#he's the most dramatic man in the galaxy

[thefrogdalorian]

din djarin + dramatic entrances

[sh1-n0bu]

✿ 𝙟𝙚𝙖𝙡𝙤𝙪𝙨 ✿

characters: jing yuan x gn!reader

warnings: fluff, bad attempt at humor, reader is immortal, established relationship, jing yuan being jealous, found family slightly in there, yanqing coming in at the wrong time pt19487288482877

notes: i have fed yall enough horny food. now its time for fluff food aka small dosage of serotonin. open wideeeee🚂🚂🚂

the constant noise of your irritated lover was something that you disregarded with little to no attention. you could feel it after all. that familiar feeling of your husband’s eyes boring into the back of your skull like the insanely heavy glaive he carries. it wasn’t exactly a common feeling to receive but on the moments that it happens, you could never forget the feeling.

you can just imagine it already. the pout pulling on the white haired man’s lips, the slight narrowing of his eyes, the impatient thumps of his feet rapidly hitting the floor as small sparks of lightning would float around him. of course, you can’t forget the iconic, “what about me?” puppy eyes he pulls.

“beloved” the deep baritone voice of jing yuan calls out, sounding way too serious for anyone’s comfort. if his soldiers that stand guard inside his office would still be around, they would be shivering in their armory from the sheer amount of unsettling feeling it brought. it wasn’t like that they have never seen their general angry or serious. it was just that, it rarely happens and so much fewer now since he was nearing his retirement.

turning around from what you were most greatly occupied with, you give him a few seconds of acknowledgment. finally, you were looking at him now. your eyes on him, the brightest stars he loved to gaze into even as the ever burning ones around him twinkles. you were always his favorite.

“jing yuan” you simply hum with a nod before turning back to what you were obsessing over. the loud dramatic gasp that comes from where your husband is barely fazes you, as you knew he was simply trying to get your attention. you knew your husband like the back of your hand and you knew for a fact that he wasn’t hurt as he shows himself to be.

“how dare you!” the man’s voice raises a bit, the sound of his steps sounding heavier than usual as he finally comes behind you to sweep you up into his arms. you immediately let out a soft grunt, feeling his strong arms tighten around you possessively as he refuses to let you go. instead, he pulls your smaller form flush against himself, face buried into the crook of your neck with a "hmph!". such a big baby you were married to.

"jing yuan, let go of me" you say, not bothering to wiggle yourself out of his grasp since you knew it would be an impossible task. your husband can be dangerously clingy and possessive at times and this was definitely one of those times.

"nuh.." your husband immediately rebuttals, shaking his face and proceeding to nuzzle his face further into the crook of your neck. deeply inhaling your scent, you could see his broad shoulders visibly relax and slump to indicate that he was calming down from his earlier mini temper tantrum. the two of you stay like that for a while. you, held captive in his arms as your husband takes his time to cuddle you close to himself. as close as fleshly possible. not even single moment for something else to wedge between the two of you, not even the cool air of his office. if there were to be the smallest bit of distance between the two of you, he would be extremely deprived of his already dangerously low level of [name] affections.

you had been away to the xianzhou zhuming for a business trip. as one of the most accomplished merchant and the head of the trade association, sometimes your work required you to move back and forth between places, worlds and even galaxies. and this time was no different as your business partner of long time in the xianzhou zhuming had come to a stalemate in their business there due to the ipc's recent dabbling in the xianzhou alliance's trading business. it had dragged on way longer than what you would've liked which also translated to an extended period of time of not seeing your husband, your son and daughter all together. a time away that your clingy husband took very badly, even worse than your son and daughter.

but not for you, as the first thing you did upon coming back from the trip and stepping in through the large doors of his office was to head straight towards your daughter - mimi. the large lion was sulking quietly in his office ever since you went away for your business trip, constantly pawing at jing yuan's clothes and whining for your presence. and upon seeing your face, she immediately pounced in your direction, wasting no time as she pushed you down into the hologram showcasing the large starchess board as she licked all over your face. an act of affection that you returned with a hearty laugh and kisses to her adorable fluffy face. an act of affection that your husband was very very very jealous of.

he was supposed to be the one to tackle you down and pepper your face in kisses and in return have his face peppered in kisses in return! not mimi!

and yes, jing yuan was jealous over his own fluffy daughter stealing his spouse away from him. blatantly, unabashedly, without shame was jealous over. which led to now, in you being trapped in his inescapable hold. really, the galls of this man.

"mmrrp? mrreeow?" mimi meows, butting her head against jing yuan's legs to get his attention while also making it sound as if she wanted the attention back on her again. it was tough having not one but two needy lions scampering for your attention.

"mimi, you have already had enough of their attention. now it's my turn with my own spouse!" jing yuan chides the lion softly, making her let out an irritated huff. mimi wanted her parent's attention but jing yuan also wanted his spouse's attention. it was a tug of war between the two lions with you as their unfortunate victim.

after many back and forths between the two lions, jing yuan had decided he had enough and decided to swoop you off of your feet. quite literally. the smug bastard had kicked your legs under you, making you fall back into a dip with a startled gasp. giving you an "i told you so" look, your husband cups your cheek in the palm of his hand before leaning in to place a fluffy of kisses on your face. cheeks, the bridge of your nose, forehead, chin, eyelids, lips - nowhere was free from the mercy of his kisses and jing yuan was going to make the whole world be reminded that you two were happily married.

"general! i heard that [name]'s bac-EWWWW!!!" the sudden barging in of you two's son is what finally separates you from his barrage of kisses. turning to look at his son, jing yuan makes a shooing motion with his hand - momentarily letting go of you cheek in the process - with mimi.

"me and [name] are busy right now, yanqing. take mimi out for a walk for an hour or two" the white haired man says without an ounce of shame, your breathless self still in his hold. reluctantly, yanqing does as told, calling mimi to his side to leave you two lovebirds be for some time. but not without one final word of advice.

"wait until back home at least, you two!!" and with that, your son and daughter were gone, leaving you both behind to have at least a small dose of affection that the both of you were deprived off of. with an amused chuckle at his son's words, he shakes his head before turning to you with his resting cat face. pair of golden eyes crinkling as mirth and devotion dance in them while his lips pull upwards into the genuine smiles he permanently has on his face whenever you were in his line of sight. all jing yuan could do was thank the reignbow arbiter and every aeons out there for granting him to be able to live in the same time as you.

