sheer amount of damage it did to my very impressionable formative teenager brain was horrendous, and it lead to some really messed up shit happening.

I have gear! Though my collection has shrank over the years unfortunately due to going through multiple moves. I need to rebuild my collection.

Im honestly unsure as to the cause of my wereness, but I do theorize it could be one of, or a blend of, the following: A) I was meant to incarnate into a timeline where things like p-shifting and mythicals exist and as such was meant to be a winged werewolf. B) Generally having an animalistic soulform or something along those lines. The main thing I know about my Therianthropy is that it's spiritual in nature, HOWEVER my brain operates in a way that is more animal than human, with my neurodiversity strengthening it.

Not tagging anyone but if u see this and are alterhuman itd be cool to see ur answers

If you are a alterhuman, reblog and answer these questions!

(don't be afraid to write a lot, do what you want ¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ツ⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯)

1/ Which category of alterhumanity do you belong to?

2/ What/who is/are your type(s)? (if you have any)

3/ Do you experience shifts? If so, can you tell us your most common shifts and your strangest cameo shift (if you've ever had a cameo shift)?

4/ How do you experience your alterhumanity in everyday life?

5/ What do you think of the community?

6/ What are the things that make you most comfortable and euphoric in your alterhumanity?

7/ Are you experiencing species dysphoria?

8/ What advice would you like to say to a young alterhuman who has just awakened?

9/ Do you have/want to have gears?

10/ Do you know/have any theories about the origin of your alterhumanity? If so, tell us! (all beliefs are legitimate)

11/ Tag someone/a creature to answer these questions!ㅤᵕ̈

[thydungeongal]

txttletale's appendix to that Brennan thing reminds me of a guy who did this huge Watsonian analysis on why a movie prop had changed (aka, in the movie's lore, this and that happened), only for the Doylist in the room to say "pretty sure they just lost that prop at the studio."

It's the moment Occam's Razor really clicked for me.

Also why some people hate Doylist analysis. Yes, people like Brennan, they love to think him and Mercer are Indie Artistes (with an e!) who care only for the Purity of ye Arte, but they are just as much businessmen running businesses with OTHER people's paychecks on the line. And - always - they cannot admit to that part existing, no matter how true or false it is. It would break the kayfabe of buddies at the table just being pal.

And Doylist analysis requires you admit the above is affecting your darlings, not just Purity of ye Arte. Ruins the escapism.

Yep. Now, I don't think the economics of the situation are the only factor, but as it happens the economic factors coincidentally tie into the other factors: I think it's pretty clear that Mercer and Mulligan are just D&D guys with very shallow experiences in RPGs outside of D&D. But because D&D is so popular the fact that they are so practiced within the framework of D&D lends to the special alchemy that makes their shows so popular while at the same time going hand in hand with the economic incentives to run D&D.

But acknowledging the fact that these guys are good D&D GMs whose comfort zone lies mostly within D&D and a very trad RPG framework also kind of shatters the illusion that these are special auteur guys turning D&D into magical storytelling, as does the acknowledgement of the economic incentives they are working under.

[superbatsbison]

thinking of poly superbat x male reader

you and bruce are an established couple

ofc he eventually reveals the fact that he's batman to you

it gets to a point. especially since you're living together

afterward, you become more involved in both bruce and batman's life

because of this, occasionally, you run into some of the other members of the justice league

mainly clark

sorry, i mean superman

he's always hanging around the manor

going over cases with bruce

sometimes coming back with him after particularly grueling missions

and who are you to turn away a handsome face?

who said that 👀

at first clark is surprised that bruce has such a kind boyfriend

or any boyfriend at all really

he didn't peg bruce as being emotionally available. or into men....

ANYWAY

he obviously doesn't need help patching up like bruce does

but often times his mind wanders...

thinking about what he could do differently

What would happen if things went wrong.

soon, he finds himself zoning out in the batcave

and- oh? you're sitting by him

your soft gaze and strong hand rubbing his back helps to calm his racing thoughts

he finds it easy opening up to you

you sit and listen to his worries. giving your input when you think he's running circles in his mind

meanwhile, bruce is across the cave watching you two

he adores you for your big heart and caring nature

watching you comfort his closest friend makes him feel warm inside

he also can't help the passing thought that you two look good side by side

wait what....

maybe he should call it a night

but the pattern continues

you and bruce continue to grow closer to clark

often making him a topic of your conversation

and poor clark

clark feels terrible for the feelings he's developing for you both

i mean you're a couple for god's sake!

a very kind....generous....attractive couple....

is he a bad friend?

meanwhile, in gotham, you're asking yourself if you're a bad boyfriend

you feel like the worst partner ever

you love bruce so much

and yet you've been thinking about clark almost just as often

oh, what would bruce think if he knew.

pan to bruce, who's already clocked onto what's going on LMFAO

i mean, he's not the world's greatest detective for nothing

clearly, he can see clark and his boyfriend are developing something

and he should be angry. right?

hurt at the least?

but all he can manage to feel is endeared

he thinks about clark joining your relationship

treating clark the way he treats you

clark... treating you the way, bruce... treats you

oh my god he's bricked

flash forward to you two laying in bed together

😏

in the silence of the peaceful moment, him blurting out, "honey I think we have feelings for clark"

you shooting upright off his chest

after the initial panic fades you both finally talk it out

speaking of talking it out, poor clark is left to relay his miseries to lois

when he gets done describing all the events of the past couple of months, she starts to laugh

clark: what? 🥺

lois: they're totally trying to say they like your vibe

this gives him hope that he's not making things up

soon you three are back in the cave

except the energy tonight isn't solemn like usual

it's charged

you and clark are in your usual spots side by side

bruce in his chair with his mask and gloves off

eventually, your conversation with clark fades, and you're left looking into each other's eyes

you both lean in for a kiss

after a few moments, clark remembers himself and pulls away to look at bruce

his eyes are wide as he expects bruce to unleash his wrath

but instead, he simply stands and walks over to the pair of you

he sits behind you with a hand around your waist

his thumb rubbing up and down on your stomach

he reaches the other out and puts it on the back of clark's neck

using his leverage, he pulls clark into a kiss

they're both so much taller than you

they're practically kissing over your head

not that you're complaining

it's the perfect angle to plant your own little kisses underneath their jaws

there in your own little cuddle pile, you all confess to each other

clark is over the moon to have the affection of you both

he quickly finds a home in your dynamic

now, instead of having weekly post mission meet-ups in the cave, you all decompress in bruce's comically large bed

[miya-cs]

A little courage and good communication.

Reader x Max Verstappen

In which the reader always blames himself for any uncomfortable situation, but is learning to deal with it.

Warnings: none very serious. The reader thinks too much, is a little anxious and pessimistic, but everything works out in the end.

(Yeah, I'm dealing with my traumas through fanfics, my psychologist will never know)

Traduzido do português pelo Google tradutor (tentei revisar, mas, ei, sempre dá alguma coisa errada, desculpe)

***

Tension fills the Redbull motorhome. Your hands are clenched as you keep your eyes steady, watching the Team employees from one side to the other.

Max has barely spoken to you today. From the morning when he woke up early and came to the garage alone, to the fact that he didn't even come to see you after you arrived.

You see, it's not that you depend on his attention, but… Your anxious mind starts to remember every action you've taken in the last few days, trying to find something in which you could have hurt your boyfriend.

Was it because you didn't wait for him for dinner? But Max himself said you could have dinner because he would be late. Was it because you didn't do anything after he had bad times in free practice? When Max arrived, upset about the race, you didn't even know why, but, as always, he always said everything was fine.

You believed him and left him alone in the room, because you knew he liked that so he could reflect on what he could or couldn't improve in the race. But… he was fine, wasn’t he?

You keep watching. Maybe you could get him a drink? Or maybe just go talk to him and wish him luck in the race? What to do?

You feel your eyes watering, and it irritates you. You’ve always been very sensitive and, due to some situations in the past, you’ve learned to hate that side of you.

Why cry over something so silly? Just because your boyfriend hasn’t paid you any attention all day? What an idiot.

You remember Christian’s words, after Max introduced you to the Team after a few months of dating in private.

“Do you really think she” – his gaze took in yours completely, a little cowering next to Max – “will be able to handle all this? Formula 1 isn’t just a sport, Max, you know that”.

Max vehemently defended you, and so you were made official on Redbull and Max’s Instagram. But, after more than a year together, you wonder if, perhaps, Horner was right.

You take a deep breath, remembering your psychologist's words: the best way to stop thinking too much is to get things straight. Talk. Ask questions. Face it. You're not psychic and not everything you think is correct.

Right.

Your eyes scan the garage again, finding Max on the other side, analyzing some screens with graphs. The grading will start soon and then you'll only be able to talk to him later.

You wonder if it's better to resolve things first. What if something happens and he's still upset? What if he's just waiting for an apology from you?

Finally, you decide to go to Max. Your steps are hesitant, and they get even worse when one of the mechanics points at you, Max's eyes quickly finding you.

He frowns as you approach, noticing your hesitation.

"Is everything okay?"

"Can we talk?" You say, and Max nods, his features serious. You follow him to the corner of the room, away from the noise of the garage and the employees.

“Um, I… I wanted to know if I did something to upset you?” You get straight to the point, knowing Max prefers things that way. “It’s just that you didn’t talk to me right today, and you were acting weird, and I wondered if I did something wrong? If I did, I’m sorry. You know I can be inattentive sometimes and…”

“Schatje,” Max interrupts you. His hands come up to your face, resting on your cheeks as he lifts your gaze to his. “Why the hell would you think you did something wrong? The car has been a mess since the last race last week and I’m trying to improve my time before the race tomorrow. That’s all.”

“Oh…” You blink, his words melting over your mind and washing away all your worries. “So it’s not me?”

Max rolls his eyes, before placing a quick kiss on your lips.

“No, Schatje,” he murmurs, and your shoulders slump as a sigh of relief leaves your lips.

“That’s great,” you smile, and Max can’t resist kissing you once more. “Get back to work then, Maxie. Good luck. I’m sure you’ll still be able to get the best out of your car in qualifying today and in the race tomorrow.”

Your words make him smile. “Have dinner together later?” your boyfriend asks.

“Room service. I don’t want to go out anymore today.” You answer and he just nods, before saying goodbye.

You keep smiling as he walks back to the mechanics. Your therapist would be so proud.

But before her, you were so proud of yourself for having the courage to solve things by talking instead of allowing your mind to create all the worst possible scenarios and suffering for something that only existed there, in your head.

Sometimes, to solve things, all it takes is a little courage and good communication.

[mclarengf]

thinking about… trying to bake with daniel ricciardo

note: if danny ricc has a million fans, i am one of them. if danny ricc has ten fans, i am one of them. if danny ricc has only one fan, then that one fan is me. if danny ricc has no fans, then that means i am no longer on this earth. if the world is against danny ricc, then i am against the world. (happy holidays!!)

—

it’s christmas eve and daniel has instigated a food fight. you’re supposed to be making a pavlova to bring to his parents’ house tomorrow, but daniel’s seemingly decided that flicking meringue onto your face three times in a row is a good idea.

he looks away every time, whistling as if he’s done nothing wrong. you narrow your eyes at the back of his head, waiting for him to crack.

“what’s wrong, love?” he turns back and questions why you’ve stopped mixing the meringue batter, though his mouth twitches when he sees your expression.

this time, you stay silent, glaring at him.

finally, he laughs, eyes crinkling as he throws his head back. you wait for him to finish, crossing your arms and frowning.

daniel hiccups another laugh out and steps toward you, hands up.

“it was funny, you gotta admit,” he tries defending himself.

“i hate you sometimes,” you retort.

his face drops and he clutches his hands over his heart, “ouch, love!”

“oh, shut up, danny,” you sneer at him as you turn your attention back to the meringues, mumbling a, “cunt,” under your breath.

you can feel when he comes up behind you, warmth radiating off his body even in the summer. he wraps his arms around your shoulders, dropping his head down too.

“i love you~” he sings, trying to get back on your good side.

you say nothing.

you can practically hear him pout in your ear, disappointed in the fact that his actions have consequences.

“c’mon babe, it was just a joke! it’s christmas eve, you can’t be mad at me! i’m sorry!”

when you still don’t respond, daniel takes his arms off you and resigns himself to keep cutting up the fruit.

when he’s settled back into a rhythm of doing that, you scoop some of the mix onto your finger, reach over, and smear it onto his cheek before running to the other side of the kitchen so he can’t catch you.

“aw, you-“ he grins again, bright as anything, and lunges at you, chasing you around the island and through the living room as you giggle.

he finally tackles you into the couch. the smudge is still on his cheek.

“you’re silly,” you scrunch your nose up at him as you catch your breath.

daniel just smiles, admiring you beneath him.

“i love you,” he tries again.

