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musicalmoritz · 2 months

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Why do fandoms hate non-monogamy?

I find it so confusing that the only hate comments I’ve ever received on ao3 have been about non-monogamy of all things. I don’t consider my writing to be massively shocking or controversial but I do occasionally write about some darker subjects (cannibalism, legal age gaps, couples carving their names into each other’s backs, lesbian serial killers), and these are the fics I typically brace myself for pushback on. Again, even the darker stuff doesn’t get too dark, I tend to fluff things up a bit. But these fics end up receiving overwhelming support, which I’m very grateful for

Still though, when I write stuff like that, you can imagine my confusion when people instead choose to hate on my open relationship fics. At least if it were something pertaining to violence I could be like “okay I get it, this subject makes some people uncomfortable.” When it’s simply stretching the bounds of heteronormativity or interpreting the characters differently, the comments end up feeling particularly aggressive. I’m talking a kind of hate I’ve only experienced within Southern Baptist churches

You literally cannot look me in the eyes and tell me that Hisoka and Illumi would have a monogamous relationship. That is so completely different from their canon dynamic, where they’re already implied to have something going on but Hisoka is seen thirsting over other characters frequently. The first hate comment was about them and I was a little petty about it, I called the commenter out in the description of the fic. I have since then deleted the callout but I kinda wish I hadn’t. Though I’ve heard there’s a hatebot on HisoIllu ao3 so that might have been the problem

The other ship was Cherik, which comes down more to interpretation. Although they are one of my favorite ships ever, I do multiship with them and I feel as though their relationships with women are very valuable to both of them. I know because of the ending to Dark Phoenix, a lot of people like to give them a stereotypical Hallmark happily ever after but I just can’t completely see them like that. At least not during the bulk of the franchise, which is where my fic took place. I think they are soulmates but they have other shit going on, and other people in their lives they wouldn’t want to give up (I’m very attached to Erik’s relationship with Magda from the comics so shhhh). Writing them as an old married couple before they’ve worked everything out just isn’t realistic to me

And Soukoku, omg Soukoku. This one wasn’t a hate comment but someone decided to mention in a bookmark they made for one of my fics that they didn’t like how Dazai and Chuuya weren’t fully together and still saw other people. I don’t write for Soukoku anymore as I really only “ship” them in the manga, their dynamic is perfect as it is and I don’t need to see anything added to that. But that’s simply a matter of preference, there are plenty of fans who do want to see them run off and get married and you know what? If I ended up reading a fic like that, I wouldn’t bookmark it just to complain that I’d prefer if they weren’t married. Soukoku is like the least heteronormative ship ever, c’mon guys. Their dynamic is so unique and complex and you want to see them settle down with 5 kids?? To each their own ig but don’t tell me how you want to see them fanonized😭

Those aren’t the only ships I’ve written open relationships with, at least I don’t think so. I’m pretty sure some of my Fyozai and Nikozai fics have been like that as well. Which makes me even more annoyed because I know it’s just because HisoIllu, Cherik, and Soukoku are massively popular ships within their respective fandoms and people want to see them characterized the exact same way every time. When there’s such an overload of content for all three of them, you’d think people would be less picky. If you don’t like how I write them that’s completely fine, just go read a different fic. I promise you there’s no shortage, Soukoku is one of the top ships on ao3. I don’t really like the way Soukoku and Cherik are characterized by their fandoms so when I write them, I try to provide something different. It’s good to have variety in the type of content that exists for ships, I’ve had a lot of Soukoku fans thank me for highlighting Chuuya’s flaws rather than making Dazai the only villain in their relationship. It may not be for you, but there are some people who will enjoy it. If you don’t like it just move on and read something else

Overall I think the issue here is heteronormativity (take a shot every time I write that word). It’s perfectly fine if you want your ships to have a storybook romance where they get married and have babies at the end, I’m like that with most of my ships. But keep in mind that there are different types of relationships, and not everyone wants to read the same thing. That’s my favorite part of multishipping, some ships don’t exist as full relationships to me and that’s great. It gives me the opportunity to explore different dynamics- friends with benefits, one-sided pining, besties who flirt, emotionally married but never confessed. People really only seem okay with this variety of the ship isn’t popular, or if it’s not the main pairing for a character. Nobody bats an eye when I write Fyozai as non-monogamous because at the end of the day, most of those readers want to see Dazai end up with Chuuya. Popular ships deserve variety too though, a lot of readers are secretly missing that. We’ve seen Soukoku written the same way a million times, so why not mix it up?? One fic of them being non-monogamous won’t hurt anybody. You can still interpret them however you want to, but don’t send hate to fans who don’t share the same opinion

Not everyone has the same relationship experience, and fiction should reflect that. There’s a common complaint that love stories are repetitive, so writers should be encouraged to take a different approach to romance. Those relationships aren’t any less valuable than “traditional” ones, they can be just as meaningful and life-changing. I’ll even bring TBHK into this; while I prefer to imagine Teru and Akane having some fairytale ending together, it’s so refreshing to see most fans giving them an angsty slowburn well into their 30s. It’s something you don’t see with every ship, and it fits them well. That’s the beauty of fan fiction, everyone interprets the characters slightly differently so we get to explore different concepts with them. In that sense, even the overused tropes feel unique every time. So don’t shame someone for stepping further outside popular fan interpretation, they’re just proving some variety that many readers may enjoy

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lukethompsondaily · 6 months

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He is best known for Netflix hit Bridgerton, but Luke Thompson’s theatre pedigree encompasses Shakespeare, Greek tragedy and Ivo van Hove’s marathon A Little Life. He talks to Fergus Morgan about his passion for the stage and his worries for its future

Luke Thompson might have shot to stardom thanks to his role as Benedict in Netflix’s smash-hit series Bridgerton, but the 35-year-old actor is most at home on stage.

“I spectate on myself,” Thompson says. “I always have done. It’s been a bit painful in my life. And the only place on earth it doesn’t happen is on stage when someone else is spectating instead and so I don’t have to worry. You’re watching me so I don’t have to watch myself. I feel free. Those are the best moments of my life.”

Fortunately, Thompson has not been short of stage work. Born in Southampton in 1988, he grew up just outside Paris, returning to the UK to study English and drama at the University of Bristol, before training at RADA. He landed his first job almost immediately after graduating in 2013: playing Lysander in Dominic Dromgoole’s staging of A Midsummer Night’s Dream at Shakespeare’s Globe in London.

Since then, alongside screen roles in BBC One’s In the Club and Bridgerton, Thompson has starred in Julius Caesar at the Globe, Oresteia and Hamlet – opposite Andrew Scott – at London’s Almeida, and King Lear and A Little Life in the West End. Both he and co-star James Norton were nominated for Olivier awards for their performances in Ivo van Hove’s acclaimed adaptation of Hanya Yanagihara’s hard-hitting novel.

“A Little Life was such an intense experience,” Thompson says. “Intense in a good way, I mean. The material was very bleak, but acting is always pleasurable because you are indulging in a fantasy, even if it’s a dark one, and that is inherently fun.”

Thompson also thinks that theatre has lost some of its belief in itself. “Theatre is supposed to be provocative. I’m not on social media, but I think it can be very aggressive and vicious, and I think theatres cave to that a bit. Deep down, theatre is the opposite of social media. It is about people being in a room, exchanging opinions and emotions. I worry that social media is spoiling that a bit, which is a shame.”

What production made you fall in love with theatre?

I remember standing in the Yard at Shakespeare’s Globe in 2009 and watching Thea Sharrock’s production of As You Like It, and thinking: ‘Oh, wow, this is really funny and it actually works. When done simply and confidently, Shakespeare still speaks to us today.’ For my first job to be at the Globe a few years later was magical.

What are you finding inspiring at the moment?

I love watching Ivo [van Hove]’s company do stuff. There is something so wild about the acting in his shows. We get very bogged down with facts in this country, but Ivo understands the dream logic of plays. Some of the most moving things I’ve seen don’t completely make sense. I find that inspiring.

What do you wish you could change about the performing arts industry?

I wish theatre had more confidence. Right now, it feels unsure about how useful it is and about how taboo, complex and provocative it should be. I feel as though theatre has lost confidence in its societal function.

What is the worst thing that has happened to you on stage?

There was a scene in A Little Life in which James ran around naked for a bit, then I would bring him clothes. During one show, I couldn’t find his underpants, so I just brought him his trousers and he put them on. But I forgot that people pulled his trousers off again later and they were expecting him to be wearing underpants. James knew it was coming and I knew it was coming and we couldn’t look at each other for the rest of the play. I hope he doesn’t mind me telling that story. It was so funny.

What is the best thing that has happened to you on stage?

There are so many. That sounds naff but I don’t care. I love the challenge of going on stage night after night and trying to make something feel alive in front of an audience.

What role do you really want to play?

I would work with Ivo again at the drop of a hat. And there are loads and loads of roles I would love to play. I did a reading of a rewriting of The Seagull the other day. The role of Konstantin is really beautiful. I’d love to play that. I’d love to play Iago one day, too. Of course, I’d love to play Hamlet but it’s boring to say that.

What projects are you involved in at the moment?

I’m playing Berowne in Emily Burns’ production of Love’s Labour’s Lost with the Royal Shakespeare Company. She has set it on a Polynesian island owned by these big tech billionaires like Mark Zuckerberg or Elon Musk, of which I am one. It’s a really smart concept that unlocks a lot of very interesting stuff in the play. Season three of Bridgerton is coming out in May and June, too. And we will be filming season four soon after that. There’s a lot still to come.

Source: The Stage

#luke thompson #interview

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shellsweet · 11 months

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Hello 👋. This is the 1st time I ask a question. I recently started following your blog after someone reblogged a pic of your oc Alice 💜😍🐢. I spent the past few days searching for all posts about her. I love the background story that you gave her. I love that she's not a Mary sue and that she's raised differently than the turtles since she's not a fighter like Jennika and most versions of Venus which is a fresh background story. The pics with her and Donnie made me squeal of how cute they are 🤩. I just wanna ask if there are pics of Donnie being the lovable dork that he is around Alice? We've seen how badly Donnie acts when he's panicked like when he beheaded the Fugitoid, so I was wondering if he would act the same around Alice at first maybe by non-stop nerd talking about science and complex stuff most people wouldn't understand. My other question, was Alice forced to learn ninja stuff when she started living with the turtles to defend herself or not since it's hard to learn martial arts if you start from zero as an adult? Please forgive me for the long ask, I got too excited 🫣

I’m so thrilled that you like her so much! That honestly means so much to me! I’ve had made up Alice almost 15 years ago now and I’m still enjoying messing around with her character! There is absolutely nothing wrong with kick butt female characters. We can always use more of them and they’re all great! But I’ve always enjoyed characters who rely on kindness as their strength. Which makes it more impressive on Alice’s case, considering her rough start in life. Strength comes from all kinds of places; not just physically.

I think I got a recent sketch of Donnie nerding out about space with Alice I did last summer, but this inspired me to dive into it more because Alice loves listening to his nerdy vents, but it can be a bit hard to keep up with it. She didn’t even know what was above the surface until she met the turtles, so all of this is new to her. Thankfully though, Donnie is incredibly patient!