"how i am blessed to be with you, my most beloved"

[milksnake-tea]

━━ say you still dare to dream .

Sunday has lost everything. His status, his home, his sister, all of it has slipped through his fingers, all for a failed attempt at salvation. Now imprisoned and destined to live his life in shameful shadow, you, his former subordinate, appear to offer him one last chance of redemption.

sunday x gn!reader

contains: aftermath of 2.3, depression, sunday at his lowest

word count: 1.5k

a/n: depressed sunday is my favorite sunday. like damn bro you got BROKEN ig this is what being rammed by a train 8 times does to a man... ANYWAYS. DONT TAKE THIS TOO SERIOUSLY THIS IS JUST ME DOING SOME WRITING PRACTICE WITH BEING DRAMATIC hunches over and dies

taglist: @sh0jun , @themoderatelyawesomeninja , @xphantasmagoriax , @rainswept , @lucensei , @akutasoda , @naraven , @scribs-dibs , @apathicace , @flurrina

“I can only allow you a few minutes at most,” says the woman in purple.

A devil in velvet, that was what they called her. Although she may not look like much - from a distance, you’d mistake her as yet another filthy rich vacationer of Penacony - up close, her snake-like eyes and elegantly poised stature, always ready to strike unsuspecting prey, told you just how dangerous she was.

Lady Bonajade, the Stoneheart of Credit and the most deranged loan shark the galaxy had to offer. She who does the impossible and creates miracles for the price of one’s livelihood.

She, who is currently the master who holds the life of the fallen Oak Family Head in her perfectly manicured hands.

You meet her chilling gaze with steeled eyes. With a deep breath, you force down the lodge in your throat.

“I understand.”

Jade smiles. It is neither threatening nor comforting, although you cannot help but feel unsettled by her calm amusement.

“Most of the Family has turned their back on Mr. Sunday,” she comments, crossing her arms and tapping one nail against her arm. “Why haven’t you, I wonder? Surely, a mere subordinate wouldn’t be so loyal to a traitor of this degree.”

You know better than to answer her. After all, all of her questions are rhetorical - tests. She already knows their answers, she just wants to hear them come from your lips.

But you don’t give her that satisfaction. Your silence is answer enough.

You walk past her and come before a heavily armored vault door. A bit much, in your opinion, for a man who has spent the majority of his life asleep. But he is also the man who had taken control of the Asdana system and nearly ascended into Aeonhood, so this level of security is to be expected.

Hundreds of locks and gears turn before the doors open with a hiss and a billowing of smoke. With a mental prayer to Xipe for strength, you step into the dark cell.

There’s little to no light in the small room, leaving you to wonder how Sunday had managed to stay sane all this time. You already know the cells are essentially soundproof, and with so little light, the Family’s prisoners were shut off from the rest of the world and their senses.

The brief rustle of chains catches your attention, and you turn your gaze to the iron throne at the center of the room.

Oh, how far he has fallen.

Once gleaming gold has lost its luster, reflecting not sympathy nor love like you had known them to, but defeat and a resigned acceptance. Fair skin has become drained and faded like that of a corpse. Feather-like hair, once so meticulously cared for, is ruined and frayed.

Bound are the hands that would never raise against another, and shackled are the wings that have never known flight. Caged is the bird who has known no other home; only now, his gilded shackles have become sullied, ugly, disdainful.

He is hollow, empty in every sense of the word - drained of what little vitality he once had.

“Sir,” comes your whisper. He doesn’t respond.

Your footsteps are heavy as you approach. Sunday’s head is bowed - something his pride would’ve never allowed back in the day.

Once upon a time, you had found his arrogance annoying, hypocritical even. Yet at the same time, it was endearing, knowing that even the perfect and saint-like Sunday had his faults. In a sense, it had brought him down to earth, it had made him human.

Seeing him like this, so despondent and defeated, makes you long for the days where he’d scoff at the IPC or make back-handed compliments for his own sick pleasure.

“Sir,” you repeat. You stop before him, and kneel down to one knee.

Sunday’s eyes flick to meet yours, before dropping down to his lap, as if he couldn’t bear to look at you. Out of guilt, or out of scorn, you don’t know.

“Why have you come?”

Your heart aches at his voice. It cracks from the days without use, deeper than his typical chirp.

“I am a sinner, a traitor to the Family.” Not once does he meet your gaze again as he speaks. “Visiting me…”

He exhales.

“You should leave.”

“I won’t.”

His hands clench from where they’re bound to the arms of his throne. Briefly, annoyance flashes over him, before he lets it wash away with a slump of his shoulders.

“It would be easier if you just- left me here,” he says painstakingly. “I am of no use to you anymore - if anything, I am a stain. Abandoning me… is the logical thing to do.”

“You and your logistics,” you sigh. “Did it never once occur to you that I cared for you as a person, and not just as my superior?”

His eyes are shaking. Sunday’s expression is pained, like that of a grieving mother.

“Why?” he asks again, his face straining as he tries to understand. “Why are you here?”

Your answer is simple. “To free you.”

Bitterly, the corners of his lips twitch in a cynical chuckle.

“You of all people should know that I was not meant for freedom,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “That is what you believe. Lady Bonajade and I agree that you deserve to have this chance.”

“Lady Jade, huh?” Resentment flashes in his irises as he scoffs. “So you intend to coerce me into accepting charity from the IPC?”

Hurt pangs at your chest and you flinch. “That isn’t-”

“Spare me the concern,” Sunday spits, turning his head. “I may have fallen, but I still have my pride. If that’s all you have to say, you can leave.”

For a moment, you are speechless. Then you are indignant, and you rise slightly, your brows furrowed.

“Why are you so willing to accept your fate?” you ask, almost angrily.

Sunday exhales. “What else am I expected do?”

“This can’t be how your story ends." Your fist balls up the fabric of your pants in its grip. “Locked away, isolated from the rest of the world - that can’t be what you want. It is too cruel a fate for you.”

For you, who loved humanity so deeply.

“Tell me,” you say, gazing up at the man who had torn his skin and carved his heart for the people. “Tell me you want to be freed, and I will do so. I’ll take care of everything. All I need is for you to say that you want it.”

He shakes his head, his eyes squeezing shut.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers after a moment of silence. “Why, for me…”

“What is there to understand?”

