#and despite everything i have a sense of who i am

[zwombiekochan341]

♡ SUGURU GETO & SATORU GOJO AS YANDERES ♡

Suguru Geto as a Yandere

- Obssesion & Love -

Geto isn’t the type to fall in love instantly. His obsession develops gradually, rooted in admiration and a sense of possession rather than infatuation.

At first, he sees you as an exception—unlike the “monkeys” he despises, you’re different, special, worthy of his attention.

His love is deep and unwavering, but it comes with an almost god-like superiority. He genuinely believes he knows what’s best for you.

Over time, this love twists into obsession, but Geto doesn’t see it that way. To him, it’s just natural—why wouldn’t he protect and claim the only person who truly matters?

- Possessiveness & Control -

Geto is extremely possessive but hides it well. He doesn’t lash out immediately—he manipulates situations so that you become dependent on him.

If someone gets too close, he doesn’t waste energy on petty jealousy. Instead, he orchestrates subtle sabotage—ruining friendships, isolating you, and making sure he’s the only person you can truly rely on.

He wants your world to revolve around him, and he does it so gracefully that you don’t even notice until it’s too late.

“You don’t need them. You have me. Isn’t that enough?”

- Manipulation & Mind Games -

Geto is a master manipulator. He doesn’t need brute force to keep you by his side—he uses guilt, logic, and persuasion to make you stay willingly.

He subtly rewrites reality, convincing you that the outside world is cruel and only he can keep you safe.

If you ever try to leave, he doesn’t panic. He simply smiles, speaks calmly, and twists your emotions until you start doubting yourself.

“I’m disappointed. After everything I’ve done for you, you’d really leave me for them?”

If manipulation doesn’t work, he shifts tactics—subtly making you fear the world beyond his grasp. He lets you believe it’s your choice to stay, when in reality, he’s eliminated all your other options.

- Violence & Darker Tendencies -

Unlike a reckless yandere, Geto doesn’t act out of impulse. Every action is calculated. If someone threatens his hold on you, he removes them efficiently and quietly.

He never harms you—physically, at least. But his emotional grip is just as suffocating.

If you truly defy him, he doesn’t lash out. Instead, he makes you regret it—not through pain, but through psychological torment. He isolates you until you crawl back to him on your own.

“You made a mistake. But I’m forgiving. Come back to me, and we’ll forget this ever happened.”

- Devotion & Worship -

Despite his possessiveness, Geto’s love is genuine. He worships you in his own twisted way, seeing you as the only person worthy of standing beside him.

He wants you to believe in his vision, to see the world the way he does, to belong to him in mind and soul.

He expects complete devotion, but in return, he gives you his undivided love and protection.

“You are mine. And I am yours. That’s how it should be, don’t you agree?”

- Kidnapping & Captivity -

If it comes to this, Geto does it with grace and patience. He doesn’t need to chain you up—he simply makes it so that leaving is no longer an option.

He ensures your comfort—your prison is elegant, a place where you have everything you could ever want… except freedom.

He speaks to you with kindness, making it seem like he’s doing this for your own good.

"This isn’t a cage, my love. This is a sanctuary—where the world can’t hurt you. Where you’re safe. With me."

- Endgame: Can You Escape? -

Escaping from Geto isn’t impossible, but it’s nearly so. He’s too smart, too calculated, always ten steps ahead.

Even if you somehow break free, he will find you again. And when he does, he won’t be angry. Just… disappointed.

And that’s the worst part—because he’ll welcome you back like you never left, making you question whether you ever should have.

“You must be tired. Running, struggling. Come home, love. This time, I won’t let you go.”

Satoru Gojo as a Yandere

- Obsession & Love -

Gojo doesn’t fall in love easily—he’s used to people admiring him, fearing him, or wanting something from him.

But when he falls, he falls hard. His obsession with you is intense, all-consuming, and nearly impossible to escape.

Unlike others who might struggle with their feelings, Gojo embraces his obsession. He finds it thrilling, like a new challenge to conquer.

“You? Leaving me? Pfft, that’s adorable. As if I’d ever let that happen.”

- Possessiveness & Control -

Gojo is extremely possessive, but he masks it behind teasing and playfulness. He acts like your overprotective boyfriend, but the reality is much darker.

He loves knowing everything about you—where you go, who you talk to, what you’re thinking. It’s not even difficult for him; his power makes stalking effortless.

He casually interrupts your plans, ensuring you spend more time with him than with anyone else.

“Oh? You were supposed to meet someone? Too bad~ I need you more.”

- Manipulation & Mind Games -

Unlike more brutal yanderes, Gojo doesn’t need force—he plays with your mind and emotions until you’re completely dependent on him.

He gaslights you playfully, making you question reality until you start seeing things his way.

He weaponizes affection, overwhelming you with love one moment, then pulling back just enough to make you crave it.

“C’mon, don’t be mad. You know I only do this because I love you, right?”

- Jealousy & Violence -

Gojo doesn’t get jealous—he gets amused. He doesn’t see anyone as a real threat because, in his mind, who could possibly take you away from him?

But that doesn’t mean he won’t eliminate the competition. If someone gets too close, they simply… disappear.

He never lets you see his darker side, but if you ever found out, he’d just grin and say,

“Oops~ guess I got a little carried away. But hey, now it’s just you and me, forever and ever.”

- Devotion & Worship -

Despite his insanity, Gojo adores you. To him, you’re the only thing that makes his world bearable.

He spoils you rotten, making sure you’re comfortable, happy, and completely reliant on him.

But make no mistake—his love is suffocating. You are his, and nothing will change that.

“You don’t need anyone else. Just me. Always me.”

- Kidnapping & Captivity -

If Gojo ever decides to take you away, it’s game over.

There’s no escape—he’s too powerful, too smart, too in love to ever let you slip through his fingers.

But he makes it fun. He keeps you entertained, showered in affection, acting like nothing is wrong.

“Awww, you look so sad. Don’t worry, you’ll love it here! After all, you’re with me~”

- Endgame: Can You Escape? -

No. You cannot escape Satoru Gojo. Not in any lifetime, not in any universe.

If you try, he finds you. If you resist, he breaks you—gently, of course.

In the end, you always end up in his arms, because there is no world where he lets you go.

“Silly thing. You’re mine. Forever. Accept it.”

Whew… and that’s a wrap! (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵) This was my first time writing something like this, so I hope it turned out okay~! I had a lot of fun, but I’d love to hear what you think! Did you enjoy it? Was it yandere enough? (¬‿¬)♡

Feel free to leave your thoughts, but please be kind! (⺣◡⺣) And if you liked it, maybe stick around for more? Who knows what other obsessive little tales I’ll come up with next… fufu~ (♡ >ω< ♡)

Thanks for reading, and see you next time~! (✿˶˘ ³˘)♡

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

What remains of us, pt. 3

Summary: Teaching Y/N some new tricks while making his way to her heart keeps Wally busy...a little too busy to notice others might want his happiness to crumble and turn Y/N against him.

Warnings: death, angst, mentions of mental health issues, fluff, mentions of a SCHOOL SHOOTING, swearing

Word count: 3.9k

Part 1 Part 2

Y/N sits cross-legged on a desk in the abandoned classroom, arms folded, watching Wally as he lazily tosses a crumpled piece of paper into a trash can. Ever since the music room, they’ve settled into a comfortable coexistence that neither wants to end. While Y/N’s mind occasionally went into overdrive, giving her a thousand reasons to create some distance, her heart, although no longer beating, wasn’t keen on being away for long. After all, Wally kept the sense of dread in the pit of her stomach disappear. All it takes is a smile…a single smile and she’d relax. No one ever made her feel this safe, not even when she was alive.

 "So, tell me, Wally. Any perks to being a ghost? Or is it all doom, gloom, and dramatic monologues?"

Wally smirks, leaning against the desk beside her. "Oh, absolutely. You get to be stuck with me forever. Pretty sweet deal, huh?"

She scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Wow. Eternal torment. Exactly what I was hoping for when I died."

He catches the way her face warms despite her sarcasm, and his grin widens. "You’re blushing."

"I am not."

"Liar."

Y/N huffs, pushing off the desk. "Let’s see if I can walk through walls to escape this conversation."

"You won’t." He follows her out, chuckling. "You like talking to me too much."

Taking it as a challenge, she rushes through empty classrooms, trying to lose Wally who laughed at her antics. Pressing her lips in a thin line, she hides in the library, behind the shelves, watching Wally run straight through and into the next room.

Chuckling, she leans back on the shelves. He’ll probably spend the next hour trying to find her – he’s not very good at hide and seek. Letting out a heavy breath, she tries to calm her breathing. It’s funny how her lungs still fight for breath after running, even in death. A lot of things have surprised her – she still craves food and can actually taste it, she gets tired, she feels pain, but also happiness and every other emotion. The only difference is: her heart is silent. Oh, and she can’t sleep. That one she hates most of all. Dreams used to be a perfect escape, but now? She actually has to go through the things she wants to ignore.

“Do you mind?” A voice startles her and she jumps in fright.

“Uh…Xavier, am I right?”

He nods, pressing his thin lips in a thinner line. “Yeah. And you’re in the way.”

Y/N steps aside but doesn’t move too far, her curiosity piqued by Xavier’s cold demeanor. He reaches for the book behind her, fingers ghosting over the worn spine before pulling it free. His electric blue eyes flicker to her, unreadable.

“I’ve heard about you,” he says casually, flipping through the pages without looking down.

“Oh?” Y/N crosses her arms. She didn’t expect ghosts to gossip and openly admit it to her face. “What is it they say? Weird, funny, clumsy?”

Xavier smirks, but there’s no humor behind it. “Naïve.”

Her brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

“You trust him too much.” He tilts his head toward the door as if Wally might burst in at any moment. “He’s not telling you everything.”

The sense of dread returns in her stomach, but she forces herself to scoff. “Wally? He’s a lot of things, but a liar isn’t one of them.”