As for her knowledge with martial arts, I think it’s generally hard for her to pick up on any combat skills. Alice is and was never a fighter. But she definitely learns quite a bit and picks up on a few minor things with stealth, mediation, and maybe some basic defense. The main goal for her would be to avoid the fights if she can.

Thank you so much for your questions! It really made my week!

#anonymous #anon #text nonsense #Tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #sketch #fanart #tmnt oc #oc #donatello #alice #comic

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talentpiper11 · 1 month

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Okay so: what follows is a little ficlet drabble I wrote to respond to/ expand on @mapleapplepiee’s lovely Pie and Prince AU. It was made and posted with her permission, but is not necessarily canon to that au, just an idea taking place in the same space of thoughts. It’s seriously necessary to read her stuff to understand what I’ve got going here, but it’s great stuff and also not super long, so just go do it!

Also, please be aware that this isn’t beta’d— it isn’t even properly proofread, since it was just a fun little exercise for me rather than a full planned fic.

That said, I hope you enjoy!

Pie and Prince Continuation

The fact that Bitty has mistaken Jack for a guard actually comes in handy, for now. Once Jack pulls his foot out of his mouth— possibly he insinuated that baked goods have no place in the diet of anyone seeking to be any kind of athlete, and when Jack compliments his muffin-pan-bludgeoning, Bitty forces him to agree that the muffins themselves didn’t exactly slow him down, now did they, hun?

Jack relents, and at the price of being expected to try one baked good for every time he makes Bitty do this, he’s able to convince Bitty to join him at the castle’s sparring grounds under the promise that he won’t come to any harm.

Being the prince, he’s able to arrange for private training time, but lies and says it’s just the time the guards usually eat lunch— which it technically is, it’s just that he’s not a guard and wouldn’t usually be expected to eat with them, or at this time. The fact that he’s apparently skipping lunch, though, makes Bitty even more determined to get a little bit of pastry into him each time; he even starts mixing in things like quiches to count as both a baked good and a sensible guard’s meal.

When they meet for the first time, Jack decides to show Bitty a sort of sparring pattern that the guards (and he, because he was trained by the best of the guards), use to practice all the relevant moves for a sword fight in one flowing pattern. They start out flowing through the motions of it side by side, like a sword-based tai chi, but as Bitty gets faster and better, Jack convinces him to do it in a proper sparring session.

Now Bitty had some sort of training growing up which means he’s skilled at this sort of thing in general (jousting or fencing or something? The kind of thing that you would see on display at a gathering, not used on a battlefield) so he’s picked up the motions without much trouble, but actually facing Jack while his (wooden, practice) sword swings at him? It’s terrible. And Jack’s moving at an almost ridiculously slow clip, not the kind of speed he’d displayed in the bakery, eons behind the actual pace of battle. But Bitty only sees his trauma, and collapses into the dust before Jack can even get close.

They work through it— slow and halting— over weeks, fitting in time between Bitty’s bakery work and Jack's real princely obligations. As they do, they start to open up to each other, just a bit, just enough to see the light peeking through each other’s facade.

They’re eventually able to work up to crossing blades, and then from there they slowly increase the speed until they’re spinning around the fenced-in practice arena, complex footwork keeping time with the rhythmic hammering of their blades. It’s truly something like a dance— Jack swings his sword with enough speed, now, that it’d certainly hurt if it made contact, but Bitty’s (wooden) blade is already there to meet and redirect it.

They dodge and parry and weave and spin through the whole perimeter of the yard, their feet throwing up puffs of dust, breathing hard but focused entirely on the pattern of each other’s movements. When they come to the end of the movements, they’re standing chest to chest, crossed swords trapped and immovable between them as they heave from exertion.

That’s when cheering erupts from the edge of the practice ring. It’s the assembled members of the SMH! (The Samwell Majesty’s Honorguard, obv). They, and their frogs, ahem, sorry, their squires, have been watching from the lunch hall for months now, and finally made themselves known after that impressive and not at all sexually charged display. They applaud their well-toned asses off, then introduce themselves. Bitty is intimidated for a bit before he recognizes some of them as bakery customers, and then he’s in Work Mode.

He leaves that day with a collection of orders for baked goods, and a sinking feeling that he’s started to fall for this guard— who is almost certainly straight, and would definitely stop training with him if he let it get out that he’s got a crush. So he smothers that crush as hard as he possibly can.

Just in time for the annual dignitaries ball! Or, well, the several-month lead-up to the ball. Bitty is slammed with food orders as the delegations from various countries come into the city, and Jack is slammed with actual Prince work, so neither of them notices at first that they’ve gone longer and longer between practices— then they both notice at once, and assume instantly that the other has detected their budding romantic feelings and is trying to let them down easy.

In a moment of bravery, though, Jack arranges for an invitation to be sent to Bitty that he might attend the culminating event of the visitations, the masquerade ball itself. Bitty— caught off guard— agrees to attend, and the squire who’d come around to announce his invitation leaves before he can change his mind, just after depositing a beautifully inscribed ticket in his hands.

Bitty’s friends leap at the chance to dress him up for the ball, helping him out as much as possible to be presentable, and in the end, he looks ravishing— and very different from his usual garb. He feels a bit gaudy and strange, but his friends swear up and down that he looks perfect, so off he goes.

At the ball, everyone dances with everyone else. The aim, in theory, is to create a sense of equality— the masks mean that anyone could be anyone else, and so you must always treat your partner with respect, because they could be the king or a visiting dignitary as easily as they could be a random lady in waiting or, say, a baker. (In practice, the delegations almost exclusively wear the colors of their nation’s livery, so you can make an educated guess based on your partner’s age, colors, and dancing skill— but a baker wouldn’t be trained to make those calculations.)

When he gets onto the dance floor, Bitty gets passed from person to person, as is the tradition of the ball. He dances with a woman old enough to be his grandmother, a boy who couldn’t be older than him, a middle-aged man, a lovely lady just his height, the list goes on and on and on. Finally, he’s passed into the arms of a man in a stunning dark blue getup, with gold accents at the buttons, the shoulders, and around his mask. They make a dapper pair, with Bitty in scarlet.

Neither recognize the other at first. Jack isn’t sure what country this small blond belongs to, and the guy is certainly not a good enough dancer to be properly-trained royalty, anyway. Bitty is so focused on not tripping over his own feet that he’s not even trying to parse each new partner— though the quick glance he spares for this one tells him he’s definitely his type.

They speak in quiet voices, and Bitty makes a joke at his own expense that pulls a laugh out of Jack, and suddenly they’re both a bit more relaxed in the moment. Then Bitty puts his foot into a puddle of someone’s spilled drink, and he slips to the side. He recovers quickly, his hand in Jack’s firm one giving him plenty of purchase to pull upright, but suddenly they’ve slipped out of the rhythm of the circling dancers.

Bitty, frantic and unsure and embarrassed, falls back on what he’s been practicing for months, and takes the first measured step-step-turn of the sword dance. To his shock, his partner mirrors the movement, stepping in time and sliding backward as he turns so that they’re kept in sync.

After that, they just fall into the dance together. It’s a little different, doing the footwork without the swords, but they hold tight to each other and glide across the dance floor adroitly.

Everyone who’s anyone in the room, save Bitty, has already figured out that the dashing gentleman in blue is the nation’s prince, and nobody who’s anyone has any idea who this shorter man in red is, but they all move to leave room for the pair to spin across the floor in tandem. At the close of the song, the pair are brought chest to chest with each other— and then just as quickly, they’re separated. It’s time to switch partners, after all.

Bitty’s next partner can’t believe their luck, to get the first chance at the gossip scoop, and immediately starts asking Bitty where he’s from, where that dance is from, how does the prince know that dance?

The prince?

Bitty extricates himself from the dance floor after that dance. He’s tired, and he certainly must’ve heard wrong. The prince? No, surely not.

He looks towards the man, still at the center of the whirling maelstrom of dancing, standing out in both grace and color— those are, of course, the colors of the country that they’re in, and so… huh. The prince.

Bitty, having gotten entirely too close to two handsome and ridiculously unattainable gentlemen with blue eyes and dark hair, runs. He leaves the party entirely, making his way into the dark garden outside the ballroom. Of course, some partygoers have filtered out here, but really the only inhabitants of the space are the guards, posted two-by-two at each entrance. He finds himself on a bench, as far away from the glittering colors of the ballroom as he can get without leaving the grounds entirely.

He’s wasting an irreplaceable opportunity to network for his bakery, he tells himself. He should go back in. He’ll never get to be on the inside of a party like this again, either. He really, really should go back in. Come on, Bitty. Get up. Go.

He doesn’t move.

Some interminable time later, he feels someone sit down next to him, and pulls his face from his hands.

It’s Shitty, from the bakery event. From *Jack*. Like Bitty didn’t already feel miserable enough, here’s a guard from Jacks own team, closer to Jack than he’ll ever get to be, to rub his face in it.

But of course, Shitty doesn’t do that. He sits there, not touching Bitty, not even saying anything, but aiming an understanding and open expression at him. An invitation.

“I…” Bitty starts. His voice breaks a little, so he takes another go at it. “Have you ever…” He trails off again.

Okay, deep breath. He pulls off his mask, turning it over in his hands to look at the glittering garnet-red decorations as they catch the light. When he speaks, he’s talking towards the mask more than Shitty.

“There’s… something that I want,” he begins, deciding to keep it vague. “Something that would make me so happy, but I know I can’t actually have it. And I’m worried that if I keep wanting it, it’s going to ruin things that are already good where they are, you know?”

Shitty fixes him with a searching gaze, and Bitty flushes, feeling exposed, almost wishing he kept the mask on so that Shitty’s eyes couldn’t pierce all the way to the core of him.

“Bitty, you wonderful angel sent from above to bless this kingdom with pastry, thank you for telling me all that.”

Bitty didn’t think he’d told all that much, but he got the sense that now was not the time to interrupt, so he smothered his protest.

Sure enough, Shitty continued, “If you want the advice of this guard, all I can say is: if things are really that good, I don’t think you can ruin them so easily. You just gotta ask for what you want, and if the answer’s no, that doesn’t mean that every other nice thing in life has to go that way, too, yeah? And hey. I think there’s always a chance it’s a yes, you know?”

Bitty flushed further, and busied his hands fixing his mask back over his face, tugging the ribbons back into place to hold it on. After a long moment (and once he was safely hidden behind gaudy scarlet sparkles) he looked up at Shitty.

“Thanks,” he said, voice small in the expansive courtyard. “You know, you’re really good at this?”

Shitty laughed. “So I’ve been told. If guarding ever doesn’t pan out, I suppose I have a back-up profession being a supportive bench friend, huh?”

Bitty laughed at that, and the tension that had blanketed the area moved along like leaves in an autumn breeze.

Shitty stood and brushed invisible dust from his breastplate— clearly more of a habitual gesture than a necessary one.

“Look, man, I should get back to work now, but are you good?”

“I’m good, Shitty. Thanks.”

“Anytime, you incredible pie wizard, any time.”

Bitty took a few more moments on the bench to collect himself, but talking about his predicament with Shitty seemed to have shaken something loose in him, and now he was restless. If Shitty was here, surely the rest of his guard squad was as well— surely Bitty could find Jack, and maybe by then he’d know what to say.