“i love you too, dummy.”

he then collapses on top of you, holding you tight in his embrace. it’s nice; it’s like a weighted blanket which walks and talks and happens to be very annoying sometimes. you melt into his arms, and reach around to hug him back.

daniel’s always been your safe space, and you’re able to be that for him too now, with him being home a lot more than he had been in september, for some strange reason.

you don’t want to let his mind drift back to his career predicament with too much silence, though, so you nudge him and tell him to clean off his cheek.

instead of grabbing a washcloth, or a paper towel, or something sensible, daniel just runs his finger through the meringue and sticks it in his mouth.

you make a face at him, expressing your disgust. you can see the bits he’s missed still sticking to his skin.

“that tastes so good, baby. it’s gonna bang tomorrow night.” he looks at you in awe of your baking skills before dropping back down onto your shoulder. he’s obviously content with staying like this.

fine, you can cuddle for a while, you guess. the pavlova’s not going anywhere.

wait- the pavlova.

“fuck, danny, the meringue’s gonna go flat!”

you scramble off the couch and back to the kitchen so you don’t ruin joe and grace’s christmas.

when daniel comments on how the pavlova looks kind of funny at dinner the next night, you just kick him under the table and say he must be imagining things.

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (7/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: You and Sylus exchange stories.

Content Warnings: Mention of past suicide attempt.

Length: 2k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6)

Read on AO3

In the morning you went about making breakfast and found Sylus waiting there for you. You felt a bit ridiculous thinking back to last night and how Sylus had to carry you back to the room like you were a child. He seemed to do that a lot, carry you around. Always made you feel light as a feather too. No grunting or huffing, he just swept you up like you were an empty sack of flour.

“Morning,” he said.

“Good morning.” you came in and started cooking some breakfast. “Sorry to make you carry me back to the room last night. I really tried staying up till you got back.”

“And why was it you were so insistent on waiting till I got back?”

“Because I wanted to talk to you.”

“I gathered as much.”

You rolled your eyes. “I just wanted to apologize for going through your stuff and figure out where we stood. I know I crossed a boundary and poked my nose into something very personal to you.”

“If we’re making apologies then I have to apologize too.” he said. “I scared you yesterday. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t--”

“I could smell it. There’s no use denying it.”

You squared your shoulders and turned to look at him. “I wasn’t scared of you. I was more frightened about having been caught. Surprised really. Not scared.”

“If you say so.”

“If I was really scared of you wouldn’t I be stinking up the place right now?” you divided up the food onto two plates and set one in front of him. “Although, I will admit it unsettled me seeing you angry like that.”

“It shouldn’t be a surprise that dragons have tempers.”

“But I’ve yet to see it before yesterday. You’re usually very level headed actually.”

“I never had reason to lose my temper before. I regret that you had to see that.”

You waved it off. “I think maybe we should think of it as getting to know more about each other. You promised that we’d do that today. Get to know one another.”

“I did say that.” he pushed the meat around on his plate. “Alright, ask whatever you wish.”

And just like that, it was as if the previous day had never happened. You fell back into easy conversation. The best conversation you had ever had with him in fact. Over the next several days you kept having great conversations.

You learned a lot about him in that time, much more in depth than what you had learned already. A lot of your questions had to revolve around dragons and their culture. It was fascinating to hear everything he knew and it gave you a better understanding about who you were living with. Some of the things he explained to you included him taking you into the hoard room and explaining why he was attracted to certain treasures and not others.

Apparently while dragons all had a taste for treasure, their hoards were actually rather diverse. Most liked gold but there were some dragons that dealt only in gems. There are sea dragons who sometimes only collect pearls for their hoards. Sylus was one of the dragons that was attracted to gold but primarily he was attracted to gold coins in particular. He couldn’t explain why but the shape and plentifulness of it attracted him. Hoards could get cluttered with many large objects that get caught up in the mix and buried, by coins are small and can scatter. There is something in all the sameness he had said. That didn’t mean he didn’t like gems or the occasional other treasures but coins were his favorite.

He told you about dragon traditions, celebrations, species hierarchies, family dynamics, and special rites. You had never thought of dragons having traditions or parties before but it was nice to hear.

You liked especially when he told you about how hoarding worked in adolescent dragons, hatchlings is what he called them.

“Hoarding is a kind of instinct for dragons.” Sylus explained. “When you’re a child you don’t have the means to plunder castles and whatnot stealing treasure but you still want to collect something. So they’ll run around and collect little things like pinecones, feathers, bottles, that kind of thing.”

“Did you collect anything when you were a child?” you asked.

“Nuts.”

“Nuts?”

“Acorns. Walnuts. Chestnuts. Whatever I could get my hands on.”

You snorted. “Are you a dragon or a squirrel?”

“Har har, yes, I didn’t get enough of those comments when I was little.” his tail poked you in the side. “If you were a dragon as a kid what do you think you would have collected?”

“Me? Buttons.”

“Buttons?”

“Why not?”

“Certainly a new one. But it fits for you.”

In turn you told him about your own life. You told him about your childhood growing up with just your father in the village and how you had worked in his glass shop with him. You had pulled out the pendant your father had made for you before you left and showed it to him to see the kind of wonderful work he was capable of.

“It’s beautiful.” he held the charm up to the light. “What sort of flower is this?”

“It’s a moonflower, specifically a blood moonflower. They’re a rare breed of moonflower that grows in shades of red. Strangely enough they’re also the only ones that aren’t toxic.” you took the charm back, holding it close to your chest. “My favorite story growing up was actually about the myth of the blood moon flower.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know that one.”

“Want me to tell you?”

“Sure. Tell me a story.”

“There once was a little girl that lived in a small village. One day the village was attacked by foreign invaders and everything and everyone was lost, except for her. During the chaos of the attack she had ran as fast as her feet could carry her and went up into the mountains seeking protection.”

“Wait, this sounds familiar. A girl whose village is under attack so she flees to the mountains searching for help. Where have I heard this before?” Sylus tapped his chin.

You rolled your eyes. “May I continue?”

“Go ahead.”

“Anyway, the girl makes it to the mountain and starts to climb it. She climbs and climbs and climbs till her shoes have worn through and she has made it to the top. There she finds a huge empty nest with a patch of brilliant white moonflowers growing all around it. Inside the nest were dozens of huge feathers. The girl, being cold, decided to rest there and use the feathers as a blanket.

“The next morning she awoke to find the giant bird whose nest she was resting in had returned. She feared that this would be her end but the bird saw the blanket of feathers surrounding the girl and mistook her for a baby bird.

“For years the girl lived with the bird, eating the food the giant mama bird had brought and resting warmly under her feathered body during the long windy nights. All was well until one evening under the light of the full moon the mama bird had decided that it was time for the girl to leave the nest. The girl naturally did not know what to do since she was not an actual bird. She was liable to fall and die if she leapt from the nest.

“But the mama bird kept on pushing and pushing, edging the girl out of the nest. Without any other options the girl took the feathers of her blanket in hand and held them tight. The sharp ends of the quills dug into her palms and blood seeped from her hands. The blood that fell from her hands landed on the white moonflowers around the nest and when they did it created magic. The girl stared out at the starry sky and wished with all her might, and she jumped. The moment she leapt her wish came true and the girl was turned into a bird and she flew off into the world.”

You looked back at Sylus, “And that’s why blood moonflowers are red.”

“That is a fascinating story. I do not think such magic is actually possible but it makes a nice tale.”

“Whether it was actually possible or not wasn’t what I liked about it. I don’t know why but I found it comforting. It made me believe that even in a world where I’m backed into a corner there’s another way out, another way to do things. I don’t have to plummet, I might fly.”

“It’s a lovely message my little bird. I’m afraid the tales dragons tell do not have such heartfelt meanings.”

“What kind of stories do dragons tell?”

“You want to hear one?”

“Yes.” you scooted closer. “Please?”

“Fine. Fine.” Sylus sighed. “I have a story for you.”

You smiled at him expectantly. Sylus cleared his throat and stared off into the distance. “This story does not begin with a dragon. It actually starts with a human.” he said.

“A long time ago there was a human woman who had longed for a child. She went to every healer she could find but no matter what they tried, she remained barren. So, one day, she decided to seek out magic. Not just any magic, dragon magic. Said to be the most powerful of all.

“The woman had come into their land hoping to steal some of their magic for herself so she could have her child. The dragons asked her what she was doing in their land and when she told them she came to humbly ask for their assistance, they saw through her deceit. She had not just wanted a child, she wanted a strong one. She longed to give birth to a warrior that would bring fame and glory to her family’s name. That is why she truly came to the dragons.

“The dragons decided to punish the woman with exactly what she wanted. The elder of the dragon tribe plucked a scale from their body and gave it to the woman. They told her to eat the scale and that the magic within would make her fertile. And so the woman ate the scale and returned home. Soon after she became pregnant.

“Because she had eaten the scale though her pregnancy was no normal human birth. Instead of birthing a human child she had birthed a giant egg. She realized then that she had been cursed by the dragons and tried to destroy it, but the egg was too strong. Not with a hundred hammers could it be broken. So she abandoned the egg in the forest.

“The egg was found by some passing dragons and taken back to their land. When it hatched though, what emerged was neither human nor dragon, but some monstrosity stuck in a crossroads between the two.” Sylus’s face twisted, loathing you had not seen before etched into the crease of his brow.

You wanted to reach out to him but you were scared he’d stop if you tried to comfort him.

“The dragons could not abandon this thing because it was of their kin, but they did not embrace it either.” Sylus said, his hands balling into fists, “The hatchling grew, neither a part of either world. So they decided to cut off their horns and their tail and go to live with the humans.

“For a while life with the humans was good, until his horns and tail started to grow back. He was driven out again. From town to town he went, cutting off his horns and tail over and over. When scales started to grow along his arms he scraped them off too. What no one knew was that every time he cut off his horns and tail the appendages were sinking into the earth, causing the land to fallow. Soon word had spread of a silver haired boy that would bring famine to your land if allowed to remain. Village after village he was driven out.”

Sylus had gone quiet again. The rage had swelled but smoldered into ashes before it could erupt. When he spoke again, he sounded weak and tired. “One day,” he muttered, “He came to a great cliff. Feeling he had nowhere in this world, he jumped. He fell and he fell…then, a pain exploded from his back. A pair of large webbed wings caught the air and he soared across the sky. Why it happened then he could not say but he thought perhaps it meant something. Perhaps there was a land yet that would accept him.”

For a long time neither of you said anything. Sylus was stone faced but the way his tail twitched from side to side let you know how he was really feeling. “This is a story that dragons tell their children?” you asked, quietly.

“It is.”

“Is it true?”

“What do you think?”

You lapsed back into silence. You looked him up and down, your eyes lingering on his horns. You brushed a hand through his hair. “Did it hurt?”

“What?” he looked at you out of the corner of his eye.

“Your horns. Maybe that’s why they’re so sensitive.”

He looked back out into the distance. “Maybe.”

You could not imagine what his childhood was like if that was what he had lived through. It was the most he had ever confided in you. You wanted to say something. Encourage him. Assure him. Tell him in no uncertain terms that he was not a monstrosity. You wanted to let him know that it broke your heart to hear what he had tried to do. You could not imagine being in so much pain and being so alone for so many years.

Words would not come. So instead, you pulled yourself into his lap and hugged him tight. His arms closed around you, holding you close to him. His tail even had curled around you, pushing you as close to him as you could get.

You didn’t know how long you stayed like that but it did not feel at all long enough. One hug could not put all his broken pieces together. But maybe the fact that you embraced him at all let him know that he was not alone in this world. Not anymore.

[wellofdean]

So, I read the response above which is so interesting, and I want to keep thinking about it, and then after that had these interesting tags in my feed from @bloodyentrails...

#i think that sam being compassionate towards certain people is kinda normal we tend to relate on a personal level#and him being queer-coded etc doesn't mean you have to care about him#just that that is a thing?#idk what kind of discourse i'm wandering into a lot of the time but relating to characters#and understanding they have been written in a certain way isn't the same thing#which is to say that i would love it if the writing had tackled that inconsistency#but i find that the show on the whole is inconsistent#and i think it's hard to maintain consistency over so many years with so many people working on it#i do think both of them are *trying* to be good people and they sometimes fail and also what constitutes a good person is kinda open#anyway#bear in mind i'm still only halfway through so#maybe i'll change my mind on all this#spn

It's a point worth considering that in the world of the show, Sam's sympathy for monsters seems principled and some how defies gravity, but that in the real world it wouldn't translate to anything real; that's likely true, and an interesting point. Having said that, I think Sam is pretty clearly not particularly"real world" compassionate, and I don't need monsters to make the argument that Sam is not the compassionate one because he shows a general lack of empathy towards PEOPLE, including but by no means limited to Dean, throughout the show. And, ok, he sometimes argues for a compassionate response to monsters and Dean doesn't always respond favourably, but that's because Sam fears he is one, and he needs to believe monsters are not all bad, which is not borne out of compassion, it's a rationalization that serves his psychological needs.