Xavier raises a dark brow. “You sure about that?”

Y/N narrows her eyes. “If you have something to say, say it.”

He tucks the book under his arm and steps closer, his presence strangely intense. “There were more of us,” he murmurs. “More ghosts than Wally let on.”

He didn’t let on anything…he never mentioned anything to her.

The room suddenly feels smaller. Y/N grips the edge of the shelf behind her, steadying herself. “You’re lying.”

He tilts his head, studying her reaction. “Am I?”

Before she can push further, the library doors creak open.

“Found you!”

Wally’s voice fills the space like sunlight breaking through a storm, and Y/N instinctively steps back from Xavier. Wally stands at the entrance, hands on his hips, breathless despite not needing air. His brown eyes flicker between her and Xavier, and something shifts in his expression.

Xavier merely smirks. “How predictable.”

Y/N glances between them. The air is thick with unspoken tension. Wally steps forward, placing himself subtly between her and Xavier. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to hide in a library, newbie.”

Y/N forces a smirk, ignoring the way her stomach twists. “I spent my whole life hiding in libraries. Should have known better.”

Wally chuckles, but his eyes don’t leave Xavier. “C’mon, I have something way more fun in mind.” He drapes an arm around Y/N’s shoulder, steering her toward the exit.

She lets him, but not without casting one last glance over her shoulder. Xavier is already flipping through the book again, seemingly unbothered.

As soon as they step into the hallway, Wally’s grip tightens just slightly. “What did he say to you?”

Y/N shrugs. “Not much. Just that you suck at hide and seek.”

Wally snorts, but she doesn’t miss the way his jaw tenses.

He throws on a grin, nudging her playfully. “Well, lucky for you, I’m much better at football.”

She raises a brow. “Is this your way of charming me?”

His grin doesn’t waver. “Is it working?”

She pretends to consider before sighing dramatically. “Fine, I’ll let you teach me. But I swear, if this is just an excuse to tackle me - ”

“Would I do that?” His eyes gleam with mischief, and she can’t help but laugh.

As they walk toward the field, though, the weight of Xavier’s words lingers in her mind. Wally is hiding something. And she’s going to find out what.

The football field is eerily quiet at night, the goalposts casting long, crooked shadows across the empty expanse. The sky is speckled with stars, but Y/N barely notices. Her focus is on Wally, who stands a few feet away, spinning a football between his hands like it’s second nature. The way he moves is effortless, like he was made for this, and for the first time, she wonders what it must have been like to watch him play when he was alive. No wonder he was so popular with the girls…she’d probably be secretly head over heels for him too.

She folds her arms, eyeing the ball warily. “Just so you know, I have terrible hand-eye coordination.”

“All the more reason to practice.” Wally grins, tossing the ball up and catching it with ease. “Come on, I’ll teach you.”

She exhales, rolling her shoulders before stepping forward. “Fine, but don’t expect a miracle.”

He passes her the ball, and she fumbles almost immediately, letting out a frustrated groan as it bounces off her fingers and onto the grass. Wally barks out a laugh, shaking his head.

“Wow.” He places a hand over his heart as if her lack of talent actually pains him. “That was… tragic.”

Y/N huffs, picking up the ball and tossing it back at him, badly. It veers off course, and he lunges to catch it before it hits the ground.

“Okay, okay, new plan,” Wally says, stepping closer. “You need to get a feel for the weight first.”

He moves behind her before she can protest, so close she can feel the ghost of his warmth, not that ghosts are supposed to be warm...But Wally is. His hands slide gently over her wrists, guiding her fingers around the ball. She swallows hard.

"Relax," he murmurs, his voice low, almost teasing. "You’re way too tense."

Easy for him to say. He’s not the one hyperaware of how close they are, how his chest nearly brushes against her back, how his breath tickles the side of her neck. Butterflies! Actual, fluttering, traitorous butterflies stir in her stomach.

"Okay," he continues, oblivious to the way her pulse would be racing if her heart still worked. "Hold it like this." His fingers brush hers, his grip steady as he adjusts her stance. "Now, when you throw, flick your wrist a little, just like that."

She follows his lead, but she barely registers the motion. All she can focus on is the way his voice dips when he speaks close to her ear, the way her skin tingles where he touches her. It’s ridiculous, really, she’s supposed to be dead. She shouldn’t be feeling like this.

Wally, seemingly unaware of her inner turmoil, steps back slightly, watching her attempt another throw. The ball leaves her hand smoother this time, though it still wobbles. He lets out an approving whistle.

"See? You’re getting there."

She turns her head to look at him, their faces suddenly inches apart. She hadn’t realized just how close he still was. Her nose nearly grazes his cheek, and she can see the gold flecks in his dark eyes under the field lights.

"Are we still talking about football?" she asks, her voice quieter than before.

For the first time, Wally hesitates. His smirk falters, just for a second, his eyes flickering down to her lips before he clears his throat and steps back, too fast, too obvious.

"Uh. Yeah. Totally," he says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Y/N nods slowly, letting the moment settle between them, the air thick with something unspoken. She tosses the ball up, catching it with a smirk of her own.

"Good," she says lightly, "because I was starting to think you were just looking for an excuse to hold my hand."

Wally groans, covering his face with his hands. "For someone who calls me a jock cliché, you seem to enjoy every bit of it."

Shrugging innocently, she heads to the bleachers. “Maybe I do.”

They both pretend not to notice the way their fingers still tingle, as Wally follows her. Taking a seat a few rows down from her, he glances up with uncertainty.

“You’re staring.”

Clearing her throat, she bites her lower lip and his cheeks darken at the sight and consequent thoughts immediately.

“Are you sure you’re not projecting?”

“Nope! You were definitely staring first. I think I might be winning you over”, he smirks victoriously. “No one can resist this charm!”

Wally stretches out on the bleachers, hands behind his head, while Y/N pulls her knees up, arms wrapped around them.

“I can’t believe I’m even entertaining this,” she mutters, shaking her head. “You’re eighteen.”

Wally turns to her, one brow arching. “I was eighteen.”

“Still are.”

“Physically.” He props himself up on an elbow, looking at her like she’s the one being unreasonable. “Mentally, I’ve attended high school like… five times since I died. Do you know how many books I’ve read? How many new things I’ve learned? I’m practically a walking encyclopedia.”

Y/N gives him a flat look. “You just called yourself a walking encyclopedia. That’s not really helping your case.”

Wally groans, flopping back dramatically. “Okay, fine. But seriously, I’m older than you if we’re counting ghost years. Which means technically, I'm the creepy one.”

She swats at him, nearly falling as she fails to reach him, which only makes him grin.

“That is not how that works.”

“Oh, but it does.” He sits up, suddenly animated, pointing at her like he’s won an argument. “You’re the one crushing on an older man, Y/N.”

Pulling herself down to one row above him, she purses her lips. “I am not crushing on you.”

“Yet.”

She shoves him, laughing despite herself. But in the quiet that follows, she wonders if maybe, just maybe, she already is.

The wind hums, slowly picking up speed. Y/N traces patterns in the dirty bleachers with her fingers. "I never really thought about love," she admits.

Wally rests his arms on his knees. "What do you mean?"

She shrugs. "I was always too busy. Making my parents proud, getting good grades, getting into a good school…College, residency, life. Then, well…" She gestures vaguely at their ghostly existence. “I’ve read so many romance books and watched an insane amount of romcoms, but I’ve never really experienced any of it. All the things I wanted, just…disappeared.”

Wally watches her carefully. "I never really thought about the future," he confesses. "I figured I’d always have more time. Turns out, I didn’t." Huffing, he frowns. “I never fell in love with anyone before, either. I got close once…I thought I’d have someone to share this with, but it didn’t work out.”

“This?” Was Xavier right? Did Wally lie to her?

“I mean life”, he blurts out. “I was pretty popular, had everything going for me. I mean, I like football and I was really good at it, but it’s not something I chose for myself. I played for my mom. She, uh, she really wanted me to go pro.”

Their eyes meet, something heavy passing between them. Y/N looks away first, cheeks turning a darker shade.

"Maybe we’ve got time now," Wally says softly.

She doesn’t answer. Wrapping her hand around his bicep, she leans her head on his shoulder.

Perhaps that says enough.

After a few days of teaching her to toss a football, Wally decided to give her a few ghostly lessons she could use in the spirit world…lessons he didn’t learn until a few years back.

The cafeteria is quiet in the early morning, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly as the lunch lady moves around the kitchen, setting out trays for the day. Outside, the hallways are still empty, but soon, the school will come alive with students; living ones.

Y/N leans against the doorframe, watching Wally carefully.

“Alright,” he says. “Basic ghost physics lesson: We can touch things, yeah, but what you’re grabbing isn’t really the item. It’s like…a duplicate. A placeholder. The real thing resets as soon as you take it.”

Y/N frowns. “So what’s the point?”

“The point,” he says, “is learning how to actually move something. Not just its copy. The trick is to focus. You have to latch onto the real thing, feel the weight, the texture, the way it connects to the world. And then, you gotta make it stay in your hands.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Sounds exhausting.”

“Oh, it is,” he says with a smirk. “That’s why we’re gonna make it interesting.”

Her eyes narrow. “Go on.”

“First one to steal something without it resetting in the living world wins.”

Y/N snorts. “You’re on.”

They creep inside, the scent of fresh bread and coffee lingering in the air. The lunch lady hums to herself as she unpacks a crate of produce, oblivious to the two ghosts slipping past the counter.

Y/N eyes a bag of chips, reaching for it carefully. She reminds herself of what Wally said—feel the weight, the texture. Her fingers close around the bag, and for a moment, she swears she has it. But as soon as she pulls it away, a perfect replica flickers into her grip while the real bag remains untouched on the counter, as if she never moved it at all.

She curses under her breath.