He abandoned the bench and started walking back towards the balcony that looked over the garden, where the doors had been thrown open to allow the sounds of music and revelry to spill into the night.

When he came within sight of the balcony, though, he came to such an abrupt stop that he almost faceplanted on the flagstones. There, standing at the railing and looking out into the garden, was the prince. It was hard to tell with the mask, but Bitty was almost certain that he was looking right at him. Oh lord.

Before his brain could catch up with the situation, his legs had carried him behind the nearest hedge. The garden wasn’t quite a maze, but the paths that wound through it had clearly been designed to obscure the perspective of those walking along them— each one curved and planted such that you felt alone even when you knew, intellectually, that you couldn’t be far from the nearest couple taking quiet advantage of the evening’s shadows amidst the foliage.

Bitty wasted little time contemplating the garden’s clever architecture, though, instead devoting his attention to weaving deeper into the twisting paths— further from that balcony, and the prince’s stare. Two turns into his escape, he glanced behind him and was surprised to see the prince was following; when he saw Bitty had spotted him, he called out, “Wait!”

Was that a royal command? Was running away from this situation now technically a little treasonous? Bitty wasn’t sure, but he also wasn’t sticking around to find out. He increased his pace, grateful for the well-tended pathways under his feet as he took each turn faster than was strictly advisable. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he couldn’t lie to himself that it was from exertion— his workouts with Jack had done many things for him, but among them was certainly an increase in fitness. Even in his ballroom attire, Bitty’s breaths came smooth and even.

The footsteps behind him faded to silence, and Bitty heaved a sigh of relief even as he slowed his gait to a trot, then a walk. He took a moment to get himself in order: physically, to straighten his disheveled jacket, and mentally, to rearrange his thoughts. He still had to find Jack, and then—

Bitty turned the next corner and found himself facing the prince.

Of course the man who lived in the palace would know these gardens better than a random visitor. Of course. And now he was cornered— even if he turned back now, he’d still be in the prince’s territory. But just because there was no chance of escape didn’t mean he wasn’t tensing his leg muscles to give it an honest try.

Just before he spun off back into the darkness, though, the prince spoke up. Or, well, it was hardly speaking up, the man’s voice was hardly louder than a whisper, but it was enough to carry clearly across the narrow distance that separated them.

“…Bitty?”

Bitty froze. What? How did the prince know— why was he— why had he— what? Bitty’s thoughts tumbled over each other in a roiling mess. At a loss for what else to do, he cautiously replied, “… yes?”

A beat passed, and then he hastily tacked on a “Your highness.”

The prince, bizarrely, seemed taken aback by the formal address. Bitty watched as he schooled his expression— the parts of it visible beneath the mask, at least— into something neutral, though almost… sad?

“Are you angry with me, Bitty?”

I’m sorry, what? “I’m sorry, what? Your highness.”

There, again, the prince flinched. “No, no, it is I who should be sorry. I didn’t mean to mislead you, I just… I’m sorry, I’m doing all of this wrong.”

And then, before Bitty could muster any sort of response to that, the prince reached up and untied his deep sapphire mask, the ribbons trailing away as he pulled the elegant thing from his face.

Bitty came face to face with Jack, and nothing in the world made sense. He felt, distantly, that he ought to reply to this revelation in some way, but he couldn’t seem to find where he’d misplaced every word he’d ever learned. Instead, he stayed frozen to the spot, mouth agape like some kind of unfortunate fish, staring at the utterly un-processable sight before him.

Jack clearly took his silence (and probably his expression) as a negative sign, and he started to talk again. Bitty struggled valiantly to focus on the words as they spilled from Jack’s— the prince’s— Prince Jack’s mouth.

“Look, I know I should have told you before, and I’m sorry. It’s just— nobody ever looks at me and just sees ‘Jack’, you know? So when you didn’t treat me like I was something special… it was just nice to be a person for once, not a title. But I know I shouldn’t have lied, and I understand if you’re angry with me now. I’d get it if you didn’t want to see me again, and… and I promise to respect that, if that’s what you want. Just, please, Bitty, talk to me.”

Bitty held his hand up, cutting him off, heedless of the fact that he was being distinctly rude to the prince of his kingdom. He just needed a minute to process, okay? A minute, and perhaps a seat. Yes, this would be much easier to think through sitting, wouldn’t it? Bitty glanced around, and then, for lack of better options, sat squarely on the stone path. Jack reached for him as he did (trying to catch him?) and ended up on his knees before Bitty. With both of them on the ground, they were almost at eye level with each other. Bitty pulled his mask aside, much as Jack had, and contemplated him.

Jack sat there, eyes downcast, as Bitty’s gaze skated across his face, his elegant costume, his sapphire-studded mask. When he looked back to Jack’s face, he was surprised to see him restraining a cringe; it looked like he expected to be hit, and was preparing to take it with dignity. Dignity befitting a prince, which Jack apparently was. All at once, Bitty realized that it had been far too long since he had spoken, and that Jack— prince or not, this was still Bitty’s Jack— was bracing for the worst.

“I’m not angry,” he started, finally finding words in the revelation that Jack needed to hear them. “I’m just a little confused, okay? I just… this whole time?”

Jack mutely nodded. Duh.

“And Shitty was…”

“Sworn to secrecy. I made him promise not to tell you before I was ready. He didn’t have a choice.”

Bitty waved his hand dismissively though the air— he wasn’t mad at Shitty, either, and didn’t need the excuses right now. “And the training? The sword dance?”

“Taught to me by the head of the guards— that much was always true. I just thought it would help you, so I booked time at the training ground to show it to you, and then it became something l looked forward to, more and more each time. It was how I was certain it was you, in there.” He jerked his head towards the distant echoey music from the party.

Bitty chewed on that for a moment, turning the words over in his head, and found that he believed him. Jack had kept one thing from him— one enormous thing, to be sure, but he understood the reasoning— but had been unfailingly straightforward with him otherwise.

“Okay,” Bitty breathed.

Jack looked up at that. “Okay?”

“Okay, help me up.” Bitty offered his hand, not with the decorum of a ballroom dancer, but with the camaraderie of two men who had trained on the same field. Jack grasped it and pulled Bitty to his feet even as he stood himself, reasserting their height difference and pulling them in close.

Bitty didn’t release his hand, and Jack didn’t try to extricate it.

“Jack?” Bitty turned his face upward, meeting Jack’s eyes, their piercing blue softened by the low golden light of the garden’s lanterns. “I have one more question.”

“Yeah?” The word sent a puff of breath dancing through Bitty’s carefully coiffed hair, and he shivered despite the warm weather.

Bitty tipped his head even further back, raising himself up just a little on the balls of his feet, trying to ask his question with his body as much as his voice, as he felt the latter might abandon him at any moment.

“Would you like to—“ and then the rest of his words were lost, not to fear, but to Jack. They kissed, gentle and deep as the warm night around them, and the world made sense again.

#Pie and Prince #zimbits #omgcheckplease #omgcp #check please #ficlet #didn’t set out to write a little ficlet but i suppose #sometimes the fic just Happens To You

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baiabay · 1 year

Text

No Role Modelz (ATSV Black Cat Variant! Reader Insert)

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3: Current Chapter

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

-------------------------------------

^^links 2 chapters!! this story is also on ao3, wattpad, and quotev under the same name :)

---------------------------------------

Chapter 3: Out Of Touch (with reality hoes)

-----------------------------------------------------

“Miles!”

Hovering over Miles, surrounded by a sea of colour and light, was Gwen Stacy. That Gwen Stacy. How many months has it been since he’d last seen her? That didn’t matter; she was here now, in his room…opening his collective figures. Miles wanted nothing more but to leave. To jump out his window and swing freely with Gwen. Like old times. There was only one problem though…

“I’m… grounded.”

Miles winced. A pregnant pause, until he couldn’t stop the wince on his face from transforming into a grin after he’d heard the teens' response.

“Bummer - is Spiderman grounded?”

———————————————-

“So you’re telling me there’s an elite society with all the best spider-people in it?”

Miles swung behind Gwen, an expression of bewilderment behind his mask as his companion rambled about the society.

“-And Hobie,”

“Who’s Hobie?”

“- he lets me crash in his dimension sometimes,”

“L-like you stay the night?”

At the mention of the name a pang of jealousy flashed through Miles. He never knew she was-all of them were-seeing eachother all this time. While he spent it…alone.

“-Oh and there’s this Lady- Jessica Drew, she rides motorcycles, oh my gosh, I’m leaning so much from her-“

“Oh yeah? I-I’ve learned a lot of new stuff too, I leveled up my whole thing, see?”

Half showing off(and half to rid himself of the growing feeling of envy in his chest), Miles mimicked the graceful flipping style of Gwen Stacy, weaving through narrow gaps in traffic and hanging himself by the ankle. Now behind him, he heard a slight giggle.

“Look at you!”

There it was. That feeling he was so jealous of earlier. From Gwen, from the Spider-society, from The Black Cat. It pooled in his stomach and filled his chest, bursting out his seams in the form of an uncontrollable toothy grin and a giggle back. He felt it. Freedom.

“Look at me!”

—————————————

You were sat atop the roof of your apartment complex, chin resting on your knees. Purring was heard faintly as one of your cats rubbed its side against you, pulling you out of your deep state of pensiveness you had dug yourself into moments prior. You smiled softly as you scratched at the cat. Your smile faded however, as you replayed for the umpteenth time that evening, your conversation with Spider-man.

“Sometimes I just wish things were different, yknow?”

“Different how?”

“Different like, for me.”

“There’s a first time for everything, right?”

You scoffed before sighing deeply. He just didn’t get it, did he? Guess you can’t blame him too much though, if he knew why you did what you did it would practically be the same as ripping off your mask and turning yourself in. Huffing once more, you pushed yourself to stand on the roof. The sun was setting now, the sky blue with tints of pink, orange, and yellow. It was at this moment you realized how long it had been since you took the time to really look at the sunset. It was calm, it was serene, it was-

buzz

A text. Your landlord. Again. Rent was coming up, and you were short last week-pushing all missed fees to this week. Great.

It was at this moment you realized exactly why it had been so long since you took the time to really look at the sunset. Turning away from the painted sky, you collected your feline companions and trudged your way down to your room.

Rummaging through your closet you made it to a makeshift safe designed for the keeping of any valuable items you had seized. Cracking it open with eyes closed and fingers crossed-

It was empty. Great.

You let out a lengthy groan, shifting your weight back to lay on your floor. You hadn’t gone out heist-ing since the incident with Spot. Rolling over on your side, you were met with two bright, wide, yellow eyes, and a large tuft of black fur in your face. As if on cue, the large tuft of fur nuzzled your face before dropping a black leather mask before you. Your black leather mask.

A silent beat passed as you stared at the mask on the ground. Sighing once more, you picked up the mask, your words to Spider-man ringing behind your ears.

“The Cat and The Spider. We can’t truly change who or where we are. No matter…how much we want to.”

Now fully suited, you headed your way towards your window, looking back at your fluffy black friend.

“Thanks, kitty”

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The sun was setting now, the sky blue with tints of pink, orange, and yellow. It was at this moment Gwen realized how long it had been since she took the time to really look at the sunset. Miles smiles, a lighthearted feeling in his chest. Sitting on the underside of this secluded ledge, Miles relished in the serene feeling that enveloped the two of them. In this moment, looking out into the city, the two young heroes felt like they were the only ones in the entire universe. They were alone, together. It was nice.