Basically, I think Sam is all surface. Sam is the urbane one, the smart one, the compassionate one, the one who talks nice to people, the broadly queer-coded one, the feminist, etc., but with Sam, all that is skin deep. He APPEARS as such! He's good at pretending, but he's nearly as savage as John is, Dean is much more sensitive to other people's needs, Dean is every bit as clever as he is, and intuitive to boot, Sam can ACT compassionate, but in fact he isn't really very empathetic to anyone, and he is able to just move on from all the things Dean just can't, Sam's not in fact queer, but Dean is queered to his fucking bones, and Sam's the one whose unconsciously replicated misogyny allows him to think any woman that would be into Dean is obviously a whore, and to keep his girlfriend in the dark about the truth of his life, while Dean is just talking a big game of cartoon misogyny TO SAM while treating the women he interacts with pretty fucking respectfully, actually.

Honestly, it's the same as the way Sam is supposedly the 'main character'. He's introduced as the one we should care about and identify with, but within, like, two episodes, he's really just a foil for Dean. Sam has BIG PLOTS, but it's Dean's feelings, reactions and relationships we really care about.

And, the fact is, Sam was pretty well-realized in the earlier eps. JarPad was giving it some effort, and he was charming then with his boyishness -- the way he seemed like he hadn't fully lived into his physical real estate -- but the thing is, he never could really hold a candle to Dean who was just magnetic. All the interesting character development was given to Dean and Jensen killed it by always making it seem like Dean had so much going on under the surface, and like, to the extent I care about Sam, it's because Dean loves him.

I kind of wonder what happened. Was Dean always meant to be the dark horse hero? Or was Dean just...played by a better, more compelling actor, and they started writing for him instead? There are so many much more interesting things they could have done with Sam, and they just...DIDN'T.

I dunno, I suppose it could just be me, but I feel like the way Sam just SEEMS, Dean IS.

maybe this is me being a dumb overly literal autist stemlord who simply does not understand literary theory or some shit equivalent but why should i care about someone being coded as [X] when i can just. care about someone who is [X]. why should i care more about the conventionally attractive white woman with a job and mortgage because she's metaphorically othered due to being a supernatural creature when i could care about the actually othered addicts that she used as a source of food. help me out here.

[ghostgirl-22]

feminization art this… feminization art that… feminization with patrick. i need him in pink lingerie IMMEDIATELY i need to see his full balls being hardly contained by the cutesy lacy pink panties!!!! i NEED ITITITIT and how would art react.

Hi anon! So I wrote this then saw you said pink. Sorry he’s in white lace. I hope that’s okay <3 also if you’re curious I added the reference here.

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Feminization kink

—-

Art grew up with only sisters, spent summers with his Grandma who also happens to be his favorite person. Oddly enough outside of Patrick, he’s always more naturally gravitated towards women. He felt pretty comfortable when chatting with women and they generally felt comfortable around him. Though it often meant that he saw too much or heard too much, and occasionally girls he met would think he was the “gay” friend and they’d undress in front of him or walk around in just a bra and underwear.

Sometimes even after he’d clarify many times that he was very much into women, some of his friends would do it anyway. It could get a bit confusing if he’s honest.

Patrick would tease him with that reductive take, “men and women can’t be friends.” And Art would disagree and then two weeks later one of his “friends” would tell him she was crushing on him. And as sensitive as Art could be, he’s still a red blooded male and he’d end up proving Patrick right.

He’s sitting in the dorm with one of his close friends Kelsey and a few other girls. One who happens to be Patrick’s ex girlfriend Ashley who Art doesnt know that well outside of the fact that she’s not that great of a tennis player. For whatever reason they’re talking about the silliest thing you’ve ever done for a boy. Ashley brings up the time she made her boyfriend try on lingerie at Victoria’s Secret.

Kelsey’s giggling. “You can’t mean Patrick Zweig.”

“Oh I definitely mean Patrick Zweig. And when I tell you it was so hot. Like his cock barely fit in those lacy white panties and he was just so…hard…” she giggles. “I think he liked it. Like a lot. We ended up fucking in the changing room.”

“Oh my god!” Kelsey says and she glances at Art, mouthing sorry. As she often did when girl talk got to be a little too much. Art forces himself to smile hoping he looks nonchalant but his palms are suddenly sweaty and his heart rate has picked up for some reason.

“I couldn’t help myself.” Ashley continues. “I had to fucking buy it all. It was so embarrassing. I just pulled off the tags and brought them to the register so they could ring everything up but it was so obvious to the sales lady what we did.” She says, grinning. “He didn’t care of course. I spent like two hundred bucks gave the whole set to him for his birthday and then he fucking cheated on me with Cali.”

A few minutes later Kelsey points out that Patrick is his roommate and best friend and Ashley giggles awkwardly and starts fidgeting with her curls. “I’m so sorry you had to hear that about your roommate.”

Art mumbles that it’s no big deal and that he knows Patrick can be an asshole so he doesn’t take offense.

But hours later he can’t stop thinking about it. It’s like his mind is stuck. He can’t move on from that story. Patrick tells him just about everything but he’s never told him that. Art is certain he would have remembered lacy white panties.

He’s not sure what’s happening to him but when he gets back to his room he’s relieved to see it’s empty. It’s twelve in the afternoon and he’s touching himself. His head all wrapped up in that story. He tells himself it’s not about Patrick. And so what if his slightly addled brain is imagining Patrick’s tall, lanky form in barely there lace panties. His too big cock just overwhelming the fabric, jet black pubic hair everywhere. Imagines him fucking into Ashley’s pussy while she calls him a good girl. It’s not about Patrick, it’s the lingerie. Art moans as he spills all over his mattress. He collapses on the bed and sighs, “Such a good girl.”

He hears laughter and he freezes immediately, heat flooding his skin. Patrick must’ve snuck in sometime before he finished. Art hadn’t heard the door but to be fair he wasn’t gonna hear much of anything once he’d reached that state. He sits up in bed, most likely red as a tomato as he pulls his shorts up over his thighs.

”Who’s the good girl?” Patrick snorts, dropping his book bag by the door and settling across from Art on his own bed. “And I’ll take a wild guess, you were hanging out in Kelsey’s room. I told you man. Boys and girls can’t be friends.”

“It’s not— it’s nothing, um— how was tutoring?”

”Oh come on, don’t do that. Tell me.” Patrick says grinning.

Art can barely look at him. His imagination had just been so vivid. He’s so fucking grateful Patrick can’t read minds but of course it’s not gonna stop him from trying.

“Wow look at you, she must be really hot. Come on, sunshine… spill.” Patrick demands. When Art doesn’t offer anything Patrick starts guessing names. Following him around the room while he cleans up after his… activities. Art lets him talk himself silly until he gets distracted by something else. He is determined to never, ever, mention it to Patrick ever. But his brain doesn’t let go of the image. In fact, night after night the fantasy just expands.

Patrick on his knees. Lacy white bra on now and he’s playing with his nipples. And now instead of Ashley it’s Art with him at Victorias Secret. And he’s rubbing Patrick through the panties with his socked foot and calling him good girl. “Good girl. Pretty girl. You were so nice all day. I’m gonna fuck you in the dressing room. Don’t take the panties off.”

Art wakes up all sticky nearly every night and has to sneak out of bed to change his boxers. No excuse now for how or why he’s taken Ashley’s place. No excuse for why he’s horny all the time, touching himself every minute he has alone. Touching himself till he’s dizzy. He’s driving himself crazy. It’s not Patrick, it’s probably his brain being weird because they spend so much time together. He’s not gay. He definitely likes women. He just really, really needs to see what this lingerie looks like. Maybe that will calm him down.

He waits for Patrick to leave for practice, making an excuse about his shoulder even though he’s been fine for over a month since he pulled that muscle. And when he’s sure Patrick’s gone he goes digging through his things. He’s so disorganized compared to Art, he doesn’t have an assigned drawer for anything so it takes some time. He doesn’t even find it in the drawer actually. He ends up looking in his closet and there’s a little pink bag tucked in the top in the corner. He’d almost given up. Art pulls it down and something lacy and white falls out.

Art kinda regrets his decision. It’s this little baby doll lace slip and tight little see through panties. Art is even more obsessed now. The image in his head screaming loud and clear. Patrick’s big thighs in this. He can’t help himself. He crawls on the bed and starts touching himself. “Such a pretty girl. Such a good girl. Want me to play with you. Make you feel so good.” He’s whining. His head all wrapped up in fantasy. Imagining the soft sound of Patrick’s voice, (Mm yeah, yes. You can do whatever you want, sunshine).

He hears the door this time. It’s entirely too late to hide the evidence but he’s still trying. Patrick’s got his tennis bag and he’s all flushed from practice. “Um…” he says stopping in his tracks as he reaches the bed and notices the lingerie.

Art doesn’t think he can possibly be anymore embarrassed and then Patrick starts grinning. “Oh fuck. Did Ashley tell you?”

Art nods because his voice isn’t really working.

“Fuck,” Patrick looks over Art and Art secures the blanket over himself trying to hide it. “You can try it on if you want, I washed em,” Patrick says, lightly.

Art bites his lip and then clears his throat. “I was thinking maybe you… you could?” In his fantasies he always sounds more assertive.

Patrick looks at him amused. “Oh Donaldson, am I the good girl?”

Art feels himself flushing so much he ponders going into the bathroom and hiding in there until they finish their senior year and he can disappear to Stanford and never see or hear from Patrick again.

“Fuck… okay…” Patrick says, chuckling all soft as he gazes at Art. “I can be your good girl.” He picks up the lingerie.

Art almost starts touching himself again, right then and there for the way Patrick says it.

“You want to watch me put it on? Or you want me to just come out ready for you?” Patrick asks, like this is just the most normal thing in the world.

Art clears his throat again. “R-ready?”

Patrick grins. “Okay stay there. Don’t touch.”

It’s a good thing he said that because it’s all Art wants to fucking do. He ponders lying on his side and just humping the mattress as a workaround. He hears the shower run but Patrick doesn’t take too long. Doesn’t take long at all. Whatever Art imagined, whatever his brain managed to conjure up the real thing is just… infinitely better.

“Fuck, I forgot how horny this shit made me,” Patrick sighs. He’s so tall, his legs long, unshaven. Knees, knobby and pink from being out in the cool air and then the hot shower. The top is lacy, thin straps, a smattering of freckles on the backs of his arms. The sheer fabric opens in the front over his flat abdomen. He’s got a four pack at the moment. A few freckles dot his stomach and theres a dark treasure trail leading down.

Patrick’s dick is… It’s absurd the way Patrick’s not being held in by the panties at all. Big heavy balls slipping from the bottom, cock shaft and head pressing out of the waistband, precum leaking out of him already. Art can’t help himself… he’s rubbing himself right away.

Hes not sure what he’s doing when he starts licking Patrick through the lace of the panties. “Just wanna taste your pussy.” He whispers, his voice foreign to his ears.

“Fuck, yeah taste it sweetie. It’s all yours.” Patrick breathes.

Art’s licking stripe after stripe along the sheer fabric and then he can’t wait any longer. He’s easing it out and taking as much as he can into his mouth.

“Mm fuck…” Patrick breathes sharply. “You like the taste, don’t you? Fucking delicious pussy.”

“Mmhm,” Art says, he’s helpless. Smelling him, licking him, tasting him. He’s losing his mind. His cock is throbbing mercilessly between his legs as he keeps going and going. Patricks just standing there so solid in front of him. So fucking full. So much. Too much. He’s taking it as Patrick slowly starts to thrust his hips. Deliciously desperate moans escaping his lips.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Patrick gasps. “I’ll be the best fucking girl for you.”

”Mm,” Art groans.

“I’ll ride you if you want. Squirt all over you. Get you wet… So wet.”

Art’s got his hand working between his thighs, he’s gonna fucking cum.

“Fuck baby… I’m gonna fill your mouth with so much, and you can fucking kiss me when I’m done and tell me I’m your good…nnngh—-”

Art can feel the heated liquid in his mouth everywhere all at once. Feels it, coating his tongue and the roof of his mouth, sliding down his throat with his spit.

He doesn’t want to but he pulls it out, wet and obscene like he’s just been sucking on a lollipop. All of the excess dripping from his mouth onto the floor while he finishes jerking himself off.

He collapses onto his back on the bed, chest heaving and breathless when he’s done. “Fuck,” he gasps.

Patrick chuckles softly and crawls on top of him. “Good?” He asks.

Art pulls at the sheer fabric and Patrick comes closer so Art can kiss him. “You were right.” Art says softly against his lips.

“Mm was I?”

“Mmhm,” Art says, grinning. “Men and women can’t be friends, sweetheart.”

Patrick smiles back, “Fucking insane.”

[phantomrose96]

twice now ive started and not finished silt verses. (no particular reason i didnt finish, ive really enjoyed it both times and keep thinking that i gotta get back to it.)

a moment that really hit me, and i think i'll always remember, is in hayward's first episode. the series starts with carpenter, so we know that worshipping the trawlerman is illegal and a bit about what that worship is like, but not much about how worshipping other gods works. even with the deer/hound people (who i forget if they happened before or after hayward's intro), that's another illegal and hidden religion. it leaves space to assume that the deadliness and the human sacrifice is WHY these gods are forbidden.

and then hayward's ep happens. and he says, offhand, like it's something completely unremarkable (paraphrased), 'people following those kinds of gods wouldn't get in trouble over it if they could just be reasonable about these things. there's a right and wrong way to do this, like how every new building starts construction by drowning two criminals in the cement foundation.' hearing that, and hearing how casual he was about it, i felt my entire understanding of the setting shift drastically.

legality wasn't about whether a group of worshippers do or don't kill. it was about what worshippers kill the acceptable targets, in the right way. and suddenly i find myself much more distrustful of a society that's motivated to create acceptable targets than i ever was of how carpenter and faulkner do things.

its a really chilling and well done bit of writing.

someday ill get past five episodes. im sure i'll really enjoy it.