Wally, a few feet away, is eyeing a bright red apple. He exhales slowly, his expression shifting into something serious, focused. His fingers tighten around the fruit, and for a long second, nothing happens. Then, ever so subtly, the apple shifts. The real one. He rolls the apple between his fingers like it’s the easiest thing in the world. It isn’t. She knows that much.

Y/N watches as he lifts it smoothly off the counter. The spot where it sat stays empty.

No regeneration. No reset.

Her jaw drops. “No way.”

Wally grins, triumphantly spinning the apple once more before gripping it solidly. “Way.” He winks at her, tossing the apple up and catching it effortlessly.

Y/N huffs. “Alright, let me try again.”

She refocuses, staring down the bag of chips like it’s personally offended her. She presses her fingers against it, feeling the crinkle of the plastic, the weight of the contents inside. She focuses on making this one, the real one, stay in her grip.

For a second, it works.

The bag lifts, no reset in sight.

Her heart…well, not her heart, but something inside her buzzes in excitement.

Then, without warning, the real bag flickers back into place, and she’s left holding its copy.

“Damn it!” she whisper shouts.

Wally chuckles. “Not bad for a first try. Here, watch.”

He moves toward the stack of trays by the counter, placing a hand on the top one. This time, Y/N studies him closely. She sees the way his brow furrows, the way his shoulders tense as if he’s physically exerting himself.

The tray lifts.

Barely, just an inch, but it lifts.

Then, just as suddenly, it wavers, slipping right back into place. A second later, the tray duplicates into his hands, proving he lost his grip on the real thing.

He groans. “Ugh. See? Even I can’t do it every time.”

Y/N tilts her head. “And yet, you got the apple?”

“Beginner’s luck,” he jokes. “Or maybe I’m just better than you.”

She flicks his ear. “Cheater.”

“Ow,” he grumbles, rubbing the spot. “It’s called strategy.”

“You and your strategies.”

“Hey, you’ll get there,” he says, tossing the apple once before taking a victorious bite. “But until then… I win.”

Y/N glares playfully but secretly, she’s itching to try again. And she will. Because if Wally can do it, then so can she.

“Okay, so…What do you want as your reward?”

Raising his eyebrows, Wally wets his lips. For a moment, his gaze flickers lower, to her supple, parted lips but he quickly averts his eyes to the bags of chips in her hands. “I’ll settle for some chips if you’re willing to share?”

Narrowing her eyes at him, she studies his nervous smile. “Sure. If that’s what you really want?”

Clearing his throat, he nods. “Y-yeah! I love chips!”

Once they devoured the chips, the crowded halls sent them into hiding. Being around the students wasn't enjoyable, for either of them. They waited for the sunset, agreeing to relax on the bleachers again.

Slinging an arm around her shoulders, Wally and Y/N head outside. As they pass by the library’s grand, dust-coated windows, a strange sensation prickles at the back of her neck. Like being watched. Her gaze flickers to the glass, and there he is.

Xavier.

His electric blue eyes are locked onto her, sharp and unreadable, framed by the dim glow of the emergency exit light. The sight of him standing so still, almost blending into the shadows, sends a cold shiver rippling down her spine. Her breath catches, a quiet gasp escaping before she can stop it.

Beside her, Wally tenses. “Are you okay?” Wally furrows his brows, pulling away ever so slightly. His voice is softer now, laced with concern. “I’m sorry I jus –“

“It’s not that”, she cuts him off quickly, shaking her head. Wally hesitates, watching her closely, but the moment she realizes he’s about to pull away entirely, she forces herself to speak.  “I didn’t mind your arm around me”, she clarifies. If anything his touch is warm, grounding. She doesn’t mind it…it feels nice, comforting.

His eyes brighten, relief chasing away the panic. “Yeah?” A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, tentative, as if he worries showing too much happiness would scare her away.

“What was it then?” he asks, and she can feel his eyes on her, searching for an answer beyond what she’s willing to give.

Shrugging, she averts her gaze. “I’m just a little cold, I guess.”

Lie.

Wally might not know everything about her yet, but he knows her. And he knows when she’s holding something back.

Taking off his jacket, he drapes it over her. “Here you go”, he murmurs.

Her breath hitches as he cups her cheek, the pad of his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. His touch is careful, as if he’s afraid she might pull away. She doesn’t. “Are you sure there’s nothing else you want to tell me?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper.

She leans into his touch without thinking, the warmth of his palm spreading through her like the first rays of morning sunlight. For a moment, it’s easy to forget the eerie gaze lingering behind glass, easy to forget the weight of all the things she doesn’t say.

Her lips curl into a small smile. “You worry too much,” she tells him and he’s not entirely sure if he should just drop this or not, but if she’s not willing to talk to him about it, there’s not much he can do.

“When you’re involved, I’d rather worry too much than not worry enough,” Wally admits.

The sincerity in his voice makes her chest tighten. Here he is, the sweetest man she’s ever met and she’s doubting him. She could just ask him about it, but what if he lies to her face? She’d never be able to relax around him again. She’d lose him and she can’t lose him…he’s all she has.

“Thank you. For caring…and for the jacket.”

“You wear it better than I do.”

Y/N raises a brow. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“I doubt that,” he says, leaning in with a teasing glint in his eyes. She scoffs, making him laugh. Whenever he flirts, Y/N scoffs in response yet she never leaves his side. Scoffing might be her love language and if his theory is true, Wally will gladly spend the rest of eternity listening to her scoff at his cheesy pick-up lines.

Relishing in the light pink tint upon her cheeks, Wally offers her his hand. “Would you like to dance with me?”

Squinting at his question, she inhales sharply. “Dance…to what?”

“We don’t need music to dance,” he smirks. “Live a little.”

“I’m literally dead,” she reminds him. “As are you.”

“And yet we’re here.”

She hesitates, then places her hand in his. He pulls her close, guiding her in slow circles. Their bodies brush, lingering a little too long.

"You’re not bad at this," she murmurs.

He smirks. "Don’t sound so surprised."

She rolls her eyes, but her heart isn’t in it. Not when his thumb traces small circles on the back of her hand.

“You always roll your eyes at me,” he states. “Why is that?”

“How honest do you want me to be?”

“Brutally,” he replies instantly.

Drawing in a deep breath, she can’t help the smile spreading across her lips. “You make me nervous.”

“Oh.”

“In a good way”, she admits. “In a way I’m not sure I’m ready to accept yet.”

Grinning, Wally nods. “Okay. I can work with that.”

Rolling her eyes – another part of her love language. Wally won’t forget that anytime soon.

Erasing the distance between their bodies, she leans her head on his chest, her arms wrapping around him. She closes her eyes, inhaling deeply – committing his scent to memory. He smells like laundry detergent and freshly mowed grass…clean and fresh.

Pressing a soft kiss on top of her head, Wally couldn’t suppress his smile even if he tried. He’s happy. For the first time in a long time, he’s truly happy. Humming a soft tune, he continues swaying their bodies in this slow dance, cherishing every moment they spend close for you never know when everything might change.

He learned that lesson the hard way.

[djarins-cyare]

I thought it would be harder to pick and then I saw "Be-All And Endor pegging bonus scene" and anyway here I am. 😍

Ahaha, I hoped someone would ask about this one from my WIP folder! 🧡💚

This is set several months after the main story ends. My plan was – and still is (eventually) – to write some random scenes from Din and Reader’s future in lieu of a sequel.

Several readers commented they would’ve liked to have read the scene in the final chapter where Reader tells Din to go shower and meet her in their cabin to cross off another item on their “things that’ll happen eventually” list, which suggests some type of ass play for Din, based on an earlier comment in chapter 37 where he indicates he’d be interested in trying it.

As usual, the smut slowed me down when I started drafting it. Honestly, I don’t think I know enough about pegging to adequately describe it, so I put it on the back burner until I could do sufficient research.

That said, when I got your ask, I went back and checked how much I had already written, and I realised I actually have a decent-length scene leading up to the smut… it just fades to black (again) when they’re about to start.

So, Kate, since it’s you and you definitely deserve a reward for all your cheerleading of Be-All (for which I’m forever grateful), I’ve decided to give you not just a snippet but the whole of the 1k+ word scene that I’ve got so far. I’m not posting it on AO3 yet – I’ll do that later once I’ve written the second half of it and converted the AO3 version into a series – so for now, please enjoy this Tumblr exclusive bonus content!

⚠️ Please note the following contains heavy spoilers for anyone who hasn’t read the original story!

Be-All And Endor Bonus Chapter (excerpt): The Solace

Rating: Mature (18+) Pairing: Din Djarin x Reader Word count: 1,150 Tags/warnings: References to sex, anal play, pegging (nothing explicit); brief reference to a past attempted SA; the dildo is referred to as a cock; some swearing and explicit language; one (1) Mando’a insult

You find the toy tucked away in the back of your drawer, hidden from prying eyes for weeks. Even though Din knows you acquired it before leaving Glavis, you’d insisted on keeping it a surprise until you could finally try it out.

But things had got in the way.

His painful Darksaber injury, worse than Nantoogen’s concussive blaster bolt on Endor. His discovery of that mythosaur marker in Kolzoc Alley, faded and ominous. His bitter disappointment at reaching the lowest level of the substrata and finding it empty. The thrill of uncovering hastily painted coordinates that revealed his tribe’s new location.

Just like that, your fun and games were on hold.

In the weeks since, everything that’s happened has overwhelmed you both – physically and emotionally – for better and for worse. The covert, the recognition of your union, your shiny new helmet… Din’s exile.

The Armorer’s final words and your defiant retort still ring tragically in your ears almost a day later, as if your helmet has trapped them there:

“You have not yet sworn the Creed; therefore, you are not an apostate. You may stay.”

“But I have sworn riduurok to Din Djarin and the gai bal manda to Grogu; therefore, I am a wife and mother. I am loyal to my clan and could never abandon them for a tribe that exiles one of its own despite his wish to atone. You taught me that loyalty and solidarity are the Way, and I will honour that. So, I thank you for your offer, but nariti lo’shebs’ul.”