“ In every other universe, Gwen Stacy falls for Spider-Man.”

At the sound of Gwen’s voice, Miles turned his head. As she finished her sentence, his lips curved into a soft smile, and he found himself subconsciously leaning into her. Looking up at her, he blinked as he noticed how Gwen returned the smile, but held a tensed, tight-lipped expression behind it. Before he could comment, she parted her lips to speak.

“… And in every other universe, it doesn’t… end well.”

Miles flinched as he processed Gwen's words, opting to shift his body away from her. All of a sudden, his mind was swarmed with memories from his earlier interaction with his feline counterpart. Looking once again into Gwen‘s eyes, Miles took note that The Cat held the same pained expression she displayed now. Before he can even begin to think of a response, Miles' mouth began to move.

“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?”

Miles’ chest was beating wildly now. He had expected Gwen to run away – to block him out like The Black Cat had done moments prior. But the warm pressure he felt pressing against his shoulder spoke differently. Like he did with the thief, Miles sighed deeply. This time, with a content smile across his face.

———————————————————-

It was night time now, and you were on the prowl – grappling around for the perfect opportunity to strike, when you stumbled across the most peculiar thing.

You assumed it was an abandoned building, but you’ve seen a handful of those, this one was different. It had been almost turned inside out, pieces of itself sticking out of… itself? And –

“Is that…glitching?”

Whatever what was going on, one thing for sure, this whole situation felt eerily familiar to you. Every fiber of your being screamed that this was all Spots doing.

Shit.

No way was he about to steal another gig from you.

On tipped-toes, you made your way into the wrecked building, when suddenly you were tugged by an invisible force. Literally.

“GH-“

Before you could continue screaming, the invisible force held you close and slapped its hand across your mouth.

“What are you doing?” The voice whisper-shouted.

Spider-Man. Invisibility, huh? Cool.

Squirming free from his grip, he tried your best to glare in the direction of the voice.

“Um, what are you doing?” You whisper-shouted back.

“Cat!”

“I couldn’t help myself! I was curious…”

“Yeah, I hear that’s bad for cats-”

“No nononononononononoNO!”

The two of you flinch to the sound of this new, distressed voice. While Miles remained invisible, you quickly ducked behind a support beam, squinting at the source of the sound.

In front of you holding an extremely panicked expression behind their mask, was another… another Spider-person?

Just when your curiosity couldn’t have been piqued any further, this new Spider-person, from what looked like to be a watch(a super bad-ass watch, you might add), began to play a projection of-you called it, The Spot.

Rambling erratically about some sciencey-shit you’d maybe understand if you paid more attention in physics, you watched as the hologram of the spotted man stumbled over himself, as well as practically every possible item in the room. You inched closer in an attempt to gauge more about this whole situation, albeit, you still didn’t catch that much, only managing to cling onto words like ‘holes’ or ‘collider’.

“Shoot…”

The hologram played out, and the new Spider’s panic grew.

“shootshootshootshoot-“

The Spots’ hologram began to mumble angrily- was that your name you heard in there? And Spiders? A lot of Spiders’ name, actually. You had no idea he’d had a run-in with him too. Soon enough, the panic began to rub off on your Spider-Man, as you heard him start to mirror the words of the stranger.

“Shoot.”

“UGH, no! Gwen Gwengwengwengwe-“

“Gwen! Hi~”

A…pregnant… Spider-woman appeared before the three of you. You truly seen it all now.

“Spider?”

Calling out to him, you tried your best to remember where his invisible form last was. No response. You whipped your head around wildly until you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Do you…know what’s going on?”

Miles kept his eyes trained on Gwen, as she explained to the Spider-woman about her detour with him.

“I have an idea.”

“Do you know who they are? Are they… other Spider-Men?”

“… never see him again, all right?”

The new spider person(whom you collected her name to be Gwen), spoke. Her shoulders dropped, and her head hung low as the holographic form of the pregnant hero disappeared. You watched in silence as she reached a hand before her mask and tugged it off. The hand on your shoulder squeezed before slipping away. Turning in your direction, a maskless Gwen stared past you - into the night. Upon seeing her face, you flinched. Ready to run off had she noticed your presence. But she didn’t. With glazed eyes, she stared right past you. You blinked, and for a moment, your jaw fell. She was young, looked around your age with neck-length blonde hair, half shaved. Her brows furrowed in a way that felt familiar to you, in a way that said, ‘I wish things were different’. She remained staring for a few moments, you and Miles stared back. It was quickly broken by a flash of bright light, spiralling in patterns and colours you’ve never seen before, And pulling her mask on, Gwen stepped in.

You didn’t anticipate your Spider-Man to be standing upside down when he came out of his invisible state, yet there he was. Facing away from you, towards the orange and red amalgamation of light Gwen stepped into moments prior.

“Sp-“

“I’m going in.”

“Wai-no. What do you mean you’re going in-”

“I mean, Cat, I'm going in there.”

His voice was raised now, shoulders tensed. He jumped down from the ceiling, stepping towards the portal. Realizing he was unmasked, you took in the dark curls that framed his face. You felt a strong urge to pull your own face covering off.

You did.

“Then… I’m coming with you.”

“You can’t-”

Spider turned around to face you. Brows furrowed and mouth open to send a negative retort toward your way, until his breath hitched as he became aware of the bareness of both of your faces. You stood, arms crossed, staring into the eyes of the boy. He had gentle features, warm brown eyes. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put your finger on exactly where you’ve seen him. School, maybe? He must’ve recognized you, seeing as he stared back with a bewildered look on his face. He closed his mouth, form un-tensing. You took the silence to speak once more.

“I said, I’m coming with you.”

You stepped towards the portal, reaching to pull your mask back on.

“I said I wanted things to be different, right? Well, I – I feel like this is a chance to change things up…what is it you said again? That ‘there’s a first time for everything’? Well, what if you were right, Spider, th-”

“Miles.”

You looked at, with a soft smile on the young heroes face

“Miles, my name.”

“… Miles.”

You tested out his name before speaking yours, one he must’ve recognized, as he responded with a flinch.

“You said your last names’ Hardy? Like Walter Hardy? The noto-

“ Notorious Black Cat burglar? Yeah no shit, Sherlock.“

Your mouth stretched into a wide smile as the serious air between the two of you dissipated. The portal crackled, before beginning to shrink in size. Miles spoke,

“So you’re… you sure you want to do this?“

There was a part of you that screamed at you to stay. That worried about everything you were leaving-by leaving. Guilt seeped into the back of your mind and you turned away from Miles to face the dark city skyline.

You reflected on your conversation earlier. Did you really want to be The Cat forever? Become like your father and die doing this job?

Did you really?

“I’m sure.”

You and Miles both now reached to tug your masks back on. The two of you sent one last look back out onto the city before nodding at eachother, and diving in.

-----------------

#miles morales x reader #atsv x you #atsv #reader insert #atsv x reader #atsv reader insert #spider-man: across the spider-verse #across the spiderverse #across the spiderverse x reader #black cat! reader #hobie brown x reader #gwen stacy x reader #pavitr prabhakar x reader #miguel ohara

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sourtoasterstrudel · 1 year

Text

Welcome to notes and shit I’ve been writing on this strange little au. Essentially playpen park is a kids show made by Gerald Broflovski heavily based off of his son and his friends, even being named after them.

The kids show follows kyle, the intelligent and sort of socially ignorant leader of his friend group, alongside his best friend stan, the kind sporty kid, and Kenny, the shy loser kid. The ‘antagonist’ is of course cartman, who is sort of a ‘frenemy’ of the group, causing a lot of problems but still being stuck with them.

Cartman isn’t nearly as terrible as he is in real South Park of course, he’s toned down to just be a little rude and obnoxious. Butters and ike are reoccurring characters, ike being the little brother who gets into trouble after watching his brother doing bad things, meanwhile butters is sort of like cartman’s little sidekick, though he really doesn’t mean to be.

There are a few other little characters like wendy when they touch on topics of romance and love, jimmy when they talk about disability, Tolkien when they talk about racism, stuff like that. Basic kids show stuff. Of course the twist is that one day things change, they’re given one of their normal episode issues, but while finding the solution, they realize that things in their town aren’t right. Small things. Things like words on official documents just being scribbled, like something you’d see in a show to emphasize that it’s far away. Then they realize how they don’t know what their parents faces look like. They don’t know how old they are despite how many birthdays they’ve had.

They gain more and more of these little problems which leads them to find out how fake their world is. A problem leads them to the edge of town, which is where they find out that you cannot leave town. After that they have to deal with the very obvious trauma of not being real. As they become more aware of their situation, they gain more awareness of the people they were based off of, including their memories.

They begin to swear and act like their real life counterparts (focusing more on cartman there for that part. He becomes absolutely fucked in the head after he gains access to some of his real memories), but of course since their world wasn’t made for this, it begins to break; the more they find out, the more they act like real people, the more their world breaks. It tries to sensor their cursing, even sensor the kids themselves. So now it’s up to the kids to stop their world from collapsing in on itself as they deal with the new issues of their updated personalities, more complex emotions, and possibly even the real world, trying to take their little show off the air.

if anyone has any questions, feel free to ask. I have no idea what I’ll be doing with this concept, probably just drawing some more overly cartoony versions of the main kids

#South Park #soursart #sp #south park au #if anyone else wants to do something more with this concept feel free to i just have too many ideas #need to expel them somewhere #playpen park is such a goofy name but i feel like Gerald would choose something goofy like that #playpen park

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literallydontlook · 2 years

Text

Atonement - part 1

Pairing: Crosshair x f!sex worker!reader

Rating: Explicit (minors, skidaddle)

WC: 5.7k

Series summary: After Cody deserts, Crosshair comes to terms with his place within the Empire and the things that he’s done in its name. As the inhibitor chips begin to degrade, his building guilt finally pushes him to defect himself. Life on the run is harder than he imagined, but he’s found moments of comfort and true peace from an unlikely source. Can he ever atone for the crimes he’s committed or is he condemned to a lifetime of guilt?

Series CW: canon typical violence, swearing, sex work, lots of negative self talk, PiV, masturbation (m and f), probably oral at some point; reader has a back story but no physical descriptions; lmk if I missed anything

Unwhitewash the bad batch disclaimer: these guys are straight up white in the show and that is not ok with me. My descriptions and headers are made to combat canon designs. If you don’t like that pls leave.

A/N: SOOOOOOO ONCE AGAIN I’m on my Crosshair shit even though almost 0 of my followers are here for this. I wanted to explore what it would take for him to find redemption. TO BE CLEAR a lot of the stuff he says on the show and his attitude and superiority complex in canon are straight up disgusting, but I can’t help but wonder if I’d be strong enough to defect if I were put into a similar situation. In an age where we are so quick to condemn people for their mistakes (god knows I’ve made my share), how can we nurture the good in people instead of pushing them farther away? Also I was horny lol

—

Sharp eyes scan the cantina over the rim of his drink. Others are like him — sitting at tables obscured by the darkness. They’re scheming and dealing, keeping low profiles as they search for their next gigs. The dim lighting blurs their faces and the air is hazy with smoke. But Crosshair still sees everything.