Yes!!! YES!!!!

I've mentioned once or twice in my ramblings here that that was also my biggest "Oh" moment for TSV.

I started out episode 1 vaguely thinking of Carpenter and Faulkner as if you'd made a podcast following TMA Avatars as main characters. We know right off the bat the Trawlerman's people are human-sacrificing cultists. Obviously Nana Glass wasn't a good person. She killed people! And she got killed in a police stand-off because she was a mass murderer. And we know Carpenter and Faulkner are following in her same line of work so, really, we're following antagonists aren't we?

And then my "Oh" came later with (not necessarily that Hayward scene specifically) but when I went "Oh. The Trawlerman's people are being persecuted by the authorities not because they're human-sacrificing cultists. But because they're the losing human-sacrificing cultists."

Because actually, the legal authorities, the politicians, the corporations, are all very much part of human-sacrificing religions. That part is allowed. These "backwards hick" gods are illegal and horrible, because their kind of human sacrifice is uncivilized. Unlike the civilized people's human sacrifice, which is allowed because the corporations and the institutions have okayed it :).

They do so much with it over the series.

Also I see you're only on episode 5 so actually I'm putting this part beneath a readmore since I checked and this is about episode 7

The episode with Paige recounting what happened to Vaughan is what drove it in for me, I think. It plays out line-for-line like a corporation going through lay-offs "These are tough times :(. We understand this is difficult for everyone leaving us today :(." but they are... just... allowed to kill these employees they're letting go in a ritual sacrifice. To a legal god. And Paige thinks surely they won't--surely good people won't do that--but they do, very much, kill Vaughan.

Money is tight and times are hard and ritualistic human sacrifice is, in fact, incredibly allowed... As long as you're one of the legal powers, doing it the correct way.

[tubbytarchia]

Honestly, the whole idea that "if you criticize scott you're homophobic" is so terribly problematic. Basically giving him blanket clearance to do anything or say anything and if you criticize it, well, you're just homophobic. I can't imagine that's a good mindset to have as a person, let alone to see someone having as an impressionable young person.

I'm sure scott is a lovely guy in person but seeing how he acts online, frequently as a holier-than-thou type character, and looking down at others, like saying he interrupted a canon event by preventing scar and jimmy from pairing, is just upsetting. I find myself as the same as character joel in the life series, rooting for his death.

Something else that has really irritated me in the life series is how often he gifts deaths to other people. He did it so much in limited life. He literally gave every one of his deaths in secret life to someone else. And he acted so smarmy about it, too, like "oh I am taking this precious life and graciously giving it to you because otherwise I might never die to anything".

I was really happy when most of scott's deaths in wild life happened out of his control, like yes you are exactly the same as everyone else. Stop trying to act otherwise. Anywise thanks for being open about criticism. I don't know if I ever thought about toxic positivity until I saw you talking about it!

Oh I have so many thoughts on Scott's self-sacrificial nature. The toxic positivity is much more prominent on twitter but does still rear its ugly head on tumblr too. Especially concerning Scott's character, which I agree with you on. Him giving up his lives is doubly interesting and in the same vein frustrating to me because half the time it doesn't necessarily even leave the recipient better off

Gem did not want to kill him in SL, but because he has a martyr complex, he made it happen anyway, disregarding Gem's hesitancy. I'm sorry but to me, in that moment he was thinking about himself first and Gem second, which is how I think he regards every single one of his sacrifices. Especially when you contrast that with the Mounders, where Pearl rooted for Bdubs (and Joel but mostly Bdubs) and suggested herself being killed for Bdubs once things got dicey, but it never coming to it. Pearl so deeply wanted for Bdubs to win, and Bdubs, although not very confident, wanted to as well for Pearl. There was never any pressure involved in that unlike Scott's last minute and frankly kind of random sacrifice. He wasn't that low on hearts and Gem would have stood a much better chance against Pearl and Scar with him by his side

In Wild Life, Pearl didn't feel good about taking Scott's life, and Scott basically said he was doing it to quell Pearl. Something also about the fact that Pearl wanted to decide how to do it, just as some remnant of control when she really didn't have any for almost the entirity of Wild Life

In Limited Life, Scott was ready to give up that life he'd promised Jimmy, but then used it to try and coax Jimmy into telling him he loved him. And Jimmy has had a few other people give up their lives for him, Bdubs out of selflessness and Ren out of a promise for an allyship. And yet the only sacrifice Jimmy has even referenced after the fact, is the one Joel had planned but didn't even succeed with. That holds more importance to Jimmy than Scott's sacrifice, which I think says something

And of course, Scott blowing himself up in Double Life. Because Pearl deserved the win more than he did, he says without giving Pearl much opportunity to speak, taking control of the ending that was supposed to belong to Pearl

It's all very interesting to analyse, his character is super intricate and unique in this sense, but it does unfortunately become more frustrating paired with his unchanging selective framing of events and putting down of other characters through no wrongdoing of their own etc

[unsentimentaltranslator]

Yeah. Y'all are really sitting here saying that a random stranger on Tumblr dot com saying "hm. I don't like his racism" or "if he hates health insurance companies all that much wtf is he doing aligning with right wing politics?" is the same thing as what the US government is doing. And not to be someone who has read books about Mao's China and the Kims' North Korea on main but history is littered with proof that Very Bad Things happen when the populace is not allowed to criticise figures who are designated as political heroes.

I'm pleased as hell about the fact that a CEO is down and I think Americans should take out more of them, but uncritical worship is never good.

I'm not sad that CEO is dead, but I am concerned about the intensity of the hero worship. A little nuance would be nice. Just because the shooter picked a good target doesn't mean you have to embrace him as a morally pure avenging angel. I'm seeing Far too much willingness to blindly worship this man. It does not reflect well on the overall ethical sensibility of the users here.

[slimybeth69]

Touch: Part 4

Summary: Din shows you what special thing he's been wanting to do with you.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings/tags: SPOILERS FROM HERE ON OUT. THE MANDALORIAN & THE BOOK OF BOBA FETT. eventual angst, slow burn, graphic depictions of wounds and violence, eventual non-con, eventual therapy speak, Grogu, Mando takes off his helmet, so much shit happens in this story.

chapter warnings: object insertion (v&a), graphic depictions of blood and guts (not sexual), and some fluff at the end.

a/n: This was very much inspired by the legendary Rough Day. It's such an incredible story and so well written. Don't have as high hopes for this, it's mostly just me being horny for Din Djarin.

a/n pt2: So, hello-- it's me, Beth. I have a couple things to say- This is when the reader and The Mandalorian's story starts. Before this chapter, the first three had been one-shots written with no intention of turning it into a story. But I did, so.... here it is. I hope you all like it.

unbeta'd, probably not proof-read because of my ADHD. still unbeta'ed, not as poorly proofread and changed slightly from ao3.

SORRY EVERYBODY ELSE

Masterlist

<- Previous

"That cannot be safe."

You are staring where you think Din is standing with your mouth hanging open, jaw almost touching your chest. He has just gotten done explaining to you what he wants to do to you.

His Maker forsaken helmet is back on now and the lights are still off.

He needs to see what he’s doing for this. 

“It will be safe, I promise.” He chuckles quietly, as if that is supposed to be reassuring in a moment of vulnerability like this. “Are you ever not safe with me?” He asks that last part like his helmet might have a special mood sensor in there that tells him exactly what you're feeling.

You’re hesitant because this was unusual, even for Din.

"This could potentially be the first time," you chuckle nervously as you press your cheek to the cool metal.

If you're being honest— with Maker and yourself… what Din wants to do to you is making your apex tingle again.

Despite the nerves flowing through ever fiber of your body, you're sinking to your knees in the void. The moment your chest touches the floor of the Razor Crest for the second time tonight, you're actually thankful for the darkness. Doing something like this feels far less naughty in the dark.

"I don't want to get vaporized."

"Little one," Din runs one of his hands— which is always as hot as the sun, always— up the line of your spine slowly to comfort you. "I won't let anything bad happen to you," he rasps from behind his helmet. "I took the charge out already, besides… that happens on the other end."

The Amban rifle is long, about as long as you are tall. The non-business end is where the shoulder crook is. It’s shaped in a dramatic arch. One end is slightly longer than the other. Both ends of the arch are dull and rounded. Perfect for your shoulder to rest in when you aim.

It’s smooth and cold as Din traces it along your folds.

It surprisingly fits perfectly there as well.

"Looks so tight," his rasp is quiet, almost like he's ashamed to admit it. The tip of one of the horns is pushing against your entrance now, sliding in further and further— so slowly. "Need to see you filled."

His words make you shiver. It was clear that Din thought about you while he wasn't here… he had taken your notebook so that he could think about you all he wanted. You just never really thought about what he been imagining while looking at the pictures you had drawn of yourself in that notebook.

“It feels good?” Even through the modulator, you can hear his excitement— but it's intermingled with concern for your comfort, and that makes you melt against the hard metal of the ships floor.

You let Din know it does feel good with a content hum as he pushes the Abman's horn further into you.

It's been so long since anything has been inside you besides your own fingers and very, very recently Din's thick, long, ten billion degree digits. So long in fact, you almost forgot how delicious the stretch of something inside you feels.

You sigh happily again as the smooth, polished wood slides further into your soaked entrance. “It does feel good.” A moan as it glides against that utterly sweet spot inside you. “So good.” 

Din respires loudly as he watches the second horn of the Amban inch closer to your untouched hole. "You stretch so nicely, little one," he murmurs from under his helmet.

Sweat starts to bead across your brow as Din starts to work the first horn in and out of your wetness at the absolute perfect pace. It's not to slow, not to fast— he's allowing you to adjust while still giving you friction. To you, right now on the floor, the thrusts feel tender and sweet.

Loving, almost.

Your hips instinctively start to rock back to meet his thrusts, needing more, wanting it deeper inside of you, but that's when the second horn notches at your second hole. It hasn't penetrated you yet, but the pressure of it at your opening has you feeling rather intimidated.

Din pulls the Amban away from you. There is a moment of pause, nothing happens, and then you feel his tongue massaging against your tightest hole.

"Oh my Maker," you sigh loudly as he pushes past the ring of muscle to open and loosen you up for what he wants to see so badly.

"…would do this forever…" he murmurs from between your supple cheeks. The vibrations from his voice make you shiver and you have to bite back a smile at the sound of him unmodulated.

You wonder where the helmet is— did he take it completely off or is he just wearing it on the crown of his skull?

It doesn't really matter, you don't even really care as he pushes his tongue back inside of you. His breathless panting as he pushes two fingers into your cunt simultaneously and makes you arch your back down towards the floor, pushing your ass back against him.

"So good. S-so good," he pumps his fingers in and out of you a few times before he pulls away and loudly spits against your now loosened hole.

"Maker," you sigh at the obscene noise and the withdrawing of his fingers.

Din replaces the horns of the shoulder crook and slowly begins to work the first one in and out as the second tip taps your now other wet and ready hole. Slowly, he starts to push forward and you whimper at this new stretch. A different kind of feeling, it feels ludicrous. Out of place.

“Din…”

The word escapes your lips, and your fists clench in response. Through gritted teeth, you utter one long Maker as he removes the Amban from your body and rests a comforting hand on your back.

“It hurts? Are you okay?” He’s concerned. Sounding almost apologetic.

“No. It doesn’t hurt. It’s just different, go slower.” You don’t want to stop. It did feel good.

“Touch yourself while I do this.” His modulated whispers into your ear make you push back against the Amban again and it presses against your asshole again. “Touch...like the first night, please. I want to see it.”

The fact that Din remembers, and thinks about that first night the way you do… it makes your heart start to beat faster against the floor of the ship.

“Okay.” You breathe, one hand reaching for your clit. Your fingers find it and desperately start to circle and swirl around the wet mess between your legs. 

“Yes. Just like that, little one.” Din trails one finger down your spine gently, watching as you begin to play with yourself. “Fuck. You’re always so ready… and wet…” He admires you while his thrusts forward with Amban a little more aggressively now.

“You want to make yourself come while I put it in?” He whispers, dragging of his fingers back up your spine.

You nod silently.

“Was that a yes?” He’s wanting to hear you say it.

“Yes, Din, please…” You’re whining quietly as your fingers cease to stop touching your aching clit.

With more force behind his movements as his traveling hand grips one of your ass cheeks and pulls you apart so he can watch. The second horn presses against your tight hole with each thrust, he’s careful not to enter until you’re ready.