You can still feel the sting of tears on your cheeks, still see Din’s dejected body stiffen as you told his alor to shove her offer up her ass. Amid the grief, you sensed a spike of shock – even pride – flicker within him for a fleeting moment.

Now back in hyperspace’s safe and superluminal embrace, you both need the relief of the release you’re about to partake in. But he needs it more.

He still hasn’t really talked. Not properly – not like you know he can. He’s been barely responsive, stiff, twitchy, and every subtle quiver speaks of his deep turmoil. Apostate. It’s an awful label. His inner storm has been yours to share through your connection, but you’ve resisted. You saw his need for solitude on Anantapar, so you’d granted him several hours alone in the cockpit – helmet on.

After several failed check-ins for food and comfort, it was to this suggestion alone that Din had responded. Once you’d assured him that Grogu was asleep in his cubicle, he’d immediately risen from his chair, awaiting instructions. You’d told him to shower and to meet you in the cabin without his helmet, where you’d unveil your purchase from Glavis.

Now, with a determined breath, you face the final hurdle: figuring out how to attach the damn thing.

You’d liked the look of the ‘strapless’ versions, but the vendor had advised that a strap would be best. More stability and a better experience for your husband, she’d insisted. Fewer distractions for you while it’s his turn, she’d winked. Fair point. You’re not sure you could concentrate solely on his pleasure with something nestled inside your pussy, rubbing your G-spot to distraction.

It takes a few minutes of fiddling, but you successfully secure the harness. It’s actually more comfortable than it looks.

You turn back to the drawer and run your fingers along the dildo’s length, marvelling at the silky texture. It cost a kriffing fortune, so it’d better be worth the credits. A snort escapes you at the thought that Nantoogen’s bounty reward paid for this. It’s almost poetic that the man who tried to sexually assault you has now purchased you your very own cock.

Once it’s nestled securely within the harness, you spend several minutes pacing around the cabin, watching it bob along in front of you. Kriff, you’re oscillating between nervous, curious, and aroused. It makes you feel… powerful.

You and Din have an established sexual dynamic, though, and he’s always in control, even when he’s seemingly not. He has also previously rejected the idea of using toys in the bedroom, fully confident that (for you, at least) he can do better with his own dick. But as much as he’s enjoyed taking your fingers in his ass on occasion, he’d eventually agreed that something more substantial would guarantee him a more gratifying time.

Given his general dislike of sex aids, you’d asked the vendor for a realistic dildo to match your skin tone, especially since you know he’s been attracted to men in the past. Hopefully, this will help him feel less like he’s having something plastic shoved up him and more like he’s enjoying someone’s body.

With the trusty Tatooine lube at the ready on the nightstand, you strip off everything but your bra and your new appendage, then perch on the edge of the bed and wait.

You’re so accustomed to every rattle on the Crest by now that even his bare feet can’t hide his ascent up the ladder, and your pulse quickens in readiness. You stand, wanting to present him with the full spectacle upon entry to the cabin.

Din steps through the door as it slides open, but he stops dead the second he catches sight of you. His uncovered gaze plummets straight down to your cock, eyes widening in surprise, brows rising in tandem with a sharp inhale.

He swallows, staring… staring…

You gulp, hoping… hoping…

And then you see it – the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth. It’s nothing compared to the wide grin you’re used to seeing on your husband’s face, but you reach out with your mind, trying to decipher that almost-smile. There’s still a heavy soup of grief, but there’s more now, too. Intrigue, anticipation… a hint of excitement. Sexual excitement.

“Do you like it?” you venture, gently steering him toward those positive feelings.

He swallows again and nods, still staring. “It looks… real.” Taking a careful step forward, he comes within touching distance yet still only uses his eyes. “I like how real it looks.”

A rush of relief pulses through you. Those credits were well spent.

With a grin, you comment, “Well, it doesn’t have balls, but I don’t need those to fuck you. My metaphorical ones are big enough.”

Din’s eyes finally rise to meet yours as he steps even closer, the smirk on his lips now more obvious, and you catch another spike of his pride over how you handled your exit from the covert. “I fucking love you,” he declares, pressing a hard, grateful kiss to your lips before pulling back abruptly. “Where do you want me?”

“On your knees, on the bed,” you command, knowing full well that this is an illusion of power he’s giving you. “I wanna see that tight little ass in the air.”

His smirk grows. “Yes, Sir.”

Mando’a translations, in case they aren’t obvious:

riduurok [REE-doo-rok] – marriage agreement

gai bal manda [guy bal MAN-dah] – adoption ceremony (lit. “name and soul”)

nariti lo’shebs’ul [nah-REE-tee loh-SHEBS-ool] – shove it up your ass

Notes:

“Trusty Tatooine lube” is a reference to the scene in the final chapter that I mentioned above – Reader picked some up before they left, which is why she suggested that particular activity as soon as they’d left the planet.

In case anyone’s forgotten, Din tells Reader in chapter 30 (after their shower sex) that whatever sex aids she used before he came along have no place in their relationship, indicating his general dislike of sex toys. I don’t think he’s a prude, but this version of Din has a preconceived notion that he needs to be the best lover he can be without any ‘cheating’. Reader could easily talk him into using toys on her, of course, simply by educating him a little better – just as she’s done regarding other things he’s been somewhat naive about. But here, she decides to respect his prior avoidance and give him an experience that feels as ‘real’ as possible. Perhaps this will help him realise that toys might be fun for her, too!

Reader also refers to having “seen his need for solitude on Anantapar”, which, as a reminder, refers to when he had a teensy bit of an emotional breakdown at the tail end of their honeymoon in chapter 38.

I adapted the lovely insulting Mando’a phrase from a previously existing phrase in Karen Travis’s novel ‘Order 66’ – Kovid lo’shebs’ul narit – which is supposed to mean ‘shove your head up your ass’, but the grammar is a little off. So I put the verb in the correct place and properly conjugated it, then removed the word for ‘head’ (it doesn’t need an object as she’s just said the word “offer”, so it’s clear what she’s talking about).

Holy crap, I’m scared now I’ve put this up. This is the first new Be-All content since July 2023! 😭 Fun timing, though, because I have another two Be-All bonus posts coming out in the next few days as the fic is about to hit a milestone, so stay tuned!

Permanent tag list lovelies:

@bergamote-catsandbooks @chiyo13 @cw80831 @finalgirl-96 @harriedandharassed

@howhighwepose @kirsteng42 @leithatnight @lilac-boo @lucienofthelakes

@pigeonmama @punkygreeny @roughdaysandart @sadisticheskiy @samarys

@syd-djarin @wrathkitty

Please feel free to JOIN MY TAG LIST

➤ MAIN MASTERLIST

[pukefactory]

Can we have a Goob X Fem!reader who is Literally Serious

Like this the silly and cute goober and his scary badass girlfriend

✦•┈๑⋅⋯ FROM THE INSIDE ⋯⋅๑��•✦

-ˋˏ Summary: A compilation of headcanons featuring Goob and a serious female reader

-ˋˏ Character(s): Goob (Dandy’s World)

-ˋˏ Reader Pronouns: She/Her

-ˋˏ Genre: Headcanons, Fluff, SFW

-ˋˏ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

✄ Goob adores you more than anything, even if most toons are too intimidated to understand why. You’re strong, serious, and utterly unshakable—qualities that would scare off most, but Goob thinks you’re the coolest person in the world. He talks about you constantly, boasting to anyone who will listen about how “tough and awesome” his girlfriend is.

✄ Your presence alone is enough to make most toons straighten up, but Goob is entirely unaffected. While others tread carefully around you, afraid of making a wrong move, Goob remains his usual, bubbly self. He still clings to your arm, calls you adorable pet names, and beams at you like you personally hung the stars.

✄ He’s convinced that you’re secretly soft on the inside, even if you rarely show it. Every time you help him with something—whether it’s fixing his fur, handing him something without him asking, or pulling him away from danger—he dramatically gasps and declares, “See! I knew you cared!” You roll your eyes every time, but the slight smirk you give him is all the confirmation he needs.

✄ Despite your serious nature, Goob insists on keeping you involved in his goofy antics. He’ll randomly place a party hat on your head, draw little smiley faces on your arm with marker, or challenge you to a game of “try not to smile” (which you always win, much to his dismay). Still, he never stops trying to crack your stoic exterior.

✄ Goob is painfully aware that you could obliterate anyone who threatens him, and he loves it. If another toon so much as teases him too harshly, he immediately hides behind you, peeking over your shoulder with a smug grin. The moment you fix the offender with a cold, deadpan stare, they quickly back off, and Goob is left giggling about how “My girlfriend is the scariest ever! I love her so much!”

✄ Your dynamic confuses the entire Gardenview cast. No one understands how a chaotic, hug-loving goofball ended up with someone as intense and serious as you. Tisha swears you’re just waiting for the perfect moment to betray him, while Rodger keeps asking if you’re sure you even like Goob. Goob, of course, is oblivious to all of it—he just knows you’re his and that’s all that matters.

✄ You rarely initiate physical affection, but Goob has a sixth sense for when you need it. He never asks; he just appears at your side and wraps his arms around you, knowing you won’t push him away. His warmth is comforting, even if you’d never admit it out loud.

✄ Goob is one of the only toons who isn’t afraid to poke fun at you. While most are too intimidated to joke around, Goob playfully mimics your serious expressions, giving his best (terrible) impression of your monotone voice. “ I fear nothing. I am so cool.” The first time he did this, you nearly threw him across the room. Now, you just sigh and flick his forehead.

✄ When Goob has nightmares, he always crawls into bed with you. He’s a little hesitant, knowing you’re not the overly affectionate type, but he doesn’t have to worry. You don’t say anything, but you let him snuggle up against your side, one hand resting protectively on his back. You may not be expressive, but Goob knows he’s safe with you.