But he also listens.

“…Black Sun…—ot take kindly to…”

“…we’ll need a qui—….to pick off…”

“I don’t want no part of…-mperial control…”

There are a number of promising-sounding leads and he indulges in a little bit of cautious optimism. It’s been 2 months since he’d defected and two rotations since he’s eaten. He never thought he’d ever miss the Imperial slop they served at the mess, but it’s starting to sound pretty good right about now. His stomach rumbles.

Finding jobs was proving to be more difficult than he’d anticipated, especially for a man looking to disappear from the Empire. Most bounty hunters belong to the Guild, but he can’t risk leaving that kind of a record. It leaves him with the kinds of jobs that are actively avoiding official channels.

A spineless-looking gentleman dressed far too expensively for the establishment looks over his shoulder before taking a seat across from Crosshair. He runs a hand through greasy, slicked back hair and fiddles with the gaudy rings on his fingers, twisting them nervously. Crosshair acknowledges him with a silent nod.

“That’s quite a rifle you’ve got there,” he says, attempting to sound nonchalant.

Crosshair hums in response, taking a sip of his drink. The man looks around again and dabs at the sweat around his neck before leaning in.

“I’m looking for some help,” he says, voice lowered to almost a whisper. There’s an awkward silence as he waits for a response but he’s met with Crosshair’s usual brand of stoicism.

He waits for the man to continue and it takes almost all of his willpower not to roll his eyes and scoff. “What’s the job,” he asks finally.

“Ah, yes — well, I’m looking for someone who can be discreet. This cannot be traced back to me,” he says, looking over his shoulder again, “and my associate spoke very highly of you.”

Crosshair narrows his eyes. “And who, exactly, is this associate?”

He leans further over the small table, lowering his voice even further. “Gini Millegi,” he whispers conspiratorially.

“Hmm…” Crosshair considers this information carefully while absentmindedly stirring his drink with a toothpick. Millegi was a notorious gangster in the region who’d hired him for a hit just a few weeks ago. Something about rival gang politics — he couldn’t care less, to be honest. The pay was good and the job was surprisingly easy. What more could he ask for?

The man clears his throat and Crosshair’s returning glare nearly burns a hole in his forehead. “Go on,” he says impatiently. The man jumps in his seat and pats down his pockets nervously.

“The target will be at Safa Toma, just across town tomorrow.” He frowns, mumbling something to himself before exclaiming, “The little brat — she can’t just waltz in here out of nowhere and take our family’s hard-earned fortune! Who does she think she is?!”

He closes his eyes and places a hand over his heart dramatically.

“My father is not long for this world and she needs to be eliminated before he passes.”

Crosshair holds up a hand, “Spare me the details. What’s the bounty?” He didn’t need to hear a long winded story about greedy families vying for an inheritance. The less he knows, the better.

The man sits back and huffs indignantly. “Five thousand credits. Double if you can make it look like an accident.”

Five thousand credits. That's enough to buy some stability for at least a month. He locks eyes with the man and something in the pit of his stomach turns as he considers the proposition. It sounds easy enough, but he’s learned quickly that in this line of work, nothing is ever as simple as it seems.

Especially when the client is avoiding official Guild channels.

His stomach grumbles.

“Fine. But I want fifty percent up front. Those are my terms,” he says, leaning back and folding his arms across his chest. “You won’t find a more discreet hunter.”

The man hesitates, chewing on the inside of his cheek in consideration. Finally, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a coarsely woven bag. He sets it on the table, but his hand lingers over it. “How do I know you won’t just run off with the credits?” He asks with narrowed eyes.

Crosshair plucks it from below his palm. “You don’t.”

—

Safa Toma is boisterous, a hub of raucous activity and a host of unsavory characters. The main draw is riot racing, a dangerous sport akin to Tatooine’s pod racing with the addition of officially sanctioned weapons usage. Crosshair had heard of it. Many clients in his new line of work were enthusiastic participants with racers of their own, but he’d never had an interest. The place is decidedly too cacophonic for his taste.

He peers at the stadium through his scope, searching for the reflective discs he’d strategically placed the night before. With any luck, he’d be able to mask his location with a shot rebounded from the opposite direction.

He’s perched high on an abandoned building, several kliks away. By now, the toothpick dangling from his lips is gnarled and ready to snap. He can’t shake his nerves and the vague feeling of foreboding he’s had about this job. His commlink crackles to life.

“The target is en route to the viewing suite. Do you remember the hand signals?” His client’s voice is low and his speech is rushed, nervous and impatiently demanding some sort of comfort to placate his anxious energy.

Crosshair rolls his eyes before responding. His scope swings across the stadium in search of a group matching the provided description. An older, heavier-set woman with a severe expression and dressed impeccably. Another woman in expensive robes and perfectly coiffed hair carrying a small child. And two greasy-looking men in suits wearing jewelry worth more than Crosshair’s entire ship.

“I have a visual. Awaiting your signal.”

The link goes silent as he watches the client dart out from behind a column and speed walk down the hallway to catch up, arms pinned rigidly to his sides in a ridiculously short strut.

So much for playing it cool.

Now that they’re all together, it’s clear that these people are the client’s family. The resemblance between him and the two men is unmistakable. And they’ve all clearly inherited the older woman’s chin, who he figures is their mother. The connection to the younger woman and the toddler is less clear.

He’s focused on tracking the group but registers the sound of stray blaster fire and a unified gasp from the crowd. The announcer’s voice booms and even from this distance, Crosshair can hear it.

“A friendly reminder to all our spectators: be mindful of blaster fire. Safa Toma Speedway is not liable for any injury, death, or disintegration. Thank you.”

He absentmindedly rolls his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. Hmm, he thinks, that’d be a convenient cover if the timing is right. Maybe I can double the bounty after all.

Steadily, he follows their movements with his scope until they reach the suite. The two men plop down on a luxurious looking sofa and turn on a large screened TV, where they’re able to watch several sporting events at once. The client pulls out a seat next to the window for the younger woman and Crosshair tenses in preparation, recognizing that this placement is surely intentional. She must be the target.

She sits and places who Crosshair assumes is her daughter on the ground. The child toddles towards the window, pressing her small, chubby hands against the glass, looking down at the speedway with wide, innocent eyes.

He exhales a stuttered breath and closes his eyes.

The kid will be fine, he reassures himself. The family’s loaded anyway.

When he peers through the scope again, he sees the client approach the child, kneeling down to meet her eye level. He places a hand on her shoulder and gestures down toward the track with three fingers, wagging them three times.

Crosshair sucks in a breath.

The hand signal.

Maker. What in Malachor has he gotten himself into? The toothpick snaps between his gritted teeth as he focuses on the small child. She ohs and ahs, clapping clumsily as the speeders pass by. And as if she knew he was there, she turns towards Crosshair’s position, looking straight into his scope and smiles.

Finger hovering over the trigger, he contemplates the job. He’s so close to the easiest payout of his life, but he’s struggling to make the shot. His head begins to throb violently.

Just do the job.

The faces of every innocent child he’d ever executed flashes in his mind.

You must do what needs to be done.

“You know what makes us different from battle droids?”

Just fucking pull the trigger.

“We make our own decisions. Our own choices.”

You were born for this.

“And we have to live with them, too.”

The pain crescendos — an acute, stabbing — until he can’t take it anymore, releasing his rifle with a clatter as he grits his teeth and sits back, hands gripping his scalp and eyes squeezed shut.

He can’t do it.

He won’t.

—

It’s late by the time Crosshair arrives at the agreed-upon meeting spot. The sun has long set and the only respite from the bite of cold evening air is the occasional puff of putrid-smelling steam released from an underground pipe. He leans against the damp alley wall, eyes cast downward. Anger and frustration swirl but at who and about what? He’s not sure.

His brooding is interrupted by the splash of stomping feet approaching. The client is cloaked, a hood pulled over his head, but Crosshair doesn’t need to see his face to know that he’s pissed.

“What the kriff happened back there?”

“You failed to mention the target was a child,” he growls, jabbing a finger into his chest.

The client, seeming to forget Crosshair’s physical advantage in this altercation, doubles down on his outrage.

“What happened to ‘spare me the details’?!” He shouts, slapping away the accusatory hand. “What part of non-Guild work do you not understand?”

The toothpick in his mouth snaps in frustration, knowing it’s his own fault for taking this job, so he only responds with a silent glare.

“I’m not a child murderer,” he seethes. He pulls the burner commlink from his belt pocket and throws it on the floor, crushing it under his heel.

Not anymore, he thinks.

The client rears back with his jaw hanging open. He points a condemnatory finger towards the sniper.

“You —“ he shrieks, “you’ll pay for this.”

“Enjoy the fucking credits. I hope it’s worth it,” he says darkly before spitting at his feet and disappearing into a mysterious speeder just arrived at the end of the alleyway.

The leather of his gloves squeak as he tightens a fist and inhales slowly through his nose. He exhales a steadying breath and closes his eyes.

At least he’s got the deposit.

The coarsely woven bag sits heavy in his other hand but lifts a weight from his shoulders. Enough credits for a few weeks. He stares blankly at it until his stomach protests, reminding him that he’s close to death. He lets his feet take him to his next destination.

His boots splash murky puddle water as he mindlessly travels to the closest source of food. The shop is crowded but the warm, comforting smell of stewed nuna and protatoes is too enticing to ignore on such a frigid night.

He waits in the crudely formed line outside. There’s no indoor seating, only a dark window where credits are exchanged for a piping hot bowl of stew passed anonymously by a clawed hand. A Rodian man shoulders his way past Crosshair and anger flashes hot in his chest before the hollowness in his weakened limbs reminds him of his vulnerability.

The air is moist by the time he gets his bowl, the hazy fog settling heavily and blurring his surroundings. He finds privacy in an unoccupied alley to enjoy his meal and absorb its warmth. After the first taste, his eyes widen before he tilts the bowl back and gulps the stew ravenously, nearly choking on the large chunks of meat.

He tosses his trash into a dumpster and begins the long trek back to his ship, docked outside the city’s limits. He hasn’t had enough credits for docking fees and had been making the long journey into town by foot each day.

He absentmindedly scans the fliers posted to a communications pole. It seems like a popular spot judging by the absence of any free space. Some locations are stacked thick with flimsi and everything is damp from the dewy droplets formed on the metal shaft. Many fliers are out of date — faded and torn, pasted over by newer announcements and ads.

Lost Tooka - REWARD. Last seen at central market.

Waste removal services. Discreet and quick. Comm for pricing.

Rhodian Underground LIVE at the Spotchka A GoGo

Midtown Inn — long term and nightly rates available

Crosshair digs into his utility belt, fumbling for the credits. Weighing the bag in one hand, he deliberates his lodging options as he calculates the cost of ship repairs and ammo and food. His body aches and the thought of sleeping on a real bed is tempting, to say the least.

He looks at the time, knowing he’s got another hour or so until he reaches the ship. He makes a spontaneous decision to stay in town, allowing himself to indulge for one night. It’s a short walk to the Midtown Inn, but by the time he gets there, the “no” has been illuminated on their vacancy sign.

He sighs. Just his luck.