“You take it so well....” It’s a modulated whisper. "So wet--"

“Only for you,” sigh happily, feeling silly for saying it but in the moment, you don't what he thinks.

It’s true. You’ve never gotten this excited for anyone else.

Din gasps softly, you almost don’t hear it over the sounds of your fingers in your slick and the horn pushing into you over and over. “S-Say that again, p-please…”

“Only for you, Din…” You murmur with your eyes closed. Your touching had been getting you ready, your fingers had been spinning around your clit quickly— release was so close.

The thick wood horn inside you plus your fingers on your throbbing clit, and now this new sensation pressed against a new hole that’s never been explored before tonight, are all coiling something deep inside your lower belly.  

“Gonna…gonna come…” You strain the whimpers out, your body trembling right on the precipice of bliss.

Din presses his groin against the outside of your thigh and begins to move in a steady rhythm. You feel him pushing harder and faster, rubbing against you as he picks up speed.

"Oh! Oh!” You cry out, pushing your hips back as the coil inside of you snaps. “Diiiin!”

He pushes the Amban forward gently and you feel it enter you from behind. It’s a fiery pain, dulled tremendously by the bliss coming from between your legs, but it’s still pain.

A sharp intake of breath through your teeth is quickly followed by a pleasurable tightening of your inner walls around the smooth wooden horn inside. The feeling draws another loud moan from you.

Din continues to push and pull the shoulder crook in and out of you while you ride out your orgasm. You’re shoving your self back against the Amban now, wanting more, needing it deeper in your cunt while you come on it. The horn in your tighter hole stretches you wider, a new sensation, not pain or pleasure but a feeling of being completely full. You shudder on the floor of The Crest. 

“You’re s-so good,” Din sounds like he’s in awe once again. You amaze him. “Did you like that?” He asks, his modulator voice is gone and now he’s kissing your spine. When he removes the Amban from inside you, you whine at the empty feeling. The gaping feeling.

“Yes.” You pant on the floor. “So good, Din… So good.” You collapse, body fully going flat against the floor.

Din lays down beside you and wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you against him tightly.

There is a moment of silence while he listens to you catch your breath while one of his strong, calloused fingers circle around your belly button slowly.

“I just remembered how you clean.” He whispers into your ear. “We should get off the floor.”

For a moment you’re offended, but then you remember how well you cleaned before he started touching you and you chuckle.

“I did better this time,” your hand hesitantly finds his on your stomach. He stretches his fingers wide so you can slide yours between them. “Didn’t you notice how shiny it was?”

“I didn’t notice anything besides how you looked in your beautiful dress,” he murmurs, planting gentle kisses the back of your neck.

There is only one word you have in your vocabulary to describe how you need him to kiss you: desperately. You need to feel his lips on yours, need to feel his tongue swirling against your own. You might want that more than anything else he could offer you- but you won’t tell him that.

“We should get to bed.” You whisper to him instead.

Din doesn’t say anything for a moment, he just holds you close to him with the bridge of his nose against the back of your skull. Finally, and reluctantly, he lets you go but not for long. He’s on his feet before you can even sit up, and he’s got his hands under your arms, lifting you off the ground.

You’re suspended in midair for one second before he gently sets you back down on your feet.

“Do you need help walking?” He asks as you hold your hands out in front of you, feeling for obstacles in the dark. 

“Do you not need help?” You’re snippy, stalled in the dark waiting for his response.

He’s quiet for a long time. When he does speak, it startles you. “It’s my ship…” He sounds offended that you’d even ask him such a question. 

“Fine…” You grumble as he slips his hand into yours and takes the lead.

“Here’s the ladder…” he places your hand on one of the rungs and then stands behind you. “Go on, little one. I won’t let you fall,” he whispers into your ear as you hesitate to start climbing.

There is no need to do any of this in the dark when Din isn’t here. You keep all the lights on until you’re in bed and then you make it dark. You’ve never had to climb the ladder in the void.

Surprisingly enough, you make it up to the second level with no issues. Din follows close behind and once he’s beside you, his hand is in yours again, leading you to the sleeping quarters.

You’re not shocked when he puts you into his bed and crawls behind you. 

“What happens in the morning? Hm?” You whisper curiously, turning around to face him. “Because I almost broke my nose last time… I’m not doing that again.” 

Din chuckles, slipping one hand under your cheek, the other slides to your waist, his lips touch your chin softly. “I’m always up before you.” Then he presses his lips to yours, just as lightly.

Din’s lips are soft and warm— perfect. He’s perfect. He smells faintly of oil from the engine and sweat from being stuck under his helmet all the time.

To you, right now, he smells like what a home would feel like.

“Close your pretty eyes, and let me worry, okay?” He asks with his lips still pressed against yours. He kisses you again quickly before you can really react, and then rolls onto his side. Your chest is pressed against his back and he grabs one of your wrists to drape it over his side, then holds your hand to his stomach. 

How are you supposed to sleep after that?

What?!

That was your first since long before you even got on this ship! It’s been so long since you shared a kiss with anyone. Ages it felt like!

Your first kiss with Din— and he does it twice and then just rolls over ? Din did this on purpose. You’re sure of it.

The child is what you wake up to— his little green face right in yours.

You’re still in Din’s bed, and the child is touching your lips, pushing them apart with his little clawed fingers so he can get a good look at your teeth. You let him and wonder what he’s looking for.

Then you wonder how the hell he got into the bed with you but as your head turns to inspect your surroundings, Din is standing— fully dressed in his beskar, staring down at you.

“He was fussing.” It’s said flatly. “I’m surprised you didn’t hear him.” He’s turning to walk away. 

“I had a long night!” You call out to him as he leaves the room. 

The child is full of energy. He wants to play. Right now. 

But you’re naked under these sheets. 

You set the child on the floor and wrap yourself up in the sheets and tuck them under your arms.

The clothes you bought yesterday aren’t where you put them when you got back from the market… and then you remember the fashion show you put on for him last night. The smirk on your face is hard to hide as you make your way into the lower level of the ship.

Once you’re down there, you turn the corner and find Din with your white dress in his hands. He’s massaging the fabric between his gloved thumb and forefinger carefully as if he can feel it through the yellow leather. He’s just staring down into the mess of crumbled, white linen in his grasp.

“I don’t know if I wanna know— I don’t think I do— but can I have those back, please?” You extend your arm for the clothing he’s holding. He turns to look at you.

“Last night…” Din walks to you slowly. “You were so beautiful in this,” he holds the dress out to you as he continues to speak. “I could look at you all the time.” He’s in front of you now, looking down at you with the dress in his hands. “Clothes. No clothes.”

“The kids awake,” you smirk up at him as you take the dress out of his hands. “Get your helmet on straight.”

“I have to leave,” He says as you're turning to walk away. “Tonight.”

“For how long?” You ask, chasing him down the hallway towards the ladder that leads up to the first floor.

“I’m unsure… possibly a couple days… maybe longer. A week—”

That’s the longest he’s been gone since you’ve been here. You turn your head over your shoulder. “A week!?”

Suddenly, Din’s sweet kisses from last night don’t seem so very sweet anymore. The feel dirty and almost like a ploy to keep you from complaining about this.

His helmet nods silently.

“Is where we’re going nice?” You ask curiously. If it is nice… then you might not care. You see him shake his head and groan in frustration. “Why!? Why do you cart the child and I around out here instead of finding us a plac-”

Din presses a gloved finger to your lips to quiet you.

“So I can keep both of you safe. You’re not safe with so many planets and stars between us.” He explains gently, trying to not upset you further. “I want you close by.” 

Even though your heart is bursting in your chest because Din wants to keep you safe, wants you close— something about him choosing to kiss you last night, knowing he was leaving for so long today makes you angry. You say nothing in response to him.

“I know you’re upset. I’m sorry.” Din apologizes.

“It’s just part of the job description.” You say coldly, turning your head to the side so you don’t have to stare back at your reflection in his helemt.

It’s hard to not be upset after the night you just shared together, the touching, the kisses, the sleeping in his bed with him all night? How could you not feel some sort of emotion after that?

Din grips your chin in his thumb and forefinger, turning your head to look at him. “You want more money? For the job ?” With his free hand, he reaches behind his cape and pulls a fistful of credits out and pushes them into your chest forcefully. “Take them then,” he hisses through the modulator. Din pushes your chin as he pulls his hand away, and then he turns to leave. The credits scatter to the floor before you have time to catch them.

The child hears them falling noisily, and comes running to start grabbing them so he can begin putting them into his mouth. 

“No, no, no, no, no, no...” You whimper through the tears pricking at your eyes, trying to get all the credits back from him. You have to stick your whole hand in his mouth to get the last one back.

With all the credits in your hands and tears in your eyes, you throw them into the hallway Din just walked down. They scatter across the floor as you scoop the child up in your arms and make your way to the second level.

Once you’re in the sleeping quarters again and the child is preoccupied with one of his new toys, you allow yourself to come undone.

Din went from calling you beautiful one moment and then next, he’s shoving credits at you like you get paid to get fucked and then treated badly. What did you do to deserve that?

Tears start to roll down your cheeks, and the child freezes seeing you in distress. He’s never seen you cry. Not one time. He watches you, his head tilting side to side slowly as you press the heels of your hands into your eyes. 

He makes a quiet cooing noise at you but you don’t look. You can’t. There are too many tears and you feel so embarrassed for being so enamored with Din lately. He’s your boss. That’s it.

This was never going to happen again. You’ll sleep on the mat forever and never even look at his bed again. You might even move to a different part of the ship. You and the child.

You feel little hands on your leg and you finally look. The child is standing beside you, his big eyes are wide and he looks concerned for you, his little fingers are gripping your leg softly. 

The child makes you cry harder, because what if Din kicks you off after this?

What if he tells you that this isn’t working and you need to go back to the casino? You’d be devastated. This child is your world now. Din had slowly started to become a part of your everything— but not anymore!

Fuck Din!

As you change into fresh clothes and wipe away the stubborn tears that refuse to stop, you carefully make the bed with clean sheets. You tidy up the ship and wash any dishes or toys that need it. The baby watches you with concern as you move around the room, struggling to control your emotions. He sticks close to you as you pace back and forth, trying to find something - anything - to occupy your mind. All of your sewing supplies are in the same room as Din, but you can't bring yourself to go there right now.

You break out your notebook and lay on the floor with the child. You give him a page and your old charcoal. You show him how to doodle. You draw him. He sees it and points to himself. You nod and clap for him. Then you draw yourself. He points to the picture of you and then touches your nose. It makes you cry again. 

All day. 

You’re in that room all day spontaneously crying, when finally, the door opens and Din walks past the two of you with no acknowledgement. You stand up, grabbing the child and leave into the room he just walked out of. 

You two sit on the floor again and you show him how you sew. You hold up the almost finished robe to him, seeing if it’ll fit. 

“You’re gonna be the most well dressed green baby on the ship.” You tell him. He coos and warbles up to you, his fingers touching the fabric of his new robe. “Do you like it?” You ask but he doesn’t respond as usual. He’s a baby.

“We should talk,” Din’s modulated voice makes you jump. He’s standing in the doorway watching you two. 

“‘Kay.” You say curtly, going back to your sewing. You don’t look at him. 

“You’re upset?” He asks softly.

You turn your head and blink at him in disbelief.

“I already gave you more cre-” He starts to say, but sees you’re trying to hold back tears. 

“I don’t want your money.” The words come out quickly before you can cry. You strain back the sob forming in your throat. “I don’t want more.” You have to look away, you don’t want him to see you cry. “Just leave me alone, please.” 

The child touches your arm comfortingly and warbles quietly at you. 

“If you’re so unhappy here, I can take you back to Canto Bight.” Din sounds so angry when he speaks from behind the modulator.

All you can do is sob loudly. It’s the only sound coming out of you.

Din is quiet for so long listening to you cry. When he speaks again, his tone is softer and quieter. More kind than before. “Are you unhappy here?”

“No. I love it here,” you weep softly. You do love it here. You blink and tears roll down your cheek again. You attempt to turn your body away from Din but he’s beside you now, kneeling with his hand on your shoulder. 

“I thought you did too…but you are crying,” he says nervously. “Happy girls don’t cry…why are you crying? Please tell me.” 

“You were s-s-s-so mean about th-the credits,” you wail. “I didn’t a-ask for m-more c-credits.” You cannot stop crying no matter how hard you try. “I d-don’t want you t-t-to take m-me back to Can-Canto B-bi-” You can’t even speak it, it makes you cry too hard. 

“You think I’m going to take you back there?” He tries to turn you to face him but you turn the other way, further away from him. “I thought you were unhappy. I didn’t think you wanted this anymore. I don’t blame you. I worry about you too much and I don’t let you leave because of it. I’m not always nice.” 

“But I care for you! And the child so much!” You wail. You scoop the child who is trying to crawl into your lap in your arms and hold him close to your chest. “I love him so much and I can’t be away from him.” You sob harder. “He’s all I’ve got now and if you take him from me it’ll kill me.” The child wraps his little arms around your neck as much as he can. Coos and baby warbles fill your ear. 