“This is unreasonable,” he starts.

“Not for me, it isn’t,” you say softly. “If it’s for you, nothing is unreasonable.”

His voice raises, trembling upon its crumbling pedestal, panic seeping into every word. “I don’t deserve that kindness - that mercy. I am a sinner, I am a traitor, I am-”

“You are a man worth saving.”

Sunday’s eyes fly open. He stares at you, eyes wide with surprise, his lips parted as to say something, only for the words to die on his tongue.

Your neck is beginning to hurt from how long you’ve been looking up at him, but you push the pain aside.

“The Sunday I knew was kind and gentle,” you say, subconsciously leaning forward. Pent-up emotions, cumulated through the years, begin to bleed into your voice, weighing it down. “He always looked out for the weak, and cared when no one else did. He put others before himself, and even if he was a little arrogant, he was selfless.”

“No,” Sunday protests weakly. “I am not- You- I-”

“You are so much more than you allow yourself to be.”

Rising from the floor, your knees aching slightly, you gently take the face of the fallen angel in your hand. Cradling him like glass, you force him to look at you, to look one of the many he’d betrayed in the face, and see the love for him despite it all.

“Sunday, do you wish for freedom?”

For the many years you’ve worked under him, his eyes have always been a cold gem, calm and unfettered. Never have you seen them glossy with tears, threatening to break at any moment.

You see fear and desire clashing as he grapples for the first time, a choice not for the people, but for himself. You see the beliefs that have been molded into him beginning to crack. You see the caged bird gaze at the world beyond his bars, and for the first time, want to soar beyond them.

Sunday’s lips open and close as he struggles to find the right words to say.

“Where will I go?” he asks instead, tearing his gaze away. It is answer enough.

You smile softly.

“Anywhere you desire.”

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

[phoenixkaptain]

Obi-Wan: “Did you know that Anakin is still alive?”

Bail: “Skywalker? No way! There’s no way that Anakin Skywalker lived for twenty years without getting on at least half of the galaxy’s nerves or being the most dramatic man in the room or without fighting a ten-year-old or oh my heavens he’s Darth Vader, isn’t he?”

[pinkeos]

Dad!Aventurine Headcanons

Warning/s: None and reader's gender isn't mentioned, whether the child is adopted or your own is up to you

Notes: I wish I had a dad🧍 /j

im fully convinced aventurine is a girl dad and it's hard to convince me otherwise

with his job, dad!aven couldn't spend that much time with his little girl as much as he wanted, the days where he wasn't needed to leave for different planets were far and between

and when he leaves, it takes weeks to months before he comes home despite trying his very best to finish his assignment quickly so, even though he knows it won't exactly be comparable to his presence in his daughter’s life, he sends gifts and toys. whatever she wanted, he’d give it to her

dad!aven would often call you when he's away, face timing to see and talk to you and your daughter. it'd send a pang of guilt and pain in his heart to see the frown and the tears she held back whenever he said he wouldn't be home yet

he’d be the type to rewatch the videos you’d send of you and your kid just enjoying your days whenever he misses you both, a smile on his face as he grows more determined to finish his work to come home to you

he loves his family, and treats you two as his most precious treasures, more precious than anything else in the galaxy. you’re the only ones he has left, after all. he thought his luck had ran out when you and your daughter entered his life, because he couldn't get any luckier

but whenever the man’s home, oh boy does the house get so lively

dad!aven would go along with his daughter’s wishes, doing whatever she wanted so you often had to help your husband wipe the thick make up off of his face that your daughter applied on him when they played

you remember walking in on them having a pretend tea party where they gossiped about the other ‘guests’ which were her plushies, he looked like he was enjoying it more than your daughter

they'd make bracelets together, and he'd proudly wear the bracelet his daughter made for him even though the colors didn't really look that good together or with his outfit. in his eyes, it was perfect and he'd bring it up to whoever he was talking to at work even though no one asked

dad!aven would be the type to sneak sweets for your daughter even though you told him not to because dinner was almost done, he was a victim to your daughter’s puppy eyes and pout

he once spent a day out to bond with his daughter, insisting you go and rest and have some you time while he takes care of your daughter. you later found out he took her to the casino, and the way you scolded their ears off after made him remind himself not to do it again

dad!aven was an entirely different person than the aventurine of the ten stonehearts. he was but a loving father that treasured both you and his daughter

“daddy, move! you’re heavy!” your daughter whined as she tried to push her father who was leaning against her on the couch as they waited for you to finish preparing for the day out

aventurine dramatically gasped, looking down at his daughter with a faux offended look, “do you not want my love and affection anymore?”

the child, who genuinely thought she hurt her father's feelings, stammered, “n-no!”

“‘no’?” he echoed, his acting skills quite helpful when teasing his little girl as he looked away, sniffing as if he was actually crying

“i-i mean!” she stood on the couch, wrapping her short arms around his shoulders, “i still want daddy’s hugs! even when im older! i don't want you to leave again!”

his teasing might've gotten a bit too far when she began to sob, aventurine internally panicked as he embraced her, rubbing her back, “hey now, daddy was just teasing.”

“why is our little girl crying, kakavasha?”

the moment he heard your voice, he knew he was done for

[gffa]

I HIGHLY RECOMMEND READING THIS COMIC, Darth Vader: Black, White & Red, it's an anthology of several stories set around creepy themes and has some absolutely stunning artwork, the color palettes used to incredible effect and setting up a really creep read that's great especially if it's near Halloween. But also I recommend it because it's Vader at some of his most brutal, the walking nightmare that's unstoppable, a lot like that feeling I had the first time I watched the Rogue One hallway scene, while still understanding that this is a sad, pathetic, miserable fuckup of a human being. Yeah, it's badass when he's floating severed arms in mid-air to keep them firing on the people who are shooting at him or when he's murdering everyone in the room while strapped down to a table, just the power of his mind and the Force, or when an insect queen has stabbed him with her stinger to control his mind/bring him "peace" and he just rips that stinger right out through his stomach and murders her while walking away with the most over the top dramatic, "If the Endless Mercy is truly the vessel of your deliverance... then let it serve now as your tomb. The only peace in the galaxy is death itself, Doctor. Wherever there is life, there is suffering--and the dark side shall always endure." line. But I also can't read that and not realize this is someone who is so miserable and in such a hell of his own making, who steeps himself in the dark side every single day and that keeps him trapped in the prison of his own mind, that he wants to die but can't. This man wants so badly to die, but there are only two people in the galaxy who could achieve it and they both refused to strike him down, one because it would burn his own heart to ash to kill what's left of Anakin Skywalker and the other because he has more uses for his pet enforcer. The only peace he can imagine at all in his life now is death and he can't grant it to himself and no one can grant it for him, so he's trapped in this life, in this suffering and pain. And no matter how badass he is, no matter how many people he murders in the most nightmarish ways, no matter how many one-versus-a-thousand men fights he walks away from with everyone but himself dead, he will always be that miserable wretch trapped inside a suit that forces him to keep living. Right up until he finds someone he's willing to let go for, someone he's willing to put above his own pain and suffering. But until then? He's just 800 pounds of misery in a 300 pound mechanical suit of torment.