✄ No matter how much of a “badass” you are, Goob refuses to let you be all work and no fun. He drags you into silly activities, whether it’s playing hide-and-seek, building pillow forts, or making cookies shaped like little frowny faces “just for you.” Even if you pretend to be annoyed, the fact that you never actually say no tells him everything he needs to know.

[legacygirlingreen]

"Spitfire" (A flashback) || Captain Rex x OFC Mae || Clone x OC Week 2025 Event

Pairing: Captain Rex x OFC Mae Killough (Bio HERE)

Word Count: 4.9k

Rating: SFW

Warnings: Medical related touching over armor (seriously nothing kinky about it but clone men's mind may have wandered); slightly suggestive comment; mentions of clone rights (or the lack there of); mentions of deaths on Ryloth

Author's Note: Hi there! I am really excited to participate in the first day of @clonexocweek with a little flashback for my OC Mae! Thank you so much for organizing this event and making all the banners! This was a silly idea that came to me, wondering what if Rex and Mae had crossed paths previously without realizing it. So this is a technical 'first meeting' to provide a bit more weight to the actual first time they interact, found HERE. I also thought it would be fun to write from Cody’s POV because… well we need more of the Commander as far as I’m concerned. I hope you all enjoy, and as a reminder, this ship exists within a larger AU by @leenathegreengirl. If you haven't seen her work, seriously go check it out. It's got Clone x OCs all over it with so many original characters! ~ M

Mae & Rex Masterlist || Chronological Next Work || Masterlist

Fire and brimstone is what Cody would have described it as. He couldn’t recall ever having encountered a civilian so furious—at least, not one who wasn’t a military officer. The Jedi didn’t get angry. His brothers, too, typically kept their emotions in check, controlled by discipline and experience. It was only the occasional politician or separatist who displayed their anger so openly, and even then, it was often driven by pride or ideology.

But the small woman in front of him? Her fury was unlike anything he had ever witnessed. She hobbled forward, her movements sharp and determined, though it was clear that every step caused her pain. Despite his recommendation to let him carry her bag—one she clutched tightly, almost desperately—she insisted on managing it herself. And that’s when it hit him. He realized, for the first time, that he had never truly known what real, raw anger looked like—at least not from someone like her. Anger that burned hot and fierce, yet controlled and purposeful. 

When Cody had been sent to the transport ship in the hangar upon its arrival with the fleet, he hadn’t expected to be tasked with retrieving a civilian. He’d assumed it would be another officer, or perhaps someone of higher importance. But General Kenobi had given him clear instructions: find the civilian and bring her to the bridge.

The moment his eyes fell upon her, however, all thoughts of formalities disappeared. The unmistakable markings of the RAR uniform were marred with the signs of a long, grueling journey. The weariness in her eyes, the sheer exhaustion etched into her face, told him everything he needed to know. This woman had likely faced horrors beyond comprehension, and yet here she was—alive. A miracle, really.

Her chest was tightly wrapped in surgical dressing, and her arm was bound to her torso by a makeshift sling, but despite the injury, she moved with a sense of urgency, as if time was slipping away from her. There was no hesitation in her step, only resolve.

She hardly spared him more than a glance and brief exchange of plesantries, rushing to push past him and make her way toward the leaders, the need to speak with them evident in her every movement. When he reached for her bag to assist her, she slapped his hand away with a sharp motion. The action was swift and unyielding, and a small part of Cody understood why. She didn’t want to appear weak or helpless. She wanted to prove she could handle herself, even in her condition.

It wasn’t a battle worth having, so Cody backed off. He wasn’t about to argue with someone clearly determined to maintain control over what little she had left. Besides, if her resolve was anything like the fury in her eyes, he knew better than to push her.

As he walked alongside her, occasionally calling out directions as they navigated the twisting corridors, Cody couldn’t help but notice how her hair unraveled from the bun that had struggled to contain its chaos. Strands of bright red tumbled free, a striking contrast to the sharp anger burning in her eyes. The color, vivid and bold, mirrored the fiery intensity of her emotions—a fury that seemed to consume her from the inside out.

Cody had heard word that the 501st would soon be joining their fleet. It was all part of some reckless scheme cooked up by Master Skywalker and his padawan, an ill-conceived plan to push their main ship through the blockade by sheer force. Cody could already feel the tension in the air, the impending chaos that would follow.

A part of him longed to be down in the hangar with his brothers-in-arms, to be facing that challenge alongside them. But instead, here he was, walking beside a woman who seemed ready to tear his head off at any moment. Her anger was palpable, radiating from her like a storm waiting to break. Maybe, just maybe, he'd catch up with Rex later—after Skywalker had barreled through the blockade, of course, and before his own men would be sent to the surface to deal with the aftermath.

Cody could already sense how intense the invasion was going to be. The Twi’lek had endured horrors that were almost beyond comprehension. The stories of Master Di’s fate, along with the remnants of the Republic's forces, painted a grim picture. Yet, somehow, this woman—this survivor—was still standing. It was a miracle in itself. If anyone could withstand such brutality and emerge on the other side, it was someone like her.

“We can slow down. There's no need to rush—”

“I’m fine,” she snapped, her voice cold and resolute. Her eyes remained fixed ahead, her breath labored, but she pushed forward without faltering. Cody didn’t press the issue. If she was stubborn enough to ignore the pain of her injury, who was he to challenge it?

They continued down the hallway, and soon they arrived at the door to the bridge. Cody braced himself for what he anticipated would be a tense confrontation—an explosive exchange with the sole survivor of the last deployment to Ryloth. He understood her anger. Waking up to find yourself discarded, abandoned off-world—it wasn’t a feeling he would wish on anyone. Still, part of him was curious: what made a natural-born, someone with a choice, willing to join this cause? He and his brothers had been bred for war, for duty. She, however, had chosen it.

The door slid open, and Cody spoke just as they entered, his voice steady.

“Generals—”

The woman remained silent at his side as they approached the holotable, where the strategy for the upcoming invasion was already unfolding.

“Cody, right on schedule.” General Kenobi acknowledged him, turning back to his data with a nod. “We’ll need to start preparing the men for deployment soon. Skywalker’s forces managed to breach the blockade, and they’re routing here now. Once they arrive, they’ll establish a protective command perimeter around the planet for the invasion.” Kenobi paused, his expression shifting as he turned toward the woman. With a brief gesture toward another officer, he resumed his transmission with the leadership on Coruscant.

Cody watched as several Jedi joined the conversation via hologram. Master Yoda’s image appeared, and the wise, ancient figure’s gaze landed on the woman standing beside him.

“Arrived, to provide intel on locating the Twi’lek survivors on Ryloth, I see.” Yoda’s voice, raspy but commanding, filled the room.

Cody saw the woman’s nostrils flare, the faintest sign of irritation. Yet, with a controlled breath, she nodded her acknowledgment.

“I can only provide information from before my...unwanted departure from the planet,” she began, but was swiftly cut off by Master Windu’s firm voice.

“The intel you offer will be sufficient, citizen. Any information you can provide might aid our forces in locating Cham’s fighters, especially since the final stand of the 303 was unsuccessful. Tragic, but unfortunately, that sentiment is becoming all too common in this conflict,” Windu continued, his tone flat and dismissive.

At that moment, Cody could feel the woman’s restraint snap, and he knew an eruption was imminent.

“Tragic? That’s all you have to say about it?” Her voice was sharp, laced with a fury that Cody could feel emanating from her. “I thought the Jedi were supposed to be compassionate?” She hissed, the words like a venomous strike. With a swift motion, she dropped her bag onto the durasteel floor of the bridge, the loud thud reverberating through the room, even reaching the transmission coms.

“We are,” Windu replied, seemingly unbothered. “As I was saying—”

“Your definition of compassion and mine are very different,” she cut him off, standing taller, her posture rigid. “What happened to those men—those brave men whom you left to die, I might add—was more than tragic. It was unimaginable.” The words were sharp, every syllable laced with grief and anger. Cody could see the tension in her shoulders, her jaw clenched as if she were holding back more than she could afford.

Mace Windu’s voice came again, but his words only fueled the fire. “Well, it’s a good thing we’re now working to bring freedom to Ryloth.”

“So now, this invasion is worth your attention.” she spat, her voice cold and full of contempt. “Not the countless rotations we spent pleading for reinforcements?” She slammed her palm down on the edge of the table, her eyes now locked on Kenobi as if seeking a Jedi with more understanding than Windu or the others on the Council. From Cody’s experience, Kenobi was certainly more empathetic, more willing to listen—but he doubted even his leader could calm the fury that radiated from this woman.

Kenobi’s tone softened, his voice steady and measured. “What happened on Ryloth was unfortunate, and I understand that what you and your forces endured was deeply upsetting. My condolences for the RAR forces you lost. Perhaps, by helping us locate the Twi’lek freedom fighters, their sacrifices may not have been in vain.”

The woman seemed to pause, her gaze lingering on Kenobi, as if weighing his words. For a brief moment, she appeared to consider his compassionate approach—but it wasn’t enough to quell her anger.

“Kenobi, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice tight but curious. Cody watched as Kenobi nodded. “When was the last time you actually spoke to your men?” she continued, her tone sharp. “I’m not talking about battle plans or troop logistics. I mean, when was the last time you took the time to ask how they’re doing? I know you Jedi have...a sense of things, and I don’t pretend to understand it. But I’m a doctor. I know when people are hurting, when they need more than just orders and missions. And I see that the Jedi could be doing more for the men who fight these battles for you. The RAR may be disbanded, and those of us like me cast aside, but the disregard your order has for these men—it’s obvious. And it angers me.”

Her words were like a punch to the gut, and Cody felt the weight of her anger and her pain. The raw emotion she carried in her voice made it clear: this wasn’t just about the battle, or the cause. It was about the men who fought, and the people who had been forgotten. She wasn’t angry at him, Cody realized. She was angry for him.