“I wasn’t-” Din is desperately trying to turn you now, both hands are on your shoulders and he’s spinning you on the smooth surface of the Crest’s floor. “-look at me.” He says it sternly enough that you listen and look up at him with bloodshot eyes and tear stained cheeks. “I don’t want to take you back to Canto Bight. I don’t. You didn’t see the child when you were at the market. He missed you. Cried for you.”

“You said he had fun!” You wail again. “He cried?” You hold the child closer. 

Din chuckles. 

“I wasn’t telling you that you have to leave.” He explains after a moment of silence. “Do you still want to stay? Knowing what happens, knowing that I leave. I have to. Do you still want to be here?” 

You stare up at him for a long time. You do. You’re still sad though. At a loss for words.

“You were so cold to me. Then you called it ‘part of the job description’ so I assumed you wanted more credits. More compensation for what you do. I got mad because I thou-” He cuts himself off. 

“You thought what?” You ask nervously. He stays quiet. 

“It’s nothing. I thought you wanted more. I tried to give you what I thought you wanted.” He sighs and takes his hands from your shoulders. You can feel where the heat from his gloved hands held you. 

“What were you going to say?” Your eyes haven’t left his helmet. 

“I have to go now. When I get back we will talk more. Okay?” 

You almost start crying again but he pinches the tip of one gloved finger between his opposite index and thumb and pulls his hand free. He reaches for you with it and wipes the tears off one of your cheeks with his thumb before cupping your face in his palm

“Perfect, beautiful little one.” He rasps softly. “So perfect.” He rubs his thumb along your cheek and wipes the new falling tears. “Don’t cry. Please. Don’t cry. I’ll be back soon and we will talk about this.” You nod quickly. 

“Okay.” You sniffle softly, trying to calm the fear and sadness inside you. ‘Okay.” 

Din rests the top of his visor to your forehead softly. 

“Try and find forgiveness in your heart, for me. Please.” He keeps you there, pressed against his helmet as he speaks to you. “I’ll be thinking of you. Looking at your doodles . Waiting to see you again.” 

Then he pulls away and stands. 

“Are you staying on the floor with the child or do you need assistance getting up?” He asks, extending a hand out to you. You shake your head at him. 

“I’m gonna finish this.” You hold up the almost finished robe with one hand, the other arm is still cradling the child to your chest. He’s resting his head on your shoulder. 

“I’ll be back. Stay safe. I’ll set up the perimeter when I leave. Do not go outside of it. Please.” He rattles off his ‘Din is leaving’ list to you. You hear it every time he goes.

“You be safe. Come back in one piece.” You smile up at him softly. Din looks down at you for a long time before he speaks again.

“Perfect. Beautiful.”

Din does not come back in one piece. Well, all together yes, but he’s hanging on by threads.

In the dead of night, you are jolted awake by the sound of the ship's door opening. It has been ten days since he left, and you've been unable to sleep properly ever since. As you strain your ears, you can hear his boots hitting the ramp with uneven steps, like he's struggling to stay upright.

Jumping out of bed, not needing to turn any lights on because you can hear him banging around in the adjacent room. 

“Din.” You whisper into the darkness of the entryway. “Din, is that you?” You search for the light button on the wall desperately trying to see something. Finally, you find the small button and press it. 

You see Din facing the metal hull of the ship, leaning against it with his arms curled up over his helmet which is pressed tightly to the wall of the Crest. He’s supporting all of his weight on one leg. The other foot hovers inches above the ground.

He’s hurt.

Time feels like it stops as you rush to him. In the short amount of time it takes you to get to him, you manage to stumble over your own feet twice. When you reach him, you put one hand on his shoulder and he flinches under your touch.

“Where?” You ask nervously.

You’ve never seen him like this before. He’s been injured before, sure…but never like this. Never to the point where he can’t speak to you. He points to his leg, inner thigh and you kneel before him, inspecting. It’s a burn or a cut or both, you don’t know. Some of it’s been cauterized already, other parts of it are still bleeding badly. It looks so deep.

“What do I need to do? Tell me?” 

Everything about you feels like a Mimbanese mudslide. It feels like all the hard parts that keep you upright have been stolen from you. Din says nothing as you kneel in front of him helplessly. You can hear small, stifled groans of pain coming from his helmet. 

“I don’t know how to help you.” You whisper powerlessly. It’s like time has stopped and the world fell silent around just the two of you. “Tell me what to do.” You beg him. 

“Shh. Please just be quiet.” He snaps at you in frustration. He’s still got his helmet leaned against the wall.

Instead of being upset you stand, and run to get clean water and a rag. You check to make sure the child is still asleep in his bassinet. When you return he’s sitting on the bench. He’s got his beskar off and he’s leaned against the hull of the ship, still groaning through his modulator. 

“It’s going to hurt and I’m so sorry.” You warn him, taking the clean wet rag and ringing it out into the bowl of water. “Okay? Are you ready?” He isn’t watching, he’s looking up to the ceiling, choking back sobs of pain. 

“Go.” Din chokes out. You move the rag closer to his wound and his hand finds your wrist. He grabs you tightly as you hover over the bleeding mess. “S-so g–gentle. P-please.” They came out sobbed and choked on soft whispers. 

With the most feather and gentle touch you can, you start to clean it, and once the rag is covered in blood you realize you don’t have another bowl of water to rinse in. 

“I’ll be right bac--” You start but Din grips your wrist tighter to the point where it starts to hurt. “I need more water.” You explain quickly, not upset he’s holding you tightly. “I’m coming right back. I promise.” His fingers loosen on you. “I promise.”

With more speed you’ve ever used in your life you grab another bowl and more water and rush back to him. He hasn’t moved. His good leg is shaking, like he’s shivering.

“I’m back. See?” You look up at him and rinse the rag in the new bowl and watch all the dirt and blood and muck float and twirl in the water. “I came right back. Just like I said, I’m here.” You try and comfort him as you go back to cleaning him carefully. “I’m right here. Just breathe and think about us and those nights. It’ll be okay.”

Desperate to help him find some comfort in this you start rattling off whatever nice things come to your head. Nervously babbling because you can’t hold it in. “I’ve been waiting for you to come back so we can share the bed again, and I’ll hold you like I did before you left.” You're fighting back tears of fear and frustration and worry for Din. You fight them back though because this isn’t the time for tears.

Of course, he says nothing. He’s probably worried about biting right through his tongue with the grunts and groans he’s making under that helmet.

You continue to clean him up until you can start to see things that make your stomach turn inside you. Inside of his muscle and fatty tissue. Blood starts reappearing as you pat it away. You grow more fearful and nervous. 

“You need something to bandage this, where is it?” Din doesn’t answer before you’re looking around. Din points to the opposite wall and you see a small box strapped to the wall. You run to it, rip the straps from around the sides, you stumble again as you turn around and almost fall as you rush back to him. 

Everything about cleaning him and even being near him had to be so slow and so careful that when you weren’t near him you tried to make up for lost time, sometimes moving too fast for your own good. You slide a couple inches as you kneel before you even stop moving. You drop the box on the floor and your nervous fingers fumble with the snaps on the front. 

“Fuckin– c’mon, open!” You can’t get one of the snaps undone. A hidden sharp edge slices your index finger full across the length of the pad from under the rim. “Fuck!” You exclaim, looking and seeing blood pooling on your own finger now. You wipe it off on your pants and more carefully now try the stuck snap. It opens fine with your newfound care. “Fuck you.” You whisper again to the box, your finger hurts, it’s still bleeding.

“Abyssin grafting patch.” Din hisses through clenched teeth. 

Looking for what he’s talking about you find it, and set it on the bench beside him. 

“You need to take off your pants or I can cut them.” You explain, seeing that you won't be able to get the patch on without taking off his pants. The fabric was sliced through with something so hot that it melted some of the fabric to his skin. 

“Cut.” He groans, letting his helmet hit the hull with a loud clunk. You find the medical scissors and carefully peel the melted fabric away from his skin. He hisses loudly and you slow down as much as you can. You try to breathe. You let the scissors do most of the work, they’re sharp and let you cut down Din’s pant leg so you can open the fabric and get more access to him. 

“Okay. I’m gonna put it on now.” You walk him through what you’re doing as you rip open the patch from its wrapper. “You ready?” He’s still not looking down at you but he nods. 

You tenderly press the patch against his leg and watch as it fuses itself to him. You sigh with relief. He’s safe. He’s here. You fall back onto your buttocks and let your legs stretch out in front of you.

“You’re bleeding.” Din sighs when he finally takes his head away from the wall. “Why’re you bleeding?” He’s panting, pointing now to your finger. You look and there is a small circle of blood on the floor where your finger is resting. 

“I cut myself on the stupid fucking box.” You grumble, reaching for it. You grab a wipe and a small bandage. You clean yourself up and root around for what else could be in there. “Do you want the pills or the gas?” You ask, holding up a small bottle filled with capsules and a container with a mouth and nose mask attached to it. 

“Do you need either?” He asks seriously. You look at him with confusion. 

“I don’t do drugs, Din, what are you talking about?” 

“Your finger.” He points again. He’s gotta be delirious. 

“It’s just a cut, I’m fine. You’re missing some of your– the gas. You need the gas.” You decide for him. You put the canister under your arm and stand. “Can you walk?” He nods and goes to stand. You put one of his arms around your neck and shoulders, letting him put some of his weight on you. 

The two of you slowly make your way into the sleeping quarters. He’s part limping, part hopping on one foot. 

“What happened?” You whisper now within earshot of the child who surprisingly didn’t wake up for any of that. You don’t know what you would have done had the child awoken while you were panicking. 

“Fight.” He groaned quietly as he sat down on the edge of the bed. You hand him the canister. 

“I’m going to sleep in the other room tonight with the child.” He tilts his helmet up to you and starts to shake his head. “Yes. We are. You need to rest and you’re going to be knocked out with the gas. I don’t want to take any risks of you not waking up before me.” You lean forward and press your forehead to the top of his face visor. Din wraps one hand around the back of your neck. 

“I missed you.” He rasps softly. You close your eyes and keep your forehead pressed to his helmet. 

“I missed you too. So much.” He brings the other hand to your cheek and holds you to him. 

“I should sleep-” He pulls away from you and tries to stand. “-in the other room.” You put both hands on his shoulders and gently force him to sit back down. 

“You are not moving. Please. Use the gas and sleep. You can sleep in the other room tomorrow night, okay?” You tease him gently. 

“You’ll stay here tomorrow?” He asks, tilting his head to the side again. You nod. 

“Yes, I’ve been waiting for it.” You smile down at him. “But tonight you need to sleep. As long as you can. No worry of anyone seeing you. We’ll be okay,” You motion towards the baby's bassinet. “I’ll see you whenever you decide to wake up. Okay?” 

He nods up at you. You press your forehead to his helmet again and sigh. 

“Glad you’re back.” You whisper before you turn and push the baby’s bassinet into the other room. You have to come back in and grab your blankets and mat. He watches you, as you walk back and forth. 

As you pass him to leave the room for the last time he reaches for you and his fingers graze your wrist. You stop and look down at him. 

“Perfect. Beautiful.” He rasps quietly. 

You smile at him, taking his hand in yours. You bring his fingers to your lips and kiss each one gently. 

“Sleep.” You whisper to him again. 

Then you leave because he does need his rest. It kills you to leave the room and shut the door because you so badly want to run back to him and hold him while he sleeps and keep him safe but you know you can’t. You know you don’t have the willpower to not look if given the opportunity. Especially if he were to never know. You’re ashamed of it, but you know it to be true. 

Din doesn’t leave the bed for the next two days. You wait on him hand and foot, happily. Bringing him any and everything he could ask for. Laying with him when he wanted, you and the child both. You actually cooked for him. Really cooked. And didn’t even burn yourself. 

That night after the child had been put to sleep, with just the dim overhead light above his bed, you lay next to him and planted well placed kisses across his strong chest. He’s mostly smooth with just the smallest dark hairs speckled around his nipples and across his chest. The hair mostly rests in a faint line from his belly button down to below the waistband of his pants. 

“I think about you all the time.” You whisper between kisses. “You’re on my mind all day long. You’re in my dreams at night.” His arm is behind you, his fingers rubbing up and down on your back. 

“Really?” He asks, tilting his helmet to the side. You nod at him and lay your head on his stomach gently. “Good things I hope?” He rests the flat of his palm on you. Feeling his warmth, you sigh and nod again.

“Very good things.” You smile. 

In moments like this, you hate the helmet. You hate it so much. 

There are other times that you forget he can take it off; when you talk normally or argue but in moments like this, where you speak so gently to each other and the things each of you say sound like things out of a love story read to you as a child of princesses and princes’.

“I’m sorry if I scared you that night.” He whispers, his fingers press into softly. “I didn’t mean to. I would have done it myself. I always do.” His hand goes back to moving up and down on your skin. You listen. “You did a good job though. Really, I’ll have to pay you more credits now.” He tickles along your side gently and you frown. “ Nurses get paid more.” He teases you. 

Giggles escape your mouth as he starts to tickle the frown off your face. 

“Stop, stop. The kid," you whisper, sitting up from his stomach. 