[ladykailitha]

The Fallen

I blame @vecnuthy for this entirely. Seeing all their Sleep Token posts has completely intersected with Steddie and you get this.

***

Modern AU: Corroded Coffin makes it big. Like Metallica levels huge. Like every up and coming metal band is clamoring to open for them levels of fame. When this metal band, The Fallen comes on the scene and are dismissed as glam rock wannabes.

They are very theatrical. They are dressed in long coats with hoods and face masks. The guitarist, bassist, and drummer all have full Venetian masks of different colors. The bassist has one that looks like a starry night (but not Starry Night if you know what I mean). The Guitarist has a red devil’s mask, horns and all. The drummer is in a black death mask. The eyes of the mask are closed and it looks eerie as fuck. The most dramatic of the masks belong to the lead singer. He wears an opaque white lace mask with the mouth and chin cut out so he can sing.

Their outfits match their masks.

The lead singer, Abbadon, the fallen angel is in all in white with a splash of color on the lining of his coat. Sometimes it’s pink or baby blue, sometimes it one of the colors of bandmates, black or red or starry midnight blue. He wears high heeled boats and not always of the combat variety. Once he wore stilettos with a baby blue stripe up the side. It’s the outfit that gets made into dolls and merch the most. Most of the time he’s shirtless, but has been known to switch it up with lace or sheer tops.

The guitarist plays up the devil persona to a tee and calls himself Asmodeus, the demon of lust. Red leather and fetish gear. Thick red combat boots. His guitar is even blood red.

The bassist is called Astraeus, the titan of the night. While in certain light his clothes look black, but they are in fact a dark blue with bright stars, swirling galaxies, and glowing nebulae. His bass is of the night sky as well.

And finally the drummer, Azrael. Angel of death. Always in black. His drum kit is black with black metal fittings. Even his drumsticks are black.

Like I said, at first dismissed as wannabes but they are killing it. It’s clear that not only are they talented, their flare for the dramatic adds to their mystique. Soon they are the new rising stars of metal.

Dustin is their biggest fan. He loves them. Eddie is offended at the highest level. How dare this little butthead like The Fallen. Dustin rolls his eyes.

“Dude, Corroded Coffin is still number one in my book,” he tells Eddie. “But you can’t deny that Abbadon is a beast on vocals.”

Eddie is forced to concede the point. Abbadon knows how to really get the through to the emotion of a song.

So when Dustin gets front row tickets to The Fallen’s concert in Indy, Eddie reluctantly joins the little twerp.

And the concert starts. First the drummer gets lowered into his seat on giant raven wings.

“Azrael!” the announcer calls out.

And the crowd goes wild.

The man slips out of the harness and wings ascend. Eddie cocks his head, yeah all right that’s kinda cool.

Azrael hits his drums and the bassist gets lowered on to the stage. All shimmering blues and purples, like actual stars, lands deftly on the stage and Azrael hits the high hat.

“Astraeus!”

The crowd is frantic now. Screaming and jumping up and down.

As soon as the wings are unstrapped and lifted away Astraeus riffs on his bass and the crowd eats it up.

Eddie likes this one. It’s unique.

Then Azrael starts up again as another man is lowered and it takes everything in Eddie’s power not to roll his eyes at this one. Red leather gear, horned mask, and fucking bat wings.

He stomps on the stage and really wails on his guitar. Eddie looks over to see that Dustin is absolutely eating it with the rest of them so he wisely keeps his mouth shut.

“Asmodeus!”

Dustin is vibrating so hard that Eddie’s fears he might literally crawl out of his skin with excitement.

And then the entire stadium goes silent. Like stock still. Eddie is looking around him confused.

He looks back at the stage and there descends the absolute most devastatingly handsome man Eddie has ever seen and he hasn’t seen his face.

His arms are out stretched and his head is bowed. Once he lands air cannons shoot out white feathers out at the crowd and the wings ascend without this man.

“Abbadon!” the announcer screams for the final time.

“Indy!” he shouts into his mouthpiece.

And the crowd screams could deafen the most resilient of metal goer.

Abbadon starts singing and the crowd is losing their god damn minds. And yeah, yeah. Eddie is one of them.

They’ve got a stage presence that can’t be manufactured.

And then about half way through the concert he sees it. Abbadon turns his head just right and holy fuck, Eddie is losing his mind for a different reason. He manages to take a picture with his phone before Abbadon turns.

After the concert Eddie grills Dustin about the band all the way home. But the only thing the kid knows is how awesome the band is.

He gets to the hotel and starts watching every interview with The Fallen ever. And he pulls up one from about a year or so back where Abbadon is talking about the masks.

Abbadon pulls out a black mask and holds it up to the light. “See? You can tell that the eyes have mesh covering over them. They work the way two way mirrors do. Azrael can see out of them just fine, but you can’t see in.”

There are a lot of impressed nods, Eddie is definitely one of them. That’s certainly a neat trick.

“So what’s the reason for the masks at all?” the interviewer asks.

Abbadon looks at the members of his band and they all nod. He licks his lips.

“Because if we had been ourselves when we started on the scene,” he said, “we would have be called posers and we wouldn’t have even gotten this far.”

Eddie paused the video and took a deep breath.

Fuck.

Just then Jeff wanders into the hotel room and looks at the TV.

“Is that The Fallen?”

Eddie hums. “Yup.”

Jeff grabs a drink from the mini-fridge and makes his way over. “Oh hey is that poser interview?”

Eddie hums again.