He runs a hand over his head, his shoulders sagging in defeat, as he looks around for another option. The immediate surroundings look like a bust. Just closed businesses shuttered for the night.

The inn itself is tucked into the neighborhood, surrounded by a maze of small streets and alleys that eventually link up to the main road. He’s not sure anymore what the fastest route would be so he takes an educated guess and follows the small road past more closed shops below crumbling housing, using the tracking equipment in his vambrace as a guide.

He’s so focused on the little red dot on the radar that he nearly misses it.

The repeating pattern of one junk building after another is finally broken by a small pathway nestled between two closed restaurants. It’s remarkably void of trash. In fact, everything he can see of it from the road is uncharacteristically pleasant. He stares at it for a long time, looking back at his vambrace to determine if this could lead to the main road.

He approaches it skeptically, standing at the mouth of it and finding it to be very well maintained.

Cautiously, he follows the path, each side flanked by tall, solid stone walls that tower even above his significant height. They’re lined with lamps hung close to the ground where they cast a warm, otherworldly glow, keeping most of the way shrouded in darkness. The tranquility here is a sharp contrast to the grit of the rest of Ord Mantell City. He feels as if he’s entering a secret space and he’s careful to stay vigilant as he travels deeper down the path.

Finally, he reaches a crossroads. To the left, the path continues, turning sharply around a corner and out of sight. To his right stands a nondescript two story building, perhaps a house. On one side a large tree’s branches reach up and over its flat roof. And while the walls are painted a dark color, adding to the home’s mystery, there’s something welcoming about it. There aren’t many windows, but the lights are on in most of them, the curtains all drawn shut. Barely visible, painted in a hue just one tint lighter than the walls, is a small sign reading “House of Desire - walk ins welcome” in aurebesh.

Ah.

He thinks again about the credits in his pocket. Doesn’t he deserve one night of relief? He could certainly use it.

Reluctantly, he approaches the door and stands at the entrance. The cylindrical eye of a TT-8L gatekeeper droid extends abruptly from the peephole, focusing on Crosshair’s face before quickly retreating with a slam. The door slides open.

The entryway opens directly into a comfortable living room with a plush sofa set behind a low, circular holo table. A set of stairs runs parallel against the back wall where he sees two sets of legs disappearing up to the second floor. An older pantoran woman stands regally at the center of it all, her hands clasped low in front of her body.

“Welcome to the House of Desire. How can I help you?” She asks, motioning for him to take a seat.

Crosshair reluctantly approaches the sofa, carefully unholstering his rifle so he can sit comfortably. The woman seems entirely unbothered by his armored appearance and weapon as she takes a seat across from him.

“Can I offer you anything to drink? Perhaps an herbal tea?”

He simply nods and she immediately comms someone to bring them a pot.

“It’s your first time here, I gather,” she says with a smile, tapping the table’s control panel and projecting a menu of options. “Let’s start with some questions,” she suggests.

Crosshair visibly stiffens and she smiles knowingly, “Don’t worry, we understand the…sensitive nature of our business. There's no need to divulge your full identity here, only what’s necessary to ensure the safety of our girls.”

He hums in acknowledgement as she asks him for a name, to which he declines, instead opting for an identification number — ironic choice for a clone who’d only ever wanted to be recognized as a person, but different times and all that.

She conducts a full health screening, including a body scan for signs of contagious infections and disease. Finding him healthy, she takes note in his registration file as she explains the rules of conduct within the House. He agrees, signing his newly issued identification number.

“Alright, that about does it,” she says, navigating the holotable program to a roster of the House’s available girls (although the word “girls” is a fairly restrictive industry term it seems, as the catalog features people of all life forms and genders). He peruses a catalog of full body, three dimensional holos, each one including detailed information about their specialties, likes, and dislikes.

The options feel endless and he swipes through each one almost mindlessly, trying to narrow down his criteria. It seems like there’s something for everyone here.

He’s on the verge of making a random selection until one catches his eye. He’s not sure exactly what draws him to you specifically, as many of the girls are what he’d consider pretty — he wouldn’t have a hard time getting in the mood with many of them, truthfully. But there’s something about your entry that makes him stop and piques his interest more than the others.

He silently glances at the madame and she smiles, making note of his selection in his file and sending a message to you.

“Oh, you’ll like her,” she says, pulling a small card from the holo table. She hands it to him before inviting him to follow her up the stairs.

“This is your membership chit. Bring it whenever you visit,” she explains, “you can also plug it into your data pad to make appointments with or contact any girls you’ve had sessions with before.”

He pockets the chit as they walk up the stairs and down the hall to a door marked simply with the number 04.

She knocks gently and a voice answers from within, granting permission to enter. The door slides open to a dimly lit bedroom awash in the dreamy, soothing glow of candlelight. Taking a tentative step inside, he immediately feels his tense shoulders relax as he breathes in the light scent of jogan-blossoms and Felucian jasmine. The gentle plucking of strings, the song more atmospheric than melodic, plays quietly in the background.

“Enjoy your visit.”

Crosshair whips his head around, startled from his reverie by the madadme’s farewell. She shuts the door with a swish, leaving him suddenly feeling very self aware of how dirty his armor is.

“Please make yourself comfortable,” a voice calls from the adjoining refresher, “you can store your rifle and armor in the wardrobe. Unless you’d prefer to keep it on.”

Still hesitant, he finds the aforementioned wardrobe and shrugs off his weapon, next unclipping each piece of armor slowly. Once down to his bodysuit, he looks around the room feeling uncertain about his decision but ultimately resigned to it. He sits down on the sofa, hands clasped together and body hunched over, one leg bouncing anxiously in anticipation.

“Well hello there.”

He stills before finally lifting his gaze. Fuck. You’re even more beautiful in person. The holo doesn’t do you justice.

You walk towards him slowly, exaggerating the sway of your hips, each step shifting the hem of your deep red negligée in the most tantalizing way. This thing was designed specifically to send him to an early grave — he’s sure of it.

You stop in front of him, trying to suppress a smile, mirth dancing in your eyes. He realizes his jaw has been hanging open and he shuts it immediately, averting his eyes. Caught.

“May I?” You ask with a chuckle, motioning to the seat beside him. He continues to avoid your gaze but nods once.

Cautiously, you lay a hand on his bicep.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” you coo, “you can look. Isn’t that why we’re both here?”

He’s got a lot of shame and pride, you think to yourself when he doesn’t acknowledge you.

You smooth your hand up to his shoulder and down his back, feeling the defined muscle beneath your palms.

“Let’s get the boring stuff out of the way first,” you say, shifting to a more businesslike tone. He finally turns to look at you. “Lay down some ground rules and talk about what you want to do.”

You forge ahead. “I ask all my guests to wear a biosheath for the duration of our sessions.” You reach into a jar sitting on a side table, pulling out a foil packet and handing it to him. He accepts it with a silent nod and you smile, pleased that he seems unphased by this request. A good sign.

“Additionally — and I’ll understand if you’d like to find another girl — I will not kiss my guests on the mouth.”

Crosshair raises a brow, surprised by this rule, but nods in agreement. You sigh with relief.

“At any time, you and I are able to renegotiate any activity if either of us begins to feel uncomfortable.

I like to use a color system. Red means stop. Yellow for proceed with caution. And green for go. Does that work for you?”

Another nod.

You laugh. “Talkative I see.”

He shoots you a withering look and you laugh harder.

You move to stand in front of him, using a gentle hand to push him back against the seat.

“Relax,” you say lowly as you swing a leg over his lap to straddle him, running your palms up his firm chest. “Is this okay?”

You grind your hips down against his experimentally, feeling him grow hard beneath his pants. His breath hitches and you take this moment to firmly place his hands on your waist.

“Is that a yes?” You ask, only to be met with obstinance and his silent, piercing gaze. You tsk, “I need to know you want this.”

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, “why else would I be here?”

What a brat.

“People come here for all kinds of reasons,” you explain, soothing your hands over his shoulders. “Some people come to watch or be watched,” you grind down again, nipping at his ear, “some people just want me to hold their hand.”

“Now,” you whisper, “what about you? What do you want?” You ask, letting your breath fan against his neck. He shifts uncomfortably in his seat attempting to adjust himself, but there’s no hiding how turned on he is beneath the skin tight bodysuit.

Truthfully, he hadn’t thought this far. The entire journey had been fairly spontaneous and he didn’t think he’d have, well, options. He’s never had options before. Not any so straightforwardly given anyway.

You crawl off of his lap, dancing your fingers along his shoulders as you circle the sofa to drape your arms around him from behind. Your hands explore his upper body and you feel his muscles begin to relax when you massage his neck.

“I…want to watch you,” he says finally. “And then I want to fuck you until you scream.”

You hum in agreement. “That sounds like a good plan. You’re so tense,” you muse, digging your thumb into a particularly large knot. He groans involuntarily — something between pleasure and pain.

“How about a massage first? Then you can watch me play with myself.”

“Fuck,” he breathes, palming himself over his pants. You smile impishly.

“I’m gonna take that as an enthusiastic ‘yes’,” you tease, leading him to the bed and slipping your fingers below the hem of his top. He pulls it over his head, and you nearly gasp. Brown skin pulled taut over some…significant muscle development has your eyes bulging. You thought his body suit was leaving nothing to the imagination but apparently there was much more to see.

Maker, you think to yourself.

It’s now his turn to smirk, making you look away embarrassed, caught off guard.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” he teases, “you can look. Isn’t that why we’re both here?”

You roll your eyes. “Get on the bed.”

He doesn’t respond, but he smirks at you knowingly as he lies face-down.

“So tell me,” you start, massaging the scented oil over a particularly nasty scar across his shoulder blade, “what do you do for work? I’m guessing you’re a bounty hunter.”

“…something like that,” he answers evasively. You hum thoughtfully, finally deciding to cater to his preference for silence as you work over his tired muscles.

He sighs and you smile to yourself, pleased to be able to offer this man some relief. You crawl onto the bed, swinging a leg over his hips to straddle his back as you continue.

Your fingers work into a tattoo of a skull over the number 99 written in aurebesh and you wonder about its meaning knowing you shouldn’t push him too much. The man is like a stray, injured tooka — skittish and deeply suspicious but desperately in need of affection and attention.

“What? No more inane questions?”

You chuckle - Maker this man is infuriating. “Tons. But I won’t pry. You’ll tell me everything I want to know in your own time.”

He scoffs, “Awfully confident, aren’t we?”

You only smile and hum in response as you dig your fingers into a particularly tense knot of muscle. He hisses, turning his head in an attempt to scowl at you. You laugh.

It’s not everyday you’re actually attracted to a guest, but there’s definitely a level of sexual chemistry here that’s unusual for your experience. His kriffing back of all things is getting you hot and bothered. Without even realizing it, you begin to grind yourself down on his ass, your breath growing heavy as you mewl softly.

Crosshair can feel you becoming needy and it makes him feel ready to burst. He’s been rock hard since you’ve entered the room and he knows that if he so much as ruts into the mattress he’ll come in his pants like some shiny fresh from Kamino.

He growls, finally flipping you over and caging you in between his arms.

“I said I wanted to watch,” he breathes, pupils blown wide with lust. You swallow and nod, almost paralyzed by his hungry gaze, before he releases you.