For a moment, silence settled over the room, as Kenobi and the others absorbed her words. Cody stood in stunned disbelief. He never imagined he would witness Obi-Wan—of all people—being the target of such a verbal barrage, let alone one that left his leader looking uncomfortably guilty. The transmission from Master Windu cut off abruptly, as if something in her words had struck a chord with the Jedi Master.

That’s a first, Cody thought to himself.

Next came the transmission from the Jedi at the temple. Master Yoda’s solemn image appeared, his expression heavy with thought. “Much to discuss, we shall have. Concerns for the clone army—an important notion. Hear them, you will, Obi-Wan,” he said, his voice calm yet grave, before disappearing from the feed as well.

Cody glanced around the bridge. It felt as though time had frozen, everyone holding their breath, waiting for Kenobi’s response. He knew exactly why. His brothers, like him, were curious to hear how their Jedi leader would address the woman’s accusations.

It wasn’t that Cody felt neglected—overall, he knew that most of the Jedi respected their ideas and military strategies. But, in some ways, she wasn’t wrong in her assessment. It was difficult to express these feelings without coming across as ungrateful. The Jedi, for all their wisdom and kindness, weren’t always attentive to the needs of the clones. They were kinder than the Kaminoans, certainly, but that didn’t mean they truly understood or took the time to listen to the men who fought and bled for them.

“Go on,” Obi-Wan said, carefully choosing his words to avoid provoking another outburst.

“Commander Cody, may I see your helmet?” she asked, turning toward him. Without hesitation, he nodded and passed the helmet to her, his fingers brushing the cool surface as her delicate hand circled the rim.

“Have you ever wondered how the armor these men wear truly functions? Or how impractical it can be?” she asked, holding the helmet out toward the Jedi. Cody was taken aback by her understanding. She seemed to grasp the very complaints he often muttered under his breath to the new troopers—that over time, they would adapt to the constricting armor and the limited visibility through the viewport.

All eyes turned to Kenobi as he took the helmet in his hands, turning it over thoughtfully before peering inside. He paused for a moment, then, without a word, slipped it over his head. Cody’s chest tightened. He couldn’t help but watch, his breath catching as Obi-Wan’s shoulders sagged for an instant. The Jedi’s head tilted slightly to the right before he slowly removed the helmet, a solemn expression on his face.

“Excuse me, Sir,” she said, turning toward his Lieutenant. “What’s your name, Trooper?” Her voice, to Cody’s surprise, was calm—soothing even—something he had not expected from her given the way she’d stormed aboard the ship ready to reign hell.

“Uh, Waxer, Ma’am,” came the stammered response, as Cody watched Waxer blush bright red, his helmet tucked awkwardly under his arm. The trooper stood straighter, visibly flustered by her attention.

“Waxer, would you mind if I demonstrated some of the challenges I’ve noticed with the standard armor, from a medical perspective?” Her tone was respectful, almost measured. Cody’s brow furrowed. He’d never experienced anyone openly seeking consent before touching his men. Even the rare doctors who weren’t his brothers in arms simply did what they had to without question. Not that he minded—their intent was always to help—but there was something about the way she asked that felt different, more deliberate, and somehow more considerate.

Waxer nodded, his face still flushed but giving a stiff acknowledgment. All around them, the rest of the troopers on the bridge seemed to lean in, their attention drawn to the unexpected display.

With quiet confidence, she reached forward and gently lifted Waxer’s arm, showing the Jedi where the armor's design created limitations in movement.

“Now, as you can see here,” she continued, her voice unwavering, “the gap between the codpiece and the thigh armor is so minimal that if you try to move your leg too far, you risk cutting off circulation or causing discomfort. It’s a design flaw that’s hard to overlook.”

She then lifted his leg with one hand, her fingers careful around the back of his knee, and Waxer’s eyes widened. Cody, who had been watching intently, had to suppress a laugh. He could see the poor trooper’s discomfort—this close to his manhood, and she, so composed, going about her demonstration like it was nothing.

Cody could barely contain himself, but he knew better than to let the laughter slip. Instead, he focused on her point, silently agreeing with the doctor. She was showing, not just telling, and doing so in a way that drew every eye on the bridge. There was no mistaking that her expertise was being absorbed by every man in the room, even if her demonstration was a little...uncomfortable for the trooper involved. The men had limited experiences with women, especially one this pretty. Cody internally realized this was going to be the talk of their platoon for ages. 

“Waxer, could you explain how physically taxing the armor becomes during extended periods of wear, particularly when sitting down?” she asked, gently lowering his leg. Obi-Wan’s gaze shifted toward his trooper, and Cody couldn’t help but watch in anticipation. It wasn’t quite an interrogation, but he knew the woman’s intentions were for the benefit of the men. Despite understanding that, he was grateful she hadn’t singled him out, instead choosing to address his Lieutenant.

“It’s not unbearable, Ma’am,” Waxer replied, his voice awkward, his hand reaching to the back of his neck as though uncomfortable with the attention.

“But the strain becomes tiresome, doesn’t it? Surely something lighter would improve your functionality,” she pressed, her eyes encouraging him to speak freely, to be honest.

“It does get heavy, especially at the end of a long day. Sitting is painful, yes,” Waxer admitted quietly, the weariness in his voice unmistakable.

Obi-Wan’s expression remained unreadable, though Cody could tell he was considering her words with an intensity he rarely showed. The woman’s pace slowed, the point seemingly made. She turned toward Obi-Wan, her tone becoming more solemn.

“I know the Senate views this army as little more than a tool, a collection of military assets,” she said, her voice steady but laced with a deep sadness. “But they are men. They deserve respect. They deserve someone who will listen to their concerns without the threat of decommissioning. I’ve spent enough time with them to understand that they rarely voice complaints, and certainly not to the Jedi.” Her words trailed off, her thoughts seemingly taking her to a darker place for a moment.

Cody hadn’t met the clones she’d served with, but he’d heard whispers of their final stand. The conditions on Ryloth had been so dire that the Senate had ordered all RAR workers off the field, dissolving their contracts with frightening swiftness. He didn’t want to dwell on the horrors she’d been forced to endure, but a part of him felt a warmth in his chest at the concern she expressed. She might have been removed from the conflict, but something in her wanted to ensure that, in the end, something good was done for the men she had served alongside. He could respect that, perhaps even understand it better than he’d like to admit.

“Doctor,” Obi-Wan said, his voice calm, waiting for her to properly introduce herself as she repositioned herself beside Cody at the table.

“Killough,” she replied, her voice cool. “Though I’ve neglected that surname for so long to avoid unwanted associations… You may call me Mae.” Her words hung in the air, a subtle hint of something deeper beneath the surface. Cody recalled the name she’d given him in the hangar. It wasn’t the same name, he was certain of it. For a moment, he couldn’t place where he’d heard it before, but the look on the General’s face told him it was significant. There was an unspoken conversation that passed between Mae and Obi-Wan, something quiet yet powerful, before the tension seemed to dissipate as quickly as it had come.

“I see,” Obi-Wan said thoughtfully, his gaze unwavering. “The Jedi do not hold attachment to their origins, only to who we become. A sentiment we share.” He paused, stroking his beard for a moment before continuing. “Well, Mae, if you prepare a report, I’d be more than willing to share it with the Council—and perhaps with a contact of mine in the Senate. We’ll see what can be done.”

Mae said nothing at first, her eyes scanning the holographic map displayed before them, detailing the planet’s surface. She seemed deep in thought, her mind focused. Finally, she spoke again, her voice measured. “Cham’s forces were fleeing through the canyons, hoping to reach a set of caves to hide from the Separatists. They were traveling with women and children. I wasn’t told the exact location, but…” She zoomed in on a quadrant, her finger tracing a specific area. “I believe they were near this sector.”

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. “Thank you. Compassion is in rare supply these days. Your concerns will be passed along, Doctor.” He hesitated for a moment, his words softening. “And, I offer my condolences for the loss of your comrades. May this mission we are about to undertake bring honor to their sacrifice.”

Mae—Cody would need to adjust to that name now—bent down, retrieving something from her small bag. She set it gently on the table in front of them. “My personal reports,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “If that is all, I’ll be on my way. I believe the transport I arrived on will soon be departing for Coruscant. Seeing as my services are no longer required…” Her voice held a trace of irritation now, the faintest venom creeping into her words at the implication of being dismissed.

“Cody, would you ensure the doctor makes it to the shuttle?” Kenobi asked, his attention quickly drawn to a communication officer who had resumed his work after receiving transmissions from Skywalker's fleet.

Cody nodded, and this time, as he bent down to grab the woman’s bag, she made no move to stop him. They walked in silence toward the lift, the hum of the station echoing around them. As the door slid shut, Cody adjusted the weight of the helmet under his arm.

"Thank you," he said quietly after a moment. It wasn’t much, but the weight of what she’d done lingered in the air between them. She had openly criticized both the Jedi and the Senate on behalf of the clone army. It was the kind of conversation Cody had heard whispered in the barracks or out on the planet's surface with his brothers, but never voiced to those who could actually bring about change. The briefing he’d received before heading to fetch her had made it clear that she was a senior officer in the now disbanded organization. A voice like hers carried weight, and to wield that power in their favor was a debt Cody knew he could never repay.

“No need, Commander,” she replied with a soft shake of her head. “You and your men do more than anyone could ask. A simple conversation from me won’t change that fact, but…” She paused, her gaze dropping to the floor as she drew in a labored breath. “If I can make it any easier, it’s a privilege.”

“Not many Natborns would say that,” he remarked after a moment, his voice thoughtful.

“Well, I think that’s because the Republic has done its best to keep us apart,” she said, her tone tinged with frustration. “It’s easier to dehumanize clones into just military assets when the citizens only see you at a distance.” Her eyes met his, and Cody could tell she didn’t share that perspective herself, though she understood it all too well.