“He can’t really be serious about that,” Jeff says with a huff. “No one in the metal scene would call anyone posers, not if they truly loved the music.”

“We would have,” Eddie says with a finality that brings Jeff up short.

“The fuck we would have, man,” Jeff snaps. “There’s no way.”

“We would have it was Steve Harrington’s band.”

Jeff’s eyes go wide. “There is no way that’s Steve Harrington.”

Eddie pulls out his phone and zooms in on Abbadon’s neck. He hands his phone to Jeff.

“Okay so the dude has moles on his neck,” he says handing the phone back, “lots of people have them.”

Eddie goes through his phone and pulls up a picture of Steve. He’s not in the exact same pose but it’s close enough. He hands the phone to Jeff again.

Jeff squints and then zooms in.

“Holy fucking shit!”

Eddie drapes his hand over his mouth and purses his lips.

“Steve Harrington in a metal band,” Jeff says in awe. “All be damned.”

“When The Fallen came on the scene,” Eddie says dropping his hand so his talk, “we were outselling Metallica in records and ticket sales. If the rest of the band are preps like Steve we would have mocked them relentlessly.”

Jeff sits down hard on the sofa next to Eddie. “Shit.”

Eddie buries his head in his hands.

“We got to tell someone, man,” Jeff says. “This is huge!”

Eddie in his haste to look at Jeff accidentally hits the remote.

“Do you think you’ll ever do a reveal?” the interviewer asks.

Asmodeus leans over to speak in the microphone. “Ask us again in ten years if we’re still selling out crowds.”

Eddie fumbles it again, but manages to turn off the TV.

Jeff and he looks at each other.

“We can’t say shit, man,” Eddie hisses. “It would be like outing someone as gay or trans before they want to.”

Jeff slumps in his seat. “Fuck. Yeah. You’re right. Shit.”

They’re silent for a moment.

Eddie cocks his head to the side. “What I don’t get is how the kids don’t know.”

Jeff opens his mouth and then closes it. He shakes his head slowly. “Sorry but if I was Steve I wouldn’t tell them shit either.”

Eddie frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Look,” Jeff says turning to face him, “they’re great kids. Brilliant D&D players, nerds, geeks, and dorks the lot of them. But I would not trust them with a secret that big.”

Eddie thought about all the time that they accidentally blurted out something that didn’t make sense out of context, but once you knew, holy shit was it a miracle these kids didn’t get into more trouble.

“Yeah okay.”

After a moment of silence Eddie looks over and frowns at Jeff. “What are you doing my hotel room anyway?”

Jeff holds up his beer. “Your beer was cold, I forgot to put mine in the fridge when we got in.”

“Asshole,” Eddie grouses, bumping Jeff’s shoulder.

Jeff kisses his cheek. “You love me though.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

*

Steve is in his dressing room after their last concert of the tour for their second album scrubbing the hell out of his face because that mask is prone to giving him the worst breakouts, when he notices the blue roses.

He gets a lot of flowers but never blue roses. He rinses off his face and walks over to the them.

There’s a note and he thinks he recognizes the handwriting. It’s short and sweet and absolutely terrifying.

“I know your secret, sweetheart. But don’t worry, I’ll never tell.”

It’s not signed, but the ‘sweetheart’ gives it away.

He messages Robin.

“Get Eddie Munson in here right now!”

She protests that she doesn’t know where he is. But Steve knows he has to still be in the building and sure enough she finds Eddie waiting in the wings, looking smug as hell.

Her eyes go wide and cursing up a storm drags him into the dressing room.

She presses her back to the door.

“Who told?” she squeaks.

Eddie laughs. “No one, I swear.”

“Then how did you know?” Steve asks.

He hands Steve his phone with the picture he took at the concert. Robin wanders over to peak over Steve’s shoulder.

“So it’s a picture of his neck,” she murmurs.

But suddenly Steve gets it. “It’s my moles!”

Eddie nods, pressing his lips together so he doesn’t giggle.

“Shit!” Robin hisses. “Do you think anyone else figured it out?”

“I doubt it,” Eddie says with a shrug. “I’m just obsessive that way.”

“About moles?” Robin says with a frown.

“With Steve.”

Robin blinks. “Right I’m out of here.”

She closes the door behind her and they are left alone.

The night ends with Eddie in Steve’s bed asking him for The Fallen to join Corroded Coffin on their next tour next year and there is no way Steve could say no to that. His bandmates would kill him.

They go on tour and the hardest part is dodging rumors that Eddie is two timing Steve with Abbadon because when The Fallen and Corroded Coffin perform together they make out on stage.

Then for The Fallen’s ten anniversary they do a reveal and Dustin is livid.

Robin and Steve had been telling him for years that they were just low level PAs and not a famous rockstar and his equally mysterious manager.

They’re forgiven when Steve tells him that half the songs on the first album are about him and the rest of the kids.

***

This is just a rough draft. I might expand on it in full later.

ETA: Story here.

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[nuumbie]

KARMA’S A DOG.

Prompt: You’re a prized worker at the IPC Marketing Department. You spend your days waiting for that flash of black.

Trigger Warning: Reader is mentally ill and a little shit head. Curse Words. General Violent Terms and Reader Gets Ragdolled. Boothill is NOT into you!!! He actually hates you! Guilt! Etc, etc… it’s just all hurt no comfort.

Author’s Note: Written to celebrate his trailer. Save a horse. Ride a cowboy. Contains spoilers regarding his character story.

He’s resting peacefully. This should still count as sleep. You pose the question in your head if you replace the pieces of something, how far until the thing is something else entirely. But he’s still alive. You find relish in that. There’s something in him that still lives.

He still has his head. Maybe, that’s all he has left of his old self. You wonder how the surgery must have gone. Of course you’ve met people who’ve changed themselves so drastically with robotics that you couldn’t recognize them after the surgeries. It’s a rebirth in ways. When you change so dramatically that you’re a different person by the end. His body’s 90% metal. 10% flesh. So, wouldn’t it be the cybernetics that win?

Despite everything. You don’t think so. Perhaps, that’s all that he needs. I think therefore I am. There’s no doubt he’s alive. Not to you, anyway. He’s brimming with human life. He’s more alive than you. Not in the same way where the question poses in your mind with other beings or creatures that change themselves so drastically. Boothill is obstinately simple.

You like that. He’s simple. The Hunt and those that follow it is straight forward. A single path. A single road. You like that you don’t have to read his intentions. You know what he wants and why.