“Beautiful.” He says softly, moving his hand to your cheek, his thumb rubs across your lips gently. You kiss it with each pass of his thumb. “Perfect.” 

“Why do you say those things?” You roll your eyes at him. “I’m not perfect.” It’s said with a hint of sadness, because you know you’ve been having terrible wishes of him losing his helmet or forgetting it and you just seeing him because you have to know. You pang with guilt every time you look at it lately.

Din doesn’t say anything for a long time. He just rubs his thumb across your lips slowly, sometimes pulling your bottom lip down gently and he lets it pop up back against your top lip. You're hypnotized by it. You lean in against his hand. 

“I think about kissing you every day.” He whispers to you. “I love your mouth. Your lips.” 

Your head starts to buzz. Did you hear Din correctly when he just said he loved something about you?

Maker, you must be about to meet right now because this cannot be real. You’re snapped back from your buzzing thoughts when Din speaks again. 

“Does it make you feel nice?” His hand falls from your face, and you almost fall over into him, not realizing how much you had been leaning into his hand. “When I call you those things?”

“Sometimes. Most times.” You whisper honestly. You don’t like lying to Din. 

“Why not every time?” He asks gently, taking one of your hands in his. 

“Because, I’m not. I don’t always want–” You think about how you want to say it, so it doesn’t come out wrong. “I sometimes am selfish with the thoughts I have about you.” He tilts his helmet to the side. 

“You– Ther– I-I.” He has to clear his throat. “You know that th-” He sighs softly in frustration. “You’re the only one. No need to be selfish.” He laughs nervously. 

In love. You thought it was infatuation but you love him. So damn much. Especially right now. Maybe you only love him right now, you didn’t know. You haven’t been in love before. You’ve definitely never felt this way. Not the feeling you feel right now in your heart. But it’s shadowed quickly by the fact that you’re still feeling guilty. 

“That’s not what I meant.” You chuckle at him softly and squeeze his hand. “Sometimes what I want wouldn’t be good or nice to you.” You try to explain nicely in a way that doesn't sound like; take your helmet off. I don’t care what happens. I wanna see. 

He tilts his head to the side again, still not understanding.

“You… want bad things to happen to me?” His modulated inflection makes you chuckle again. 

“No,” You’re still chuckling, shaking your head. Then you stop. “Well, I don’t know. I don’t know if what I wish for would lead to bad things. Or cause you harm. I know it’d make you disappointed. ” You try and get him to remember the conversation about the helmet, right after he bought you a new notebook for taking your old one. 

“Ohh.” He whispers to you, nodding in understanding. 

Then it’s quiet. For so long, Maker, how is this man so quiet for so long?

“I know it’s not nice of me to wish and want those things. I can’t help it though. My mind and heart wonder. It’s never wishing those things upon you either. I just know they might be an effect of what I want. So technically, yes I do want bad things to happen to you.” You talk nervously. Trying to listen to something other than nothingness. You joke to try and lighten the mood. Nothing works. He stays quiet for so long. 

It’s very aware you’ve made him feel something. You’re not sure what it is yet. 

“You can’t be upset with me.” He says finally. His raspy voice scares you in the silence. You jump but he squeezes your hand. “Promise you won’t be upset?” 

Unsure if you can actually make that promise, you nod your head at him and bite your bottom lip nervously. 

“The child is more than just a child.” He starts. Your heart is racing for a new reason now. “It’s so difficult to explain… but I need to take him, and I need you to stay here.” You rip your hand from his and pull it into your lap.

“You’re taking him from me?” You whisper softly in shock. Din shakes his head quickly. 

“I’m going to bring him back… eventual-” You hold your hand up.

“How long?” Your chin starts to tremble. 

“I don’t know. I really don’t. And I’m sorry. If I knew you two were going to get attached like this I would have never asked you to do this.” He tries to explain.

“You’ve known this whole time that you were going to have to take him!?” It’s a strained whisper of disbelief. “Where are you taking him?” 

“He has to learn the way of the Jedi. I’m taking him to Luke Skywalker.”

You gasp audibly. 

“The Luke Skywalker?” You ask again in disbelief. You've heard stories about him since you were a child.

“Yes. He’s going to teach the child how to use the force, how to be stronger.” Din explains. 

“I’m going. I don’t care what you say or if you have to try and tie me to the Crest. I don’t care. I’m going with you this time.” 

Din sighs loudly. 

“And I’m staying with him.”

“No. You cannot do that.” He tries to grab your hand again but you pull it away. 

“Why not? Why can’t I stay? He’s a baby and he needs someone to care for him. Do you think Luke Skywalker is going to care for him the way I do? The way we do?” You’re still whispering but you are exasperatedly trying to prove your point. Your hand is now pointed at the baby’s bassinet. “Is Luke Skywalker going to make sure that all the bugs he eats don’t have stingers on them? Is he going to give him a bath every night before bed and change his robes and do all the things we do for him?” 

You’re upset that you never asked what Din was doing out in the galaxy while you stayed cooped up in the ship. You always thought that he was just a bounty hunter with a green baby and now you find out that this green baby has always had a destination in mind that you didn’t know about? Your heart was breaking in your chest. 

“You can come with me but you cannot stay.” He’s serious and it makes tears burn your eyes. 

“Will you ever get him back? Will I ever see him again?” Something new comes into your head and you’re fighting back the urge to ask about it. 

“I don’t know. It’s a possibility. I need to take him to Luke.” 

“And then what?” You implore nervously. 

“What do you mean?” Din asks, reaching for your hand again. You let him take it and hold it in his. 

“What happens to me?” Tears roll down your cheeks. “Just don’t l-leave me b-back on Canto B-bight. P-please take me an-anywhere else.” You’re drawing in big gulps of air between each sobbed word. Din squeezes your hand tightly.

“I’m n– I’m not leaving you?” He doesn’t understand what you mean, 

“Without the ch-child what g-good am I to you?” You sob softly.

“You hold a place in my heart. I care for you dearly. I’d still pay you to clean, now you know how to nurse me back to health.”

“I’d do it for free.” You whisper through quiet sniffles.  

Din stays quiet for a long time. 

“You want to stay with the child?” He ask, his hand cupping your face again. 

Eyes have never moved so fast in history the way your eyes flick to Din. 

“Is it an option?” You ask softly, leaning into his hand, the burning hot heat of him overtakes the rest of your face and you’re hot, but it’s so good. Because it’s his heat. Din’s body pressed against yours. 

“If it’s what you desire. I’ll make it an option.” Din’s raspy modulated voice says quietly. “I’d do it for you.” 

“Why? What were you going to say the other day before you left?”

Din presses his thumb to your lips gently, quieting you. “Yes or no?” 

All you can do is nod.

tag list: @thereaperisabitch @pedrospookie @furiousmushroom @creepycorbeaux

I love all your comments and tags and sweet words. Thank you to anyone showing support on this story and me in general.

What does this metal man have in store for you?? What's gonna happen??

[tealeaf29]

ARCANE SEASON 1 AND 2 SPOILERS

Y’know what? I’m gonna say it:

As a system myself, Jinx/Powder is a system.

It’s difficult to pin point the exact point of the split, and whether or not it even happens on screen, but I’m gonna say Powder’s breakdown in season 1 episode 3 is the first time we see Jinx fronting.

Throughout most of season 1, Jinx is in front. Not all the time, but a lot of the time.

People already talk quite a bit about how the arcane animators put time and effort into differentiating Powder and Jinx as two separate entities, is it really a stretch to call them a system?

Here’s the part that’s tripping me up though.

“Jinx is dead.”

I’m not sure who says that line.

Personally, I think it’s Jinx we see bonding with Isha. I think it’s Jinx we see talking about Powder being a stupid name. I think it’s Jinx we see saying Jinx is dead.

The best scene I think for showing the concept that Ninx and Powder are separate people, separate alters, is season 1 episode 6, when Vi and her sister reunite. It’s Powder that sets off the flare. It’s Jinx who angrily throws the flare on the ground. It’s Powder who fronts when Vi says her name and it’s Powder Vi hugs. But it’s Jinx who points PowPow at Vi. It’s Jinx who fires upon the Firelights with a smile on her face. It’s Powder who watches her sister get taken, and it’s Jinx who cries out in outrage moments later.

Second best scene for this is season 1 episode 9’s tea party scene. I don’t think I need to really explain that one too much, and there’s so much more I wanna say and I don’t want this to be too long.

Now, bare with me, it’s been a minute since my last rewatch but hear me out:

I think the last time we see Jinx is season 2 episode 4. Everything, and I do mean everything after she realizes she’s fighting Vander is Powder.

Do I think Jinx is gone? No. I just think she realized she doesn’t have to protect Powder anymore.

And I think there are two scenes that support this idea.

Season 2 episode 8, when Vi goes to break her out of prison and convince her sister to fight.

Vi pointedly calls her “Jinx”. Like a person trying to show they’re learning. I’ve seen this very thing myself as a system. Someone gets used to a new alter(in this case, Jinx) fronting, that they accidentally call another alter(in this case, Powder) by the wrong name.

She goes on to say “maybe we can rewrite your story, just like you rewrote Zaun’s.”

She’s saying “we can erase Powder, Jinx is all that matters, right?”

And, from an outside perspective, that’s not only a fair thing to say, but honestly super cute of her as a sister. I’ve seen people reading Jinx as a trans allegory, ESPECIALLY season 1 Jinx, and if it were, this would be a super great thing for Vi to say. But it’s not. At least, not by this point in season 2. If we do want to look at it as a gender allegory, then it works really well as a genderfluid allegory. But that’s not what I’m talking about.

No, Vi says the wrong thing here. She makes it clear she views her sister as a singular entity. Either Powder or Jinx. The issue is, especially at this point in the story, she’s not. And that’s not even me being like “I’m gonna state my personal headcanon/analysis as fact.” That’s just true. Schnee on YouTube does a much better job of explaining the dichotomy between the two identities in his “How EKKO Redefines Time” video that I 100% recommend(this video is actually what got me thinking about Jinx/Powder as a system).

The other scene, is Ekko trying to convince her to help. Ekko says two things here that are important. First, he says “Pow- Jinx.”

He doesn’t view them as a singular entity.

To the trans allegory thing for a moment, this is a really good line if you wanna read Jinx that way, because almost every single trans person who’s changed their name has likely heard “Deadna- Name” at least once(substitute for appropriate names of course). And it’s cute that Ekko corrects himself if that’s how you’re choosing to view it.

But it’s this line that gives her pause.

Ekko then goes on to say “no matter what happened in the past, it’s never too late to build something new.”

He’s not saying to erase the past. To erase Powder. He’s saying to move on from the past. To accept that Powder and Jinx are both present.

That is what convinces her to fight. Ekko telling her “it doesn’t matter, Jinx, Powder, whoever you are, whoever you choose to be, it’s not too late for you.”

Am I little biased when I claim Ekko is the only reason Jinx fights? Maybe a little, TimeBomb are one of my favourite ships in Arcane(though post-season 2 I stumbled upon LightCannon and I think they might be my fav Jinx ship now). But I don’t think that matters.

Do I think the writers intended Jinx to have DID? Definitely not.

Do I think the writers intended Jinx to be an allegory for DID? Maybe.

But it’s fun to analyze, and read representation in characters that wasn’t necessarily intended.

But, yeah, Jinx/Powder is now a system in my headcanon and you can’t convince me otherwise because it’s a headcanon and I can do what I want in my headcanons.

[blueberrymocha]

lying to them *ೃ༄

┌──────────────────────────────────────┐

ׂ╰┈➤ fluff

➣ characters: gon, killua, kurapika, leorio, hisoka, illumi, chrollo

➣ word count: x

└──────────────────────┘

scenario:

“you’re home late, where’ve you been?”

———————————————————————————————————————

gon

- he doesn’t realize at all because even if he does, he’ll tell himself he’s got it wrong

- sees you as too good to lie to him

“you meant to say x right?“

- his absolute trust in you would compel you to come clean then and there

- part of him is upset that you’d lie, but he tries his best to remain calm

- if you’re willing to have a reasonable discussion about it, so is he

- but if you argue, play dumb, or act dismissive, it’d quickly turn into a full blown fight

- honesty is important to him, so while he appreciates your confession

- the fact that you lied in the first place would make him reconsider his boundaries and your relationship

killua

- he wouldn’t notice if it were a small detail

- besides he doesn’t feel like he needs to be on guard around you, analyzing every word

- he’d probably catch you in a lie after absentmindedly asking you a question later and noticing your answer changed

“did you see the limited edition chocolate robot while you were there?”

…

“i thought you said you were at the candy store?”

- he becomes a lot more assertive and firm as he questions you, a glare on his face if you brush it off

- whatever the reason was, he’ll distance himself from you for a day or so

- the idea of you hiding god knows what from him would totally piss him off

- he won’t be mad forever, but for now, it’s probably better you give him space

kurapika

- is inclined to believe you, but pays enough attention that if the story didn’t add up, he’d notice

- and he’d point out any inconsistencies, being upfront about it

“isn’t that friend out of town?