“I suppose,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with the resignation he’d grown so familiar with. “But this is what we were created for. I guess it’s understandable why people might assume that’s all we are.”

“I still believe,” she said softly, her voice steady but firm, “just as your Jedi believes, that we possess an element of choice. Our origins do not define us. That’s true for anyone who lives, breathes, and has a beating heart—like you and me.” Her words lingered between them as the lift doors opened, and they stepped out into the quiet, sterile hallway. Together, they walked in silence, the soft echo of their footsteps the only sound as they made their way toward the hangar.

The hum of activity in the hangar grew louder as they approached. Inside, the air was thick with the rush of preparation: transports lined up in rows, engines warming, the buzz of soldiers and mechanics alike moving in swift, practiced coordination. And then there was the unmistakable presence of blue and white plastoid armor, troopers milling about, readying for the battle ahead. General Skywalker’s forces had arrived, and the wheels of the invasion were beginning to turn.

Cody paused for a moment as they entered the hangar, his eyes scanning the bustling scene. It was clear that the next phase of their mission was about to begin—the invasion of Ryloth was imminent. Yet, amidst the whirlwind of activity, this brief, unexpected reprieve felt like a stolen moment, fragile and fleeting.

There was something about the chaos around him, the tension of the impending battle, that made this silence between him and Mae feel even more significant. For a moment, it was as if time had slowed, and the weight of her words settled in.

As they approached the transport heading back to the capital, Mae reached out a hand for the bag slung over his shoulder. Without a word, Cody passed it to her, the exchange quiet and familiar.

“Well, Commander,” she said, standing at the bottom of the ramp, her gaze meeting his. “I wish you well with your invasion.”

“Thank you,” Cody replied, his voice low. He hesitated, his curiosity getting the better of him. “If you don’t mind me asking, what are your plans now?”

He knew she no longer had a contract with the military, and without steady employment, life in the heart of the Republic would surely be difficult. The expense of it all—well, he couldn’t imagine what it would take to navigate that world. But then again, that kind of resourcefulness was something that still felt like a foreign concept to him.

Mae took a moment to adjust the strap of her bag, her eyes momentarily distant. “I might try to find some backwater planet, somewhere far from the conflict.” She sighed, a soft, almost melancholic sound. “I don’t regret helping in this war, not for a second, but...” She paused, her words trailing off for a moment before continuing, her voice quieter. “It would be nice to return to my original purpose—to heal. I think I’ve seen enough bloodshed to last a lifetime.”

There was an unmistakable heaviness in her tone, a quiet resignation that spoke volumes about the toll the war had taken on her. Cody couldn’t help but sense the depth of her weariness, as though the weight of all she had witnessed had become too much to carry any longer.

“I think that sounds like a good idea, Doctor. Take care of yourself,” Cody said, his gaze following Mae as she nodded and began walking up the ramp. She didn’t speak another word on the matter, and before long, she disappeared into the transport. For a brief moment, Cody let the events of the past few hours linger in his mind, reflecting on her words, her actions, and the unspoken understanding that had passed between them.

Before he could gather his thoughts, a sharp knock on his shoulder armor broke his reverie. He turned to find Rex standing beside him, a grin spreading across his face.

“Who was that?” Rex asked, his voice laced with curiosity, his head catching the light of the hanger in his short blond hair as he nodded his head in her direction. “And what’s all this comm chatter saying Kenobi and Windu got yelled at by a civvie? Was that the woman the boys won’t stop talking about?”

Cody should have known Rex would be nearby, especially with the arrival of his men. The camaraderie between them ran deep, forged in the heat of countless battles, but the closeness they shared was also born from years of working side by side. Rex had a way of sensing when something was up, and today was no different.

“Yes, she was the one,” Cody replied, his voice thoughtful as he watched Rex’s mischievous brown eyes study him closely. He knew his friend would want a full debrief at some point, but right now wasn’t the time. So instead, Cody decided to give him a taste of the story, without diving too deep. “But, it was… well, it was like nothing I’ve ever seen. An absolute spitfire, that woman.”

Rex raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. “Oh? Does the Commander have a little crush?” Before Cody could respond, Rex gave him a playful shove, his laughter echoing around them.

Cody rolled his eyes, feeling the familiar weight of Rex’s teasing. “Not likely. We all know you’re the one with a thing for redheads,” he shot back with a smirk, his tone just as playful.

Rex shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed. “Didn’t get a good enough look at her. Now, spill,” he demanded, nudging Cody with his elbow as they started walking back toward the bridge. “What happened? You’re holding out on me.”

Cody sighed, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. He knew better than to resist Rex’s curiosity. “Fine,” he relented, his voice lowering slightly. “She spoke up for us, Rex. For the clones. In front of Kenobi and the other Jedi. She—” He paused, considering how to describe Mae’s presence, the impact she’d had in such a short time. “She didn’t hold back. She said things none of us ever would. Or could.”

Rex’s eyes widened a little, though his grin never faltered. “A civilian? Getting in their faces like that?” He shook his head in disbelief, clearly impressed. “I gotta meet this woman.”

As they walked, the noise of the hangar and the looming preparations for war seemed to fade into the background. The weight of the upcoming battle would soon return, but for now, Cody allowed himself a moment of quiet gratitude.

For all the pain and chaos they’d been through, there had been something almost... refreshing about Mae. She’d spoken on their behalf—spoken truths that were often ignored. In the midst of the war machine, she’d reminded him that there were still those who saw them as something more than just soldiers. He’d never forget that.

“Maybe you will,” Cody said, his voice quieter now as they neared the bridge. “Maybe you will, Vod.”

[arach-tinilith]

Okay despite me putting naady through the wringer im very defensive about her and her wretchedness so please be niceys because im she's very vulnerable here okay tyyy 🫶

Karlach confrontation under the cut

A sharp cackle pierced the air over the campfire. Naadja had made some crude joke about the ironhand gnomes having more use as footstools than vigilantes after their bout at Moonrise. Astarion chuckled along to her rantings, paying little mind to the tiefling who was seething in her rage. That is, until she spoke up.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Karlach's confronting tone cut through the air like a knife. When she was met with silence, she continued. 

“Seriously, Naadja. What is your fucking problem? You clearly have one, but you don't tell us anything about yourself when we've told you everything.”

“Well, I had better head to bed. Beauty sleep and all that.” Astarion dismissed himself, earning a harsh glower from Naadja. 

Once he had gotten out of earshot, Naadja turned her attention to Karlach. “What exactly are you hoping to hear?”

“Something! Anything that'll make you make sense. You're so cruel and vile but I know you have to have something worth giving a fuck about because everyone here seems to care. I thought I cared about you too but I don't see it anymore.”

Naadja's fists balled her robes. She swallowed the burning bile that had risen in her throat at Karlach's words. “And what is that supposed to accomplish? If you don't care then fine. But it's pointless to try and pull some sob story from me if you've made up your mind.”

Karlach's voice lowered. “I want to hope that you're wrong. I want to see the good in you. Gods know I do. When I see you, I think of how you selflessly saved those tieflings twice over. I think about the good you've done and it's all a wash when you open your mouth.”

“Okay, okay I get it.” Naadja's eyes shifted away. She turned inward to avoid the scrutinizing, fiery gaze of Karlach. 

“Do you? Or are you just telling me what I want to hear so I leave you alone? Because the more you push me away, that's exactly how you'll end up. Alone.”

“Don't say that.” Her ears dropped at the thought. Karlach was pushing buttons she'd left untouched for a long, long time.

“Why not? You need to hear it.”

“Because I can't be good! I've tried! And it got me nothing!”

“That's not enough, Naadja.”

“What do you want then? I'm too good for the drow and too vile for you. Where does that leave me? I'm sorry I didn't live up to your impossible standards, Karlach but this is who I am.” Naadja's hands pointed to her chest before wrapping around herself. 

“I need to see change,” Karlach said, exasperated. “I can't just listen to empty promises and bullshit excuses.”

“You wanted an excuse! You want me to defend myself when I never asked your opinion. If you lived the way I had, you'd understand.”

“I lived in the actual fucking hells and I still don't understand you. Because you never tell me. Because you don't want to be understood! You put up this big wall between yourself and anything real and live in some fantasy where as long as it's you doing it, it's okay. But it isn't. You're a nightmare.”

“No one taught me to be good, Karlach. I still tried. The only reason I'm here is because I tried so hard to be a good person. But it just doesn't work for me.”

“Don't feed me that bullshit. You do know. And you're like this anyway, which is what makes you so fucking infuriating.”

Naadja's eyes remained firmly on the ground. “... okay. I'm sorry.”

“I don't want your sorries. I want you to stop fucking up and apologizing like that fixes anything.”

“Then you're never going to get what you want.”

“Naadja, listen to me. If you give half a fuck about being the kind of person you think deserves love, you'll try and try again to be better. Until I see something, don't look at me, don't speak to me. I am not going to play your twisted games anymore.”

Naadja didn't speak after that.

[malikson]

.

[smartzelda]

Sometimes you have to wonder if someone really is a villain fan or if they'd just rather twist their entire situation and backstory in their heads so that the villain seems like a completely misguided poor poor meow meow victim who they can fix into an unequivocally good person

[catacini]

[THIS POST IS IN RESPONSE TO A POPULAR POST THAT'S GOING AROUND CURRENTLY]

speaking as someone who is still traumatized by the effects of being called out siiix? years ago? it is meaningful for callouts to exist and it's important to be both able and willing to prevent new people from being victimized by rapists and pedophiles. i do not buy the argument that because a callout doesn't materially help previous victims that nobody should ever give a fuck about protecting other people. i do not buy the argument that, just because an artist isn't actively beating people to death, that nobody would want to know they draw n*zi shit before reblogging their tamer work. you need to find a way to balance that with critical thinking and cost-benefit analysis so that you don't accidentally help target vulnerable people that are being intentionally isolated and abused.

my callout was specifically written to target and punish me. my best friend was being abused, and when i confronted her abuser, that abuser went above and beyond to make me regret it. there was zero intention of helping people and zero desire to protect anybody. they went out of their way to contact a blog with a high outreach to publish it, just to make sure everyone i knew would see it. no one gained anything from this. Even so, i think the people who published it, shared it, and blocked me were right to do so. had it been true, it would have protected a lot of people. all my empathy to anyone else being targeted under a similar premise (if anyone wants my empathy anyway given my reputation, lol) because i do know exactly what it's like to be deemed a pedophile by this site. but the answer is not to just stop giving a shit altogether.