Boothill. Galaxy Ranger. IPC Hunter. The Man who just tried to sneak into your office and put a bullet through your head like he has with many of your employees, those who’ve worked directly under you no less. You know. Most criminals don’t get this far. Not far at all past Pier Point. Oswaldo will have a riot.

If he knew he would. You’re not going to tell him.

Boothill is special.

The cowboy opens his eyes. Your personal grim reaper.

“I see you’re awake.” You smile in a loving way. If you can even manage that. People who can control their expressions make it seem so easy. Laying across his chest. You’ve opened up his core to play with his inner circuits. He must not like that though considering there’s a burning hatred in his eyes which threatens to scorch you. You glance up towards his face and sigh and ignoring the lingering, simmering, resentment. His body is heating up beneath your touch. So, maybe it resonates with his feelings, you wonder if his body steams. “We need to stop meeting like this. You’re going to make me think you’re obsessed with me.”

It’s the opposite way around. You know that. But the very idea that it isn’t causes him to lunge at you. The cowboy turns into nothing more than a blur, all the wires connected to the body collecting samples that took at least a good thirty minutes pulled from him. Some ripped from the walls, and in instants he’s on you.

“You dang—“ his hands make its way to your shoulders, you’re flipped without hesitation. his hands grasping you down, he lays on top of you. breath heavy. robots don’t breathe, though, so you try to think of another word as he catches himself and tries to make it so he’s the one on top. “— you again!?”

“I’ve been meaning to get my hands on you… you oughta’… you ANGEL!” He screeches. Music to your ears as he shakes you more like you’re more ragdoll than person. “AEONS, it’s so freaking annoying! You absolute delight! How did I lose to…”

“Thank you so much for the compliment.” You smile back. Probably the only one getting anything out of this arrangement. Pinned against the floor hand pressed tightly against your waist so you can’t struggle. He should’ve pressed it against your mouth. But it isn’t like you’re going to scream. You’re certain. Lots of women would love to be in this position you’re currently in. But it’s you. And this is far from some sweet, pure, little romantic story. You’re not delusional. You act like you are purely because it annoys him. It’s good for him to build up his rage, his discontentment because it keeps him on his toes. “I was just looking over your upgrades since the last time you invaded Pier Point. As for asking how I beat you~…”

“The electronic upgrade was not the best idea.” You smile. “If we can control your language… your body isn’t hard especially for a renowned genius like me. Have to talk to your doctor about that. You’re lucky I’m the one that found you. Where’s my thanks? If it was anyone else. They’d have torn you asunder.”

“Aeons of COURSE you Market-Phonies have something to annoy the DANGNATION out of me.” he grinds his teeth, looking around for his pistol. making a point about how dead he wants you. you can feel his grip loosen and tighten. he’s likely processing which one would get you to be quieter. “Where’d you put it? My gun. I’ve decided. I’m killing you now. Puttin’ ya out of your misery, sweet-face! You think this is rough? Think of a 9mm lead in your skull will be?”

“Cabinet.” You put on your best smile. “Is it for me?”

“Of course for you. Love you.” You didn’t take away his ability to say hate. So, he must have said something worse like an insult. You just know it’s bad because he says it in a way that’s so vitriolic it almost hurts. “You knew this was coming. I’m not going to miss my shot again. You should’ve killed me when you had the chance.”

You did know it was coming. You wished he would get the one person above you first so you could witness your boss with his brains blown out, the outcries that an Emanator of Qlipoth killed. You could have gotten wine with Diamond and laughed about it and died happy knowing the world was washed clean forever of Oswaldo Schneider.

But you can’t be so lucky. You’ll have to wish him luck. If he actually manages to kill you that is. With how things are going? You’re not making it hard.

He grabs you by the neck so you can’t struggle away to call help. The iron hands encased over your neck like a shackle isn’t a bad feeling. You almost quote as such so he might grab you a little tighter. Sadly, it seems his finger is directly over your windpipe— making talking an impossibility. He really doesn’t want you to run. Not like you would. Dragging you as he goes towards the cabinet. He presses you against the wall one-handed.

Using his other hand to peruse through your belongings. Even if you struggled. You doubt you could make a dent against the material. You’ve always been more of a pen instead of a sword guy.

It seems he’s smarter than you thought. Since, he checks the bullets in the gun. Rather show-offishly, too. He clicks the trigger against your head and nothing comes out. He counts them out, too. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.

You already knew that none of the shots would ring. But here’s a certain heart-pounding feeling even if you know it’s empty. He clutches the gun even tighter till it threatens to break between his metal appendages.

Obviously, you’ve cleaned them out. He glares at you. Of course you’re the one at fault. Of course you were smart enough to know the first thing he’d do when he woke up was try to kill you. Of course you wanted to see the look on his face when he got his gun back when he realized it was empty. “Don’t you have spares? You eat them, don’t you? Just shit them out.” You smile. It’s hard to talk with his hand on your throat.

The floor hits you. Hard.

Or maybe you hit the floor.

Either way. It hurts. Your head spins. But, you collect yourself. Maybe. Dizzy people often can’t tell they’re dizzy. “You going to kill me right? You don’t need a gun to do that. To make it painful. To get your little revenge.” You’re sputtering. Aeons. It be embarrassing if you didn’t say that. If you’re slurring. Though who are you to ask for a clean death? Innocent have died in uglier ways.

“I don’t get you.” Boothil’s boot presses against your chest and juts against your lungs— “make up your mind you wanna die or not? You’re seriously flip-flopping.”

You smile back at him from the floor. “I’d rather my employees not go down with me when you’ve got to escape. Jeremy just got a promotion. You won’t die here… will you space cowboy? So, you’ll have to make your way out.”

“Might as well limit the casualties.”

“You took everything from me.” Robots don’t stumble over their words. Robots are more precise. Everything about him is human. The way he’s so sentimental, emotional at your lap, while you can do nothing but watch. “What right do you have? You have way more blood on your hands than I do.”

“You’re not wrong.” you repeat, quietly. “It’s karma. It’s justice. I’m so happy you exist. So people like me get that just-dessert.”

“I could never ever dream of it. I could never do it with my own hands.” You smile remembering where you work. Your boss. The things you never had the confidence or strength to do yourself. “So I’m glad that you did. Thank you.”