…

“you weren’t with them, were you?”

- his mind would probably fill with doubts and insecurities

- thoughts of infidelity springing to the front of his mind

- he would never be brash or demand answers, though

- if something did happen, his priority is fixing it

- he knows he can be unavailable, so would give you the opportunity to have a real talk with him

- are you unhappy with how things are? was it just a white lie?

- eventually, the problem would be resolved,

- but he makes it very clear he won’t tolerate lying in the future

leorio

- he wouldn’t notice, too tired from school to pay your words much mind

- it’d just be normal routine for you, and honestly, he might not ever find out

- even when he’s fully awake, he simply isn’t all that attentive

- if you decide to tell him, i think he’d be a lot calmer than you might expect

- of course, he’d still be mad, but the most he’d do is raise his voice and argue

- he’s also not the type to storm out, at least until he has clarity about the situation

- if the lie was innocent enough, he’ll be a bit ticked off for the rest of the night, but nothing more

- if it was something bigger, he’d ask for space, not wanting to let his rashness make him do something he’ll regret later

- he’d definitely try to mitigate his response because he does appreciate you coming clean to him

- even if it doesn’t absolve you of the consequences

hisoka

- he notices quickly, he’s an expert at lying after all

- if it’s a good attempt, he’d humor you; playing along, even asking follow up questions and pretending to be fooled

- he sees this all as a game after all

- but eventually, once he’s given the prospect of you lying a little more thought

- he’s a lot less playful, calling you out directly and demanding the truth

- it’s fun when he’s merely amused by your inability to lie

- but at heart, he’s possessive, and the idea that you’re trying to hide an affair irritates him more than he himself understands

- and if it truly was another person you were with, he’d 100% retaliate by killing them

- as for you? he’s content to let you off that hook at that point, warning you not to deceive him again

illumi

- as much of a mastermind he seems to be, social cues elude him completely

- in his eyes, you’re his partner, someone he’d never have reason to doubt

- if you never tell him, you’re free to go on with your day

- but make no mistake, he’s far from dumb

- if there’s a gaping inaccuracy in your words, he’ll immediately accuse you of lying

(e.g. saying you were with someone he himself was with)

- at that point, there’s nothing you can say to get out of this even if you correct yourself

- it’d start an argument, and in the end, he’d be more controlling

- your location? he’d track it at all times

- hanging out your friends? you’d have to ask him first

- and if they’re male, it’ll always be a ‘no’

chrollo

- so there’s no way to lie to him, he’ll catch on immediately

- he’s mastered every aspect of the social scene

- his typical patience is replaced by an eerie calmness as he questions whatever statement you made

- if you come clean at that point and explain yourself

- and he finds it valid enough, he’ll get over it; firmly telling you he won’t be so forgiving next time

- keep lying to him though, and he won’t hesitate to use manipulation tactics on you

- eg. ignoring you, threatening you or whoever he suspects you were with, guilt tripping..

- if you’d grown to see him as an understanding, misunderstood lover, his behavior would extinguish your perception quickly

- once you do confess, he’ll be more distant for the next day or so

- though if you asked him?

“i’m not mad, just disappointed.”

[azen13]

Since somebody sent in an ask about favorite yandere males in genshin, who are your favorite yandere hsr males?

CW: Yandere Themes

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Azen posting 2 actual writing-ish posts in one day? Extremely unlikely, but now that I'm on break and finished writing about mermen, possible! All things aside, thank you so much for this ask!

I'd say absolute favorites are Argenti and Jing Yuan, but before I talk about them in-depth, I wanted to do some honorable mentions. Aventurine has a lot of potential as a yandere in my opinion, considering his backstory and how that might have affected his psyche, but I just find myself struggling to tap into his character. I love Boothill, but find it hard to envision him as a yandere considering the fact that he's a Galaxy Ranger. Still, like Aventurine, I definitely can see a motive for why he would be a yandere. In my favorite Genshin yanderes post, I mentioned how Neuvillette and Zhongli are two of my favorites from that game, and I also really like Dan Heng/Dan Feng! Draconic characters are really fun to write for, but I'm not very good at keeping up with HSR lore, so I try to shy away from writing Dan Feng because of how entrenched his character is in a lot of the lore. Dan Heng is a little hard for me to write because I struggle to see how he could act on his possessive tendencies with the Astral Express crew being in such close proximity. Dr. Ratio is a super interesting character, but I really struggle with his characterization and while I have a few drabbles written about him, they will not be posted because I don't like how they turned out. Gallagher is another character I've loved since his release, but like Dan Feng, I'm both confused about his lore, and I'm unsure on how to write for him in general when in-game he...doesn't exist? Still not exactly sure what happened to him haha. I recently posted a Moze drabble and depending on what happens in the future, he may move up to be one of my favorites, because I think he has a lot of potential and I'd love to write a oneshot from his perspective about realizing his feelings, but I just need more time working on getting used to his character before I can definitively decide how I feel on him. And finally, I love Sampo, and I actually have an idea of a fic I want to write in regards to a MSND!AU where Sampo is Puck, but he's another character where I really struggle with his characterization.

Ok, now it's time to talk about Argenti and Jing Yuan.

When I say Argenti is my favorite yandere from this game, I mean it. I think he has so much potential as a yandere, and I have this very specific vision of a reader who is an Emanator of Beauty that he finds one day and kidnaps and brings back to his ship. He's such a gentleman to them, but he refuses to let them leave. You can see stars shooting by the windows of his spaceship, see your home planet slowly shrinking into a tiny pinprick on the horizon, until it just pops out of existence. Your new home is with him, he tells you, pressing a chaste kiss against your wrist. He pampers and dotes on you every chance he gets. He can't let you leave his ship, so he brings back souvenirs and memorabilia from every planet he visits. Sometimes he takes photos if he can figure out how to work his phone's camera. Every hour or so when he's off espousing Idrila's prowess to some planet, you'll get a text or call from him making sure you're safe. He cares so much. He cares too much. He cares too much, but he means so well. He sees something of such supreme beauty, and he can't help but want to shelter it.

It's how sweet yet cruel he would be that gets me. The thing that draws me to write yandere content is the fact that these feelings are born from a distorted sense of love. What they are distorted by changes depending on the character, and in Argenti's case, I think it's due to an extreme sense of devotion to his beloved. That method of distortion is probably one of the most fascinating for me to explore. Beyond that, I also think he'd be a good yandere logistically. I could easily see him having a method of controlling the entrance to his spaceship to prevent his beloved from being able to leave while he's out. All in all, I just really, really love Yandere!Argenti, and I hope that me talking about him might have convinced some people to start looking into him more, because he's such a fun character to write for!

Onto Jing Yuan, I have less to talk about, but I still feel really strongly about him! I'm pretty sure most of the writing that I've posted on my blog has been about Jing Yuan, and that's because I feel like I have a good handle on his character. Jing Yuan strikes me less as someone affected by obsessive love, and more as someone affected by overprotective desires. He's lived centuries and seen countless close friends die, and because of that, I think when he's in love, he'd be extremely anxious about losing his beloved. I'm not sure if I talked about this when I talked about my favorite Genshin yanderes, but something that I also find helpful in terms of writing is the level of power the yandere has. This could range from something like pure strength to how much social capital the yandere has. Jing Yuan, in my opinion, is incredibly powerful in a multitude of ways. Canonically, he's an Emanator of The Hunt, he's General of the Luofu, and he's hundreds of years old. Strength, social capital, wisdom, and more. All this power makes for a really fantastic dynamic in my opinion, and it's really fun to write for.

[princesssarisa]

Character ask: Fiyero and Boq (Wicked)

I'm not really a die-hard Wicked fan, but here goes. This is for the musical only, since I haven't read the novel.

Warning: spoilers below.

Fiyero

Favorite thing about them: That despite seeming like a silly playboy at first, he proves to be a kindred sprit to Elphaba, who loves and respects her as she is, who tries to help and defend her when no one else in Oz is willing to do so, and who ultimately sacrifices everything for her, even (nearly) his life.

Least favorite thing about them: That he leads Glinda on by not breaking up with her even as he starts to fall for Elphaba, and then goes along with their engagement even though he doesn't want to marry her. He should have ended things between them long before it reached that point.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I can be snarky.

*I dislike fakeness and selling out.

*I can seem like just a fun-lover, but really I think and feel deeply.

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I'm female.

*I'm not royalty.

*I was never a partying troublemaker in college.

Favorite line: His joke when Elphaba tells him she realizes he's not as shallow and self-absorbed as he seems:

"Excuse me, there's no pretense here: I happen to be genuinely self-absorbed and deeply shallow."

And these lines from his dialogue with Glinda at the beginning of Act II, where he calls her out on her tragic flaw of choosing fame and popularity over everything else:

"You can't leave because you can't resist this. And that is the truth."

And when she objects that no one could resist it: "You know who could. Who has."

brOTP: His horse Feldspur in the movie, and probably Boq, especially if we keep the Scarecrow and Tin Man's friendship in mind. Not to mention Dorothy, even though their interactions are kept offstage.

OTP: Elphaba.

nOTP: Glinda.

Random headcanon: Hmmm... In the movie, he really did eat grass as a child. He's not just joking when he says he did.

Unpopular opinion: I like him better than Glinda as a romantic partner for Elphaba. Of course I understand that Elphaba and Glinda's bond is more central and more fleshed out, I see the appeal of Gelphie as a ship, and I know how much Gelphie means to countless fans. But personally? Without denying Glinda's importance to Elphaba, I prefer Fiyero as her love interest. He embraces her values and comes through for her in a way that Glinda only does at the very end, and no attempts I've read by Gelphie shippers to dismiss that fact ring true for me. As a couple, Fiyeraba reminds me in many ways of Esmeralda and Phoebus in Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame (these Stephen Schwartz musicals have recurring themes!), and I don't see many fans putting down that pairing, even though they're a bit underdeveloped too, and even though Esmeralda's friendship with Quasimodo is more central to the plot. On the contrary, the fans hold up their love as the main example of healthy love in that story! Besides, if we don't think Elphaba really loves Fiyero, then "No Good Deed" loses its power. If he's just "comphet" to her, why should his apparent death break her so much that she resolves to really be wicked and kidnaps Dorothy? And the reveal that he's still alive is what snaps her out of her breakdown and lets her reconcile with Glinda in the end. I have nothing against shipping Gelphie, but I can't dismiss Fiyeraba as just "boring comphet" the way most of the fandom seems to do.

Song I associate with them: "Dancing Through Life"

"As Long as You're Mine"

Favorite picture of them:

Norbert Leo Butz

Aaron Tveit

Andy Karl

Derrick Williams with Stephanie J. Block (more actors of color should play the role)

Adam Garcia with Idina Menzel

Jonathan Bailey in the movie

Boq

Favorite thing about them: Well, when we first meet him at least, he's a sweet, adorkable character, and if the Tin Man we know from The Wizard of Oz is a mostly accurate portrait of how he behaves on his journey with Dorothy, he never really loses those qualities.

Least favorite thing about them: First that he leads Nessarose on (a recurring flaw among the young men in this story, it seems) and lies about why he asked her out, even if his reason is to avoid hurting her. And later, of course, that he becomes such a bloodthirsty witch hunter, out to kill Elphaba for turning him into tin even though she saved his life by doing so.

Three things I have in common with them:

*I can be socially awkward.

*I'm not always good at standing up for myself.

*Sometimes I want to blame people for doing things that made me uncomfortable, when really those things were good for me.

Three things I don't have in common with them:

*I'm female.

*I've never had any romantic entanglements with witches.

*I've never been turned into tin.

Favorite line: His verse in "March of the Witch Hunters," even though it's his darkest moment:

And this is more than just a service to the Wizard I have a personal score to settle with El... With The Witch!

It's due to her I'm made of tin Her spell made this occur So for once, I'm glad I'm heartless I'll be heartless killing her!

And the Lion also has a grievance to repay If she'd let him fight his own battles When he was young He wouldn't be a coward, today!

brOTP: In the Shiz days before things go bad, Fiyero, Nessarose, Elphaba and Glinda (especially in the deleted scene from the movie that shows them all hanging out together). And after he becomes the Tin Man, Dorothy.

OTP: None.

nOTP: Nessarose or Glinda.

Random headcanon: When he sees Elphaba "melt," he'll be unexpectedly horrified; he'll find himself remembering their days at Shiz and the girl she once was, and realize that seeing her die horribly doesn't feel as good as he thought it would. (I'm basing this on the Tin Man's close-to-tears face after the Witch melts in the 1939 Wizard of Oz: we'll see if Wicked: For Good has Ethan Slater react in a similar way or not.)

Unpopular opinion: Even though he's far from blameless, nothing justifies Nessarose stripping him and all the other Munchkins of their rights and forcing him to stay with her, then trying to magically brainwash him into loving her. He may deserve some karma for lying about his feelings for her, but he doesn't deserve all that.

Song I associate with them:

His part in "Dancing Through Life"

"March of the Witch Hunters"

Favorite picture of them:

Christopher Fitzgerald

Riley Costello

Ethan Slater in the movie