[lilworms]

sometimes i remember traumatic moments in my life and i’m kind of stunned by how detached i am from them now

[satellitedarling]

haha god listening to music and having scenarios in your head is so fun, yes the scenarios are about a hypothetical good relationship with my parents why do you ask

[broke-on-books]

☕

The live action Scooby-Doo movies?

I did not see this ask until RIGHT now (first time on desktop since crab day, second time since Nov 5 2020 [which was DOUBLY experience since I got my phone taken the same day]) so I'm going to assume this ask got eaten on mobile because tumblr, HOWEVER you poked a bear with this ask anon (as I'm sure you knew when asking) SO without further ado: my Scooby Doo live action opinions

So when you say 'live action Scooby-Doo movies' I'm assuming you're talking about the James Gunn films, starting with Scooby-Doo (2002) followed by Scooby-Doo 2: Monsters Unleashed, just due to like, generally popularity and also the fact that I have actually seen those films. However shoot another ask if you wanted me to include Curse of the Lake Monster in this (because I will if anyone cares and turn this into a live-action scooby dissertation, i'd just need to like. watch the movie first) But anyways where I'm going with this is that this post is about the Gunn movies aka the ones with SMG, Freddie Prinze Jr., Linda Cardellini, and ofc our #1 man, Matthew Lilliard.

Okay so my take on these movies is... complicated. I wouldn't say it's as complicated as my feelings towards SDMI, because I watched the live actions way less as a kid and generally care less about them, but still no matter how much shit I throw at these two movies there are parts that I generally like (even love) that stops me from totally condemning them wholesale. Like the fact that these movies are FUNNY! There's so many moments from this duology that are just beyond iconic "like, that's one of my favorite names!" the whole thing with Scooby in the dress at the airport, ET. CETERA (like I can go on!)

The Gunn movies are genuinely SO fun and I can 100% see and understand how they've stood so well in the public view as a representation of Scooby. HOWEVER, this is where you start to see my problems with them. For the general American, (because that is the audience I'm familiar with) ESPECIALLY millennials and younger, who happen to make up the majority of both people on this site AND people I talk about Scooby with in real life, these movies, and the elements they introduced as "quintessential scooby tropes" are the base of their understanding of the Scooby franchise, along with likely some miscellaneous WAY episodes and maybe SDMI.

Which is where I get pissed off. In the pushing of the narrative of "breaking away" from the Scooby norm, Gunn basically invents (aka totally makes up) an idea of what classic era Scooby was like, cementing an idea of classic Scooby into the public mind that is totally disingenuous and just straight up false. For example, in attempting to portray Daphne as having taken strides to be seen more seriously in solving mysteries and defending herself, it pushes the narrative that in the classic era she WASN'T taken seriously, and only existed as a damsel-in-distress prop of a character, which is just not true??? Like yes, Daphne is clumsy, that's a part of her character, and her friends (because, fun fact, the gang ARE friends) joke about it sometimes because that's what friends DO. Framing that in some kind of sexist "that's all she does" lens is just total bull, especially as gang members fall into secret passageways/get lost etc. in WAY ALL THE DAMN TIME because that's how the plot functions! Like are we calling Velma ditzy for losing her glasses every other episode? Of course not, and Fred falls into passageways all the time, not to MENTION Shaggy and Scooby and all they get up to. Also one last thing on the topic of Daphne, like this idea of her mystery solving skills not being respected by the gang is just so supremely bullshit it amazes me sometimes, especially when she was the LEADER (or leader adjacent) through pretty much all of her appearances in the 1980s [Not that James Gunn could look at '80s era Scooby without spitting on it, but I digress]

AND THIS IS JUST DAPHNE! Like the perceptions pushed towards Fred (and Velma, but mostly Fred) through these movies are just as bad! Like okay, with Fred---In these movies Fred is just an asshole. I hate Gunn Movies!Fred. I mean yeah he can be funny but it's almost always so mean! Almost nothing makes me madder than a mean Fred by the way. If he's putting other gang members down (even halfway, like with his whole "dorky chicks like you turn me on too" line, which... ew) then to me something has gone very, very, VERY, wrong in your basic understanding of Frederick Herman Jones as a character. Like he's the cheerleader! He puts himself in between his friends and danger! He loves nets, and traps, and Elvis impressions, and wrestling, and the trapeze, and cars, and most of all he LOVES sharing the things he loves with his friends! (Sometimes to a bit of an extreme. No one wants to hear about your net facts, Fred) And the live action movies just don't understand that at all. And I know there's maybe something to say I suppose in that some of those aspects of his characterization hadn't been "established yet" by the time "Scooby-Doo" came out in 2002. But it's there if you look. For Fred Jones, being the leader means being the caretaker, (he's the Mom friend what can I say) and any version where he's cruel and arrogant and just DOESN'T CARE about his friends in the way he's shown to in the Gunn movies is just so far from Fred to me it's not even funny. And what makes it even worse for me is that this (or at least something similar) is the idea of Fred that has really spread to the popular culture. Just the "leader", the jock that makes the rules, the one that [insert X adaptation here] finally gave a personality and made interesting (something that has been said more times than I can count for pretty much every gang member, save Shaggy and Scooby).

And I haven't even touched on Velma, and how they gave her a bit of a early 2000s smart superiority girl complex against Daphne, plus the whole makeover thing and etc. etc. The Gunn Movies are pretty much what would happen if you took someone who hadn't seen Scooby since they were 7 years old (and honestly had a pretty negative outlook against it then) and tried to "fix" it, only his memory was so bad he just made up problems (and threw in a good helping of early 2000s style sexism with it) convincing pretty much the entirety of the popular culture that said problems exist and that Gunn was absolutely brilliant for fixing them (and then bringing up said "problems" whenever anyone wants to talk about Scooby) and this entire rant has been without even fucking MENTIONING what is probably the reason you, anonymous tumblr user sent this ask in the first place, to I, Swishy "Scrappy Doo Redemption Arc" Broke-on-books (dot tumblr dot com), which is his HIGHLY SUCESSFUL and utterly sadistic character assassination of my number one man, Scrappy Doo.

And I am going to try my damnedest here not to get totally into my highly passionate opinions over what James Gunn did to Scrappy in the first of his Scooby movies and how thoroughly it has pissed me the fuck off because I have been writing this post for over an hour now and if we start to really get into my feelings on this topic it will certainly be a couple of hours more but like. That Fucking Bitch. I give James Gunn personally a solid eighty-five percent of the blame for making my life as a Scrappy Doo fan UTTERLY unbearable with this stupid fucking movie alone, and just his Scrappy crimes would honestly be enough for me to say that I hate this movie, not even considering the numerous Scooby crimes I've been talking about here for the past million paragraphs, but the part about this movie that makes me the MOST mad the most pissed off is that it's actually a good fucking movie. James Gunn wrote two hilarious and entertaining movies that have become beloved in the popular culture for their successes in that arena, while at the same time pissing all over the core themes and messages of the franchise of which it was based, that of friendship.

TLDR; The Live Action Scooby Doo movies (written by James Gunn) are highly entertaining and fun pieces of media to watch, and are widely loved by the general public and looked at with fondness and nostalgia because of that. However, as a hardcore Scooby Doo fan (writing that phrase sounds so ridiculous but oh well) the existence of these movies and their impact on the popular culture can be extremely frustrating (despite any personal nostalgia said fan may have) due to their spreading of a misinformed picture of what "typical Scooby Doo" looks like. This picture is especially frustrating due to the fabrication or exaggeration of problems present in classic Scooby (such as sexism in regards to the girls), as well as giving more ammunition to other problems in Scooby fandom (such as oversexualization, and sexualization in general, which no one wants to see in regards to their children's cartoons, like HONESTLY.) Discussions of sexism and sexualization in Scooby (both of which ARE present and are issues, although not at their worst in WAY) can often lead to an overlooking of the issues that are very present and clear in WAY and have continued since then with far too little resistance (I'm 100% talking about the racism here) HOWEVER that topic deserves at least a dozen posts of its own that I am no way informed or qualified enough to even begin to think about writing. The Gunn Movies are frustrating to many longtime Scooby fans because of these reasons, but for me, and fellow Scrappy Doo fans there is also the added aspect of the demonization of Scrappy Doo in the live action movies and the affects that has had on the popular culture as well, making it uniquely inhospitable to like or enjoy the character of Scrappy. End post.

[what-aboutno]

Diluc fell first but Childe fell harder. In this essay I will-

[phagodyke]

GODDDDDD i love masaaki yuasa so much. hands down best director ever. just the overarching thesis that seeps into all of his work. what if everything sucked and you didnt care and were incredibly self centered and cynical and refused to see any value to the world or other people beyond yourself and gave up at every turn because you genuinely believed that nothing really ever mattered or had any meaning worth pursuing. but the universe chased you down and pushed you to the edge over and over and gave you chance after chance after chance until you saw the value of your connections with other people and realised you had the ability to choose to create meaning from the nothingness you believed in before. and that gave you the courage to live the fullest life possible and earnestly stand on your own two feet because for the very first time in your existence you were deciding to be alive instead of just going along with it :^)

[slimyenemy]

you really do just get more and more abusive every single day.

[ouellette]