He pulls up a chair and takes a seat, lounging with his legs spread wide and one hand cupping his bulge. Grabbing the hem of your negligée, you begin to pull it off but he stops you suddenly.

“Leave it on.”

He looks like a king. The way one arm drapes casually over the seat’s back. The way his eyes devour you. Everything about him thrills you, shooting electricity down your spine. It’s been ages since you’ve felt this nervous energy performing for a guest.

You make a show of it. Biting your lip and massaging your breasts. You tweak a nipple and mewl in pleasure as your chest begins to heave with heavy breaths.

“Fuck, kitten, yes” he groans, using every ounce of self control not to stroke himself, “play with your pretty pussy. Show me what you like.”

Obediently, you sit back against the pillows, letting your legs fall open to put yourself on display. You pull your soaking panties to the side and run your fingers through your glistening folds to gather the wetness. Without breaking eye contact, you bring them to your lips and dart your tongue out to lick them before sucking with an obscene moan.

Crosshair grinds his teeth together so hard they nearly break. He doesn’t even know what to focus on anymore. The outline of your pebbled nipples through the silky fabric? Your lips wrapped deliciously around your fingers? The other hand rubbing circles over your clit?

“Fuck your fingers,” he demands, voice painfully strained. You obey, releasing your fingers with a pop before plunging them into your cunt. “Such a fucking good girl,” he praises.

You can’t help but to cry out in frustration as you try to reach that impossible place within you, working both hands feverishly to chase your high.

“That’s right, kitten, is that how you like it? Add another finger for me,” he grits.

You comply, panting heavily, your eyes screwed shut in pleasure. Before you know it you hear the violent clattering of the chair being upturned. You feel his hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking your hand away. Your cry of frustration quickly morphs into one of pleasure as he plunges two fingers into your tight hole, scissoring them until you snap, coming with a scream as his fingers fuck your through your high.

By the time you’re able to see him again through heavy lids and the aftershocks of your orgasm have subsided, he’s desperately rolling the biosheath down his thick cock.

“Hands and knees,” he rasps, barely in control of his desire.

You scramble to obey, arching your back deliciously and presenting yourself to him with a wiggle of your ass. He kneads your cheeks, reverently admiring the way his fingers sink into the plush meat there.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes. Fuck me,” you respond breathlessly.

Grabbing you firmly by the hips, he finally guides himself into your waiting heat and, finding no resistance, sheathes himself to the hilt in one stroke.

You both groan in unison as he stretches you open for the first time.

He hunches over you, fondling your breasts. “I won’t be gentle,” he whispers into your ear. He feels your walls clench around him as he ruts into you.

“Good,” you breathe.

Fuck, you’re going to be the death of him.

Raising himself back up, he grips your hips and begins to pound into you mercilessly, taking out years of pent up frustration as his fingers dig deep into your flesh. For the first time in a long time, he feels in control, using you for his own pleasure.

“You’re such a fucking good girl. Listen so well. Letting me destroy this tight cunt,” he growls.

You can do nothing but grip the sheets as he pistons his hips into you, the bed frame slamming into the wall with each thrust. You’re sure the other girls can hear it. The lewd squelching. The slap of his hips against your ass. Your pathetic moans. Apparently this man is silent except during sex.

“Yes. I’ll do anything you ask, sir. Make me feel so good,” you mewl. His rhythm begins to falter as he reaches his high, finally plunging himself deeply as he comes undone. His release triggers your own and you scream, your walls clamping down on his cock, milking him until he’s spent.

Panting, he pulls out, carefully removing the biosheath and disposing of it, only to collapse back onto the mattress when he returns.

“Maker,” you breathe with a hand resting on your sweaty forehead, “that was —that was…“ you laugh in disbelief as you struggle to catch your breath. He doesn’t respond so you enjoy a moment to come down from your high.

The candlelight is beginning to dim as some candles flicker out. The music has long since reached its last track. The two of you lay in contented silence for some time as you softly caress his bare skin, walking your fingers up his arms and smoothing your hand down his back in soothing motions.

You get an inkling when you feel his pliant body first becoming tense beneath your touch.

Before you know it, he’s trembling, his shoulders shaking more and more violently as he begins to sob. It starts as silently but soon devolves into wretched cries, his voice rough with pain. You gather him into your arms, letting him hide his face in your neck as you cradle him, gently rocking your body until you both fall asleep.

—

By the time your alarm chirps and the sun begins to stream in through the curtains, he’s gone. You wake up to an empty bed and a stack of credits on the nightstand.

You lay back down, clasping your hands behind your head and sigh contentedly.

You wonder if you’ll ever see him again.

—

A/N: 🫠 uh i Guess i hope you enjoyed?

#tbb #the bad batch #crosshair x reader #crosshair x fem!reader #tbb crosshair x reader #atonement #crosshair x f!reader #crosshair smut

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puck-luck · 2 months

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I’m not hating on YOU. Just on how slow and rude the characters are being made out to be. Honey should stop being so rude to Trevor, give him some credit for putting up with her attitude. Bea is genuinely for the streets. Again not hating on YOU because I like your writing style plus reading your other works i really like. I get I don’t have to read it if I don’t like it but I’ve waited and gave it time for stuff to start picking up.

I appreciate that you're not hating on me because you enjoy my writing style. That's always nice to hear. I'm glad you've read my stuff and even tried to stick it out for STG.

I want to reply to your concerns, so I typed up a couple of bullet points in my notes app. In a very in-character moment for me, it became lengthy. I'm hiding it under this Read More so that no one has to see it if they don't want to. Tbh, that includes you— and I don't mean that in a mean way, even if it might come off like that. It's hard to convey feeling through words on a page, which brings me to my first point:

1. A lot of Honey's attitude is written as means for banter, since Trevor knows that she doesn't mean it in such a negative way— he's aware that she's deflecting. Maybe I need to make that clearer and now I know, which means I can try and work on that! Thank you for bringing it to my attention.

2. Honey has trauma, which I've started to explain in the story. It's going to be fleshed out more and she WILL work through it, but the girl has some pretty complex PTSD when it comes to relationships. That's the reason why she's so hot and cold with Trevor. She knows what she's feeling, but she's not ready to accept it yet.

3. In Chapter 5, the most recent chapter, Honey admits to Trevor that she's the difficult one. She's well aware that she's having trouble with this new relationship and that manifests in her attitude towards Trevor. He says he doesn't mind (basically) and she just hums BECAUSE it bothers her that she's being hard to deal with, and yet she can't stop herself. Again— it's her complex PTSD.

HERE is a screenshot of my Google doc so you can read the scene itself:

4. Fair. Bea is for the streets. Yet, at the same time, I don't see the real issue behind this: everyone involved is a consenting adult that is fully aware of the situation. Everyone knows that Bea is hooking up with the guys in the house. If the guys didn't want to hook up with her, they wouldn't— like how Luke turns her down in this most recent chapter. She's also a girl in her 20s... I know a lot of girls in college that made goals to sleep with entire exec boards of frats or collect each frat president or, in an extreme case, a girl that wanted to hook up with every brother in our pledge class, the pledge class above us, and the pledge class below us. If the girl wants to be a slut, then she can be a slut. & that's how I'm writing her. More power to her. Things might even change for Bea over time, like how real relationships go...

5. As for the slowness: I know that my chapters have gotten super long. I keep getting carried away and writing more than I mean to. It's because I like this project and the characters I've created. BUT, each section is a day. Each chapter is a week. Honey and Trevor have known each other for just over a month and I PERSONALLY am not the kind to hook up with a guy I've just met. Yes, at times it seems long and I know that it drags at times because I can feel it dragging while I write— but I am trying to make this as realistic and detailed as possible. Between the whipped cream scene and the blowjob scene, 10 days passed. That's SUCH a short amount of time, especially since the pair didn't see each other as much that week. Honey works, Trevor trains, and a lot of that is off screen because I think it's boring to write when this is a ROMANCE.

6. If I had an editor, they could probably help me cut this shit down and make it drag less. I DON'T have an editor though and this is a very detailed rough draft of a story that would probably change a LOT before publishing IF I WERE TO GET IT PUBLISHED.

7. I apologize that you have waited and hoped for quicker advancement in Honey and Trevor's story. To me, it's not a fast story. It's going to pick up... on my outline I have Trevor and Honey hooking up 3 times next week. You're welcome to hang in there for that if you want to. It's up to you.

And finally... I apologize that my explanation was so long. And probably slow. I just want to be thorough with your concerns. If you choose not to read anymore of STG, then good for you. I'll still be churning out oneshots when I can and I hope you like those more.

I really do appreciate the feedback. I hope this response didn't seem rude because I'm not trying to be. It's also 2:30am for me so I really should go to bed before I ACTUALLY get my feelings hurt or start lashing out... which I've been known to do when tired. So. Goodnight Anon. Thanks for not hating on ME and I hope my explanations were good enough for you.

#andy's asks🥤#small town girl x tz #in case you wanted analysis of stg & why I do what I do #sorry for the length #as always

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evansbby · 3 months

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my vanderpump rules season 2 midway opinions! (I’ve watched all the way up till the Cabo trip aka episode 11!! And so much has happened that i just need to share my views before i forget!

Stassi — i literally love this girl! She is so entertaining to watch and she is such a girl’s girl and honestly her confidence is goals! You can also tell that she’s really smart too and i love how fiercely she sticks up for herself and her friends! She’s literally my fav and also she’s sooo pretty!

Jax - guys I can’t even with this guy… like at this point it’s just funny how big of a loser he is. Like I don’t think I’ve seen anyone exude more pure loser energy. And I don’t know if he’s putting it on to make the show entertaining or if he genuinely is this much of a genuine pathetic loser but the way he acts is insane 😭 like this man is a pathological liar, like even his own friends aka the Toms and Peter are done with his shit. It’s the way Ariana said she can’t even be mad at Jax for spreading shit about her bc he’s so pathetic 😭😂 the way he was bringing the mood down in Cabo, bringing all those random girls. Like atp Stassi is literally embarrassed that she ever went out with this guy 😭 and his behaviour is so embarrassing for a 33 year old man PLS. Also the way he spreads stuff and then lies and pretends it never happened is crazy. This man needs to be studied. Oh and he also has a victim complex and wants people to feel sorry for him and I love how Stassi never falls for it and clocks it every time 😂

Tom Sandoval - guys I can’t tell with him… I still think he’s giving unhinged energy but like… I really can’t tell!!! I can’t tell what he wants, whether he wants to be with Kristen or anything!! I definitely think he did sleep with Ariana tho! But don’t spoil it for me!! He’s hot tho. It’s just the way he straight-faced denies everything… bro the men in this show are all pathological liars!!!

Kristen - she’s really weak. Like genuinely Tom cheated on her a bunch of times and she still went back to him?!? She’s one of those girls who assures her girlfriends that she’s over a man, and then throws her girlfriends under the bus and runs back to the same man who hurt her! It’s just sad and pathetic to watch.

Katie - her hair is so annoying like I cannot! The brassy blonde with her dark roots coming in and the aggressive side part??? It’s so annoying pls. Also she’s kinda bleh. She does get really messy when she’s drunk though. I did feel for her when her boyfriend poured a drink over her head like she needs to dump him! Why are all the men in this show literal trash?!