He looks down at you.

He steps back.

You already know.

Too self-aware for your own good.

Maybe you should have shut up. You already know you’ve messed it all up. The way he looks at you is a look of disgust.

“Everyone here’s so fluffed up.” he grimaces. rubbing his shoe against the floor like he’s snuffing a cigarette out. so lowly. “Anyone the IPC touches get’s gosh-dang ruined.”

You know why he did. You ruined his life. You did. So, it was only fair he did the same in return—

Reaching out— before you realize it. “Hey, wait.”

“You’re not dragging me down with you! I want you to pay I’m not letting you off easy. When we meet again. I’ll have changed this place forever. And you’ll be forced to live with yourself…!”

He doesn’t even look back at you. You wish he did.

He lets you go and he runs out the door. You hear the sounds of loud screams. Shooting guns. It turns into a blur after a few seconds. They’re going to fail to apprehend him. You hope.

On the messy floor. Your lab a wreak. You’re sure. They’ll come here. They’ll question you.

And your life will continue as always.

You’ll lie. Jade can tell. But she won’t tell on you. You hope Oswaldo doesn’t notice. He’s the tricker. If he knew. He’d laugh.

“Fuck you, too.”

You put your hands over your eyes and you just ignore everything until someone comes and gets you. You’d use the word save. But, that’s what he was meant to do.

You’ll meet him again. You can wait. It’s all you ever do.

[pupkashi]

scrapbooks

satoru doesn’t get the point of scrapbooks, until he does

a/n: hi hi ! wrote this silly little thing on a whim, i hope u guys like it !! plz let me know what y’all think :3

wordcount: 1,013

masterlist

satoru claims he’s not a sentimental person.

what’s so great about life that you’d want to be reminded of daily tasks?

he never kept receipts, he never took pictures, never kept any souvenirs. saturo was simply not a nostalgic or sentimental person

you were the most sentimental person he’d ever met.

every outing he’d ever seen you at you were talking selfies with friends, stuffing receipts in your pockets and any other little things. he still recalls the look on your face when he caught you shoving a small flower into your bag, ‘it’s for my scrapbook’ you had explained, smiling up at him nervously.

life is so fleeting, why wouldn’t you want to remember every passing moment with those you love and care for?

anytime the two of you left tokyo for missions together, he always ended up in a gift shop, him trailing you as you bought souvenirs for the others, getting yourself a postcard to write on, documenting the day and placing it in a box in your room.

satoru wasn’t sentimental, until he found himself falling in love.

he found himself pulling his phone out a bit more often, “pose guys!” he grinned, the camera already flashing as his friends laughter echoed in his ears, your giggles making his smile grow even wider.

after the two of you went to watch a movie together, he caught himself putting the ticket stub gently behind his black card in his wallet. the polaroid picture of the two of you from last month staring him in the face anytime he opened his wallet.

he has a pressed rose petal nestled in the pages of his brand new scrapbook, a reminder of the day he asked you to be his.

you didn’t catch onto his antics until after one of your dates, satoru reaching for the receipt before you could.

“oh! can i keep it?” you giggled, “I wanna put in my scrapbook rather than you just throwing it out.” satoru’s ears burning red as he held the receipt.

in the two seconds he stared at the receipt his mind raced. what should he say? ‘no i wanna keep this to remember this date years to come’ or maybe ‘yeah sure.’ does he play it cool? should he keep his newfound nostalgic side a secret?

“i wasn’t gonna throw it out” he smiled sheepishly, “i started uh keeping stuff.”

“really?”

“really” he laughs, smiling at you when your mouth hangs open a bit. “is it so hard to believe that i would have a scrapbook of my own?” he pouts.

“you have a scrapbook?” you grin, eyes widening. satoru’s blush only grew deeper, lips pouting a bit as he turned to look to the side.

“i mean yeah it’s not anything crazy” he mumbles, fiddling with the receipt in his hands, “sometimes you just wanna remember things or whatever.”

you found it hard to believe that the man sat across from you was the same one who had groaned when you made him stop for souvenirs on your first mission together.

“did you replace my satoru? should i be concerned right now?” you tease, narrowing your eyes at him.

satoru can only roll his eyes, stuffing the receipt into his pocket before standing up and holding his hand out for you.

“so I’m your satoru now?” he smiles, the bright red reducing itself to a tinge of pink as he teases you, his usual cockiness returning with the glint in his eyes.

“we are dating aren’t we?” you quipped, eyes narrowing at him as the two of you walked into the warm air outside. “or are you trying to imply you aren’t mine” you pout, a dramatic sigh leaving your lips as you turn to face opposite satoru.

“cmon sweetheart you know I’m all yours” he smiles, his arm wrapping around your waist and much too easily pulling you into his chest. “no one else for me but you,” his words sincere as they settle on your ears, your heart thumping against your rib cage as you smile up at him.

satoru wishes he could capture the look in your eyes, the glimmer of galaxies that he could spend hours on end exploring. he wishes he could have this moment engraved into his heart and never forget even a second of the day.

but then again, he thinks that anytime he’s around you. he wishes he could keep photos of everytime you smile, he wishes he could record every second of your laughter and tattoo the way you smile up at him when he flusters you.

life with you moved quickly in the best ways possible, he found the moments around you too fleeting for his liking.

satoru found himself taking pictures and videos anytime the two of you were out or together, a whole album full of you and whatever the two of you were doing. his scrapbook is slowly filling up with receipts, letters, flower petals, and everything that makes up your relationship.

and it’s as he’s snapping a picture of you reading, in the comfort of your shared home that he finally understands.

love is what makes life so great.

you are what makes life so amazing. you make him want to remember every second of everyday. you make him want to recall the dozens of times the two of you stood at the kitchen sink, washing and drying dishes. you made him want to cherish the normalcy of everyday life and fleeting moments.

satoru gojo is sentimental.

and he’s reminded of that with every picture he takes of his students, friends and his lover. he’s reminded of the fact when he stuffs receipts into his pockets and souvenirs into the shopping cart.

more importantly, he’s reminded of that when he’s looking at you, like you hung the moon and painted the sky full of stars. he’s trying his best to memorize your every feature, the shape and tint of your lips and the hue of your eyes.

satoru gojo was in love, and it made him want to remember every second of everyday.