Scheana - she’s so boring 😭 like she needs to be studied too tho bc I think she’s obsessed with Stassie 😭😭 like she hates Stassie but she also wants to BE Stassie but she also wants to be Stassie’s bff??!? And the thing is, Scheana keeps sticking up for Stassie but Stassie always picks Kristen and Katie over Scheana yet Scheana keeps blindly supporting Stassie 😂😭 it’s kinda tragic to watch. But also she’s kinda weird how she made that gangbang comment in the car with all the guys including her boyfriend?!? Like wtf. Also how she called herself “one of the guys” like pls Scheana you’re giving pick me energy. Stassie said it perfectly, that she doesn’t trust a girl who can’t get along with a group of girls and hangs out with guys instead. Although I do think Kristen and Katie are unnecessarily mean to Scheana.

Ariana - I really don’t like her :/ and if she DID sleep with Tom after denying it, then that’s fucked up. But I don’t like how she also acts like a pick me, thinking she’s sooo much better than the other girls bc she’s that one “chill” girl like no fuck off. She just thinks she’s so superior but unlike Stassie, she doesn’t own it and just comes across as a pick me.

ANYWAYS I LOVE THIS SHOW SOOO MUCH! I can’t believe I never watched it before, it’s literally so relatable to me since I worked at a restaurant for four years almost when I was at uni!!!

#AHHHHH #no spoilers pls!!!#now I’m gonna resume watching #vanderpump rules #lisa vanderpump

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general-yasur · 1 year

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Im really interested to see how Lloyd is characterized in DR not only in comparison to crystalized but the entire series as well.

I’ve seen a lot of people say how grown up Lloyd is now that he is a sensei/master, even though he’s been “grown up” for awhile but now that he’s teaching a younger generation it’s really made people realize that he certainly isn’t the little kid he used to be

He probably won’t be much different, if anything much calmer because Crystalized legit had every major stressor of his thrown at him 😭

Anyway, I think about Lloyds character progression a lot. A lot of people say Lloyd now and s7 lloyd feel like two different characters. Hot take: but I think it’s a good thing to some degree.

Yeah he is different in s7 then he is in say Seabound, but Lloyd and the other ninja have literally grown up over the course of the show (no matter how much the writers try to half-ass it)

Who you were as a kid is very different from your adult self because you have had experiences and gained knowledge/wisdom since then. It’s really fascinating to watch his worldview and opinions on people change as he grows older. His whole theme is change and adaptability after all.

In fact, if Lloyd didn’t change throughout the entire show despite time progressing and him going through some really tough stuff— I don’t think it was make him nearly as interesting imo

He is a result of everything he has been through for better and for worse. I don’t think the flaws he has developed since the Oni trilogy for example have been a bad thing but have added complexity to his character. Unfortunately I wish the show would explore this more in depth instead of surface level stuff- unfortunately Ninjago’s writing isn’t the best and so the lines get blurred between what is OOC and what is simply character progression.

Because Ninjago has run so long and gone through many changes, AND because the Ninja are *sorta* allowed to mature— watching Lloyd as a main character is an experience you don’t get often and I appreciate it

#ninjago #lloyd garmadon #lloyd ninjago #yasurspeaks

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slayfics · 1 year

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OMG.. This is it..

My first ever request to you..

Y/n x Katsuki

It's a battle between Y/N vs. Katsuki, where Y/n won the fight and probably his heart.. And since then he always challenge her for a duel subtly wanting to spend time with her..

I hope this is okay.. Thank yoooou 💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙❤️💙

Katsuki and Kansatoki spar.

Kansatoki Hikari hero name Persuasion. Her quirk is the ability to sense others emotions and change them when making contact. She fights with a whip in order to get others close to her so she’s better able to touch and influence them.

Authors note: I usually do these at the end of my fics- however, I have a huge complex about this so I’m going to say this upfront. Sapphire requested this fic and after discussing with her about writing around what quirk the reader should have she encouraged me to write it with my OC instead. I’ve never written an OC into a story so I’m extremely excited and nervous to post this. I also still feel incredibly selfish for writing my OC instead of making this a self insert 🫣. I hope you enjoy the debut of Persuasion non the less~

Today's training exercises were to be just a simple spar between classmates. It had been a while since the class spared each other since first starting at UA. Everyone had made improvements since the start of the year. Some made major improvements in working on their special moves, while others made adjustments to their costumes or even added support items.

The class anxiously waited to hear who the first sparring match was going to be. Finally, Aizawa announced the spars were to be randomly paired and announced the first two classmates.

"Persuasion and Bakugo you will be the first spar. Everyone make your way to change into your hero costumes and meet at the gym," he announced.

The class began to shuffle, grabbing their costumes and leaving for the locker room to change.

"Hey, Hikari!" Mina exclaimed, catching up to her friend. "Are you nervous?" She asked.

"Nervous?" Kansatoki asked.

"Yeah! To spar with Bakugo. Everyone usually gets pretty messed up after going against him," She laughed.

"Oh- No he doesn't scare me. Besides I have some new stuff I've been training with so I'm excited to try it out." Kansatoki replied.

"Ooo really? I can't wait to see! I'll be rooting for you," Mina smiled.

"Thanks," Kansatoki smiled in return as the girls headed off to change.

The students slowly gathered in the gym and waited for the training to start. Everyone seemed to be in a good mood and excited to spar again with classmates except for Katsuki who impatiently waited for Kansatoki.

"It shouldn't take her so damn long to get into a hero costume," Katsuki grunted.

"Aw come on Bakugo, we're in no rush. Besides, I remember she said something about asking for a new costume. Probably takes some extra time getting used to," Eijiro said, trying to calm Katsuki.

"It still shouldn't take so damn long," Katsuki grumbled.

Eijiro laughed off his friend's irritation, "I get it, I'm anxious to start training too man. I'm actually excited to see her costume, she asked for pictures of my costume to use as a reference," Kirishima said.

"Hu- you sure about that?" Katsuki asked with a subtle pink tint arising on his face as he looked past Eijiro.

"Well okay, just pictures of my sleeves to use as a reference but yeah why?" Eijiro added.

"Because that costume doesn't look anything like yours," he said, motioning towards Kansatoki who had finally shown up to the gym.

Eijiro turned around to find Kansatoki and quickly turned back around after he did. Kansatoki's new costume was far more revealing than her previous one, almost to the same extent as Momo's.

"Oh-" Eijiro exclaimed, his face also tinted with a pink blush. "No, I suppose it doesn't. I guess it makes sense though, being that she has to touch someone to use her quirk."

Aizawa called for the class to get in order so the matches could begin.

"Good luck man, and don't be too rough on her, ok? Remember she's our friend." Eijiro said before he made his way with the rest of the class to watch.

"Whatever," Katsuki said as he left for the sparring area in the gym.

Kansatoki was waiting on one edge of the arena with a determined look on her face.

"You really think that new costume is going to help you? I don't care how much skin you show, you're still not going to be able to touch me," Katsuki called out.

"Well see about that. I've got a new support item too. I've got to say I'm kind of excited you're the first one I get to use it on," She grinned.

Katsuki opened his mouth to make another smart remark but was interrupted by Aizawa who lazily yelled "Start."

Kansatoki grabbed at her side, pulled out a whip, and cracked it against the floor.

The classmates watching in the stands erupted with commentary. Some supportive yells for Kasnatoki mixed with surprise at the debut of her new support item.

"That's the new support item she's been talking about training with?!?" Denki yelled in astonishment. "Is that even- allowed!?"

"Oh my god- Bakugo is a lucky bastard." Minoru mused beside him.

"Mineta you perv!" Mina said, slapping the back of his head. Then turned back to watch, "YOU GOT THIS PERSUASION!" she yelled.

"What kind of dominatrix crap is that?" Katsuki yelled lunging forward attempting to hit Kansatoki with a blast.

Kansatoki avoided it cartwheeling to the side then wrapped her whip around Katsuki's feet trying to bring him to the ground.

"What's the matter? You're not into it?" She said with a wink.

"Tch-" Katsuki let out an annoyed puff of air, as he let out another blast freeing him from the whip around his feet, and made his way into the air.

"Too afraid to get any closer?" Kansatoki yelled up at him.

"You're going to regret saying that!" Katsuki yelled at her with another blast from the air. This one was even stronger than the last. Kansatoki dodged again as the smoke from the blast filled the gym.

"How does that one saying go?" Kansatoki said as Katsuki frantically scanned through the smoke trying to find her. "Oh yeah missed me now you have to kiss me," She laughed as the smoke began to clear giving Katsuki a view of her again.

"Cut out that damn seductive crap," He yelled.

"Why is it distracting? "She asked, smirking at him. Katsuki attempted to hit her with another blast. This time giving Kansatoki exactly what she had been waiting for. Unlike the last two blasts, Katsuki used both hands this time allowing her to wrap her whip around both his arms at once.

She moved swiftly avoiding his blast while keeping her grasp on her whip tied around his arms. Using the smoke caused by the blast as cover once more she moved in closer, this time having some control of where Katsuki's next blast would go thanks to her whip.

Placing her leg in between his and behind his foot she pushed him back causing him to trip and fall onto the floor. Before he could let out another blast she straddled him and his wrapped-up arms. Restricting his arms to the point that if he let out a blast he'd be aiming at himself.

Katsuki struggled under her, enraged at himself for being caught. Curses and insults spewed out from him.

"What's the matter? Don't want to blow your own balls off?" She teased him.

"Shut the fuck up," He yelled angrily still trying to free himself.

"Why don't you just tell me what you want to feel?" Kansatoki said, struggling to keep him down. Her own arms were occupied with making sure he didn't escape.

Katsuki groaned and continued to fight a bit longer before accepting being unable to get out from under her. "Just put me to sleep already bitch-" He barked.

"How boring- of all the things I could make you feel that's what you chose? So be it I guess," She replied. Unable to touch Katsuki with her arms due to being occupied with keeping him pinned down, Kansatoki moved closer kissing Katsuki on the cheek. Instantly he stopped struggling under her and fell into a deep slumber.

"Oh crap- she won! Way to go Persuasion" Eijiro yelled.

"I WANT TO FIGHT HER NEXT!" Minoru yelled.

"Yeah something tells me she wouldn't use that move on you dude," Kamanari laughed.

Kansatoki moved off of Katsuki and touched his face gently, causing him to wake up.

"You know, you're kind of cute when you are asleep and not barking so loud," She said, teasing Katsuki.

"Tch- whatever enjoy it while it lasts. You're never beating me again, got it?" He grumbled.

"Mhm sure Bakugo," She said, rolling her eyes as the class moved closer to congratulate her.

"Whip me next please, my dominatrix queen," Minoru said.

"Not even in your goddamn dreams extra," Katsuki said blasting Minoru.

Kansatoki began to walk away with her classmates congratulating her when Katuski called out to her.

"Hey! We are sparing again tomorrow after class so you better be ready!" Katsuki yelled, causing Kansatoki to turn back to him.

"Oh, are we? That's a bit presumptuous. What if I'm busy," She said playfully.

"Yeah whatever, I'll see you tomorrow at seven in the gym," He said, ignoring her playfulness.

"I already told you Bakugo I might be busy, but I'll think about it," She said, winking at him before turning to leave.

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