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[firstofficerwiggles]

A Beskar Valentine

Pairing: Din Djarin x Female Reader

Rating: G

Word Count: ~2300

Warnings: Just lots of fluff with a little kissing. Also Din being a bit clueless when it comes to romance.

Author’s note: Happy Valentine’s Day, my darlings! I thought you’d all enjoy some fluffy Valentine’s day fun with Din. Whether you love this day or despise it, just know that Din adores you! 

“I brought you a new rock.”

You turn around from the shelf you were just reorganizing to see your favorite customer, Nevarro’s favorite Mandalorian, Din Djarin. You’re about to thank him, when a loud coo breaks in.

“We brought you a new rock,” Din corrects himself, as his little green baby wants you to know that he was also part of the mission. Not that you think finding a pretty rock for you was the mission, but it’s so nice that Din thinks about you when he’s away.

“Thank you so much, to both of you,” you reply with a smile and a pat on the head for little Grogu, “I’m excited to add it to my collection.”

Din has been bringing you rocks from his travels for a few years now. It started when he was a bounty hunter. Whenever he was on Nevarro, he would stop by your shop, a sort-of general store, and buy different supplies. You didn’t think he’d ever taken much notice of you, he barely even spoke to you, but one day after you gave him his bundle of goods, he placed a shiny red stone in your hand.

“I found this on Mustafar, bounty fell right next to it, I thought you’d like another one for your shelf,” he had told you as he pointed to the display shelf next to the desk where your register was located. 

There was a small pink rock there, one that you’d found on a walk one day. You’d placed it there because it was pretty. Rather bemused, you placed the new red rock next to the pink one. 

“Thank you very much,” you replied, smiling at the mysterious helmeted man. 

He simply nodded and ever since then, he’d shown up from time to time with a new and interesting rock for you. You like to say he’s your friend, even if most of your encounters have just been right here in the shop. There were a few times he asked you to go on a walk with him, which you gladly did. You had hoped those walks might turn into something more, but it seems it wasn’t in the stars. Instead Din has been rather occupied with saving his son as well as the rest of the galaxy from evil, or at least that’s how you like to think of it. 

You look at the new rock he’s placed in your hands; it’s very shiny, a bright grey, almost silver and shaped like a heart. 

“It’s beautiful, Din, I love it,” you tell him, your voice soft. 

You look at your rock shelf, adorned with all the tokens he’s gifted you. You practically melt, out of all the pretty stones he’s brought you, this new one looks the most romantic. You try not to think too much into it, but still, your own heart likes to hope.

“I thought it looked a bit like beskar,” he comments in a thoughtful voice. He tips his helmet at you in what you’ve determined is his ‘thinking expression’.

“It does, a beskar heart, it’s perfect for you,” you reply, finding a special place for it on the shelf, right in the middle where it stands out.

“I thought you’d like it,” he states, “It came from Mandalore.”

“That’s incredible,” you say, touching the rock again, “I heard there was quite a battle there. I’m glad you’re alright, you and the little one. I have to admit I was worried for you when you left last time.”

Not to be too dramatic, but you thought you might never see him again. You figured the fighting would be fierce after seeing the way the Mandalorians fought off the pirates on Navarro. And although you had faith in Din as a fighter, you sort of figured he’d make Mandalore his home.

“You’re sweet to be worried about me,” Din says, “But as you can see, we’re back home no worse for the wear.”

“Home?” you can’t hide the note of hope in your voice.

“Yes, Magistrate Karga granted me a nice track of land, and we have a home there now,” he explains proudly, “I’d like to invite you to come see it, maybe the day after tomorrow?” He suggests. You can’t be sure but he almost sounds a touch nervous as he asks.

“I’d love to come see your new home,” you respond eagerly. 

“Good, we’ll pick you up in the speeder at 5 in the evening,” Din says, knowing exactly when you usually close up the shop.  

With reassurances that you’ll see them soon, you wrap up a few treats for Grogu and Din to enjoy at home and you wave to them as they head off.

“I think she really liked the rock, buddy,” Din says to Grogu as they walk home. “And soon she’ll get to see the nice home we’ve made. I really hope she likes it.” 

Din has planned his entire home with exactly two people in mind, his magical son, Grogu and you, his sweetheart. He’s been courting you for years now, and it’s about time he made you an official offer of marriage. He’s wanted to ask you to be his riduur for a while, but the timing was always off. But now, he has a home and a new job with the Republic, he knows he can be a good and supportive husband to you.

Grogu is babbling at him, he points towards the front yard of the home as they arrive.

“Yes, buddy, I’m sure she’ll enjoy playing with you and seeing your frog pond too,” Din tells him. He notices that Grogu has already managed to open the package of treats you gave them.

Din laughs, “She knows your favorite foods already, I’d say if either of us has the luck to charm her, you’re our best bet.”

Din spends the next day putting all the finishing touches on the house. He wants it all to look its absolute best for your visit. Grogu has been helping too. He’s drawn several pictures that are now hanging up all around the walls. There might be a couple that were drawn directly on the wall, but Grogu was so proud of them that Din didn’t have the heart to scold him. Instead he dropped a kiss on Grogu’s head and told him,

“You’re quite the artist, son.”

At 5 on the dot, Din’s speeder pulls up to your door. Grogu is strapped into a baby seat in the backseat, waving at you merrily. Din hops out so that he can help you in, and you’re impressed once again by how much of a gentleman he always is. 

“What’s all this?” he asks as he sees your arms filled with packages.

“Oh a few housewarming gifts,” you say with a smile, “And a present for the baby.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Din replies, sincerely. 

The drive to his land is brief and Din points out various landmarks and sights on the way. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he was trying to impress you. When you pull up in front of his house, the sun is just starting to set, turning his home a lovely golden color. You could not have a better introduction to the place. It looks cozy and welcoming, exactly the type of house you wish you could have instead of the cramped apartment above your shop. 

“Oh Din, it’s charming,” you breath out your praise in a happy sigh. 

“I’m pleased you think so,” Din responds, his voice a bit gruffer than usual. He clears his throat, “Let me show you around.”

With a hand at the small of your back, Din guides you around his new house. Grogu toddles ahead pointing out different things and sometimes floating them towards you with a wave of his hand. You know he has powers, but seeing them in action makes you gasp a few times. 

“Everything looks so nice, you’ve both made a lovely home,” you tell them as you walk through the rooms. 

Din insists on showing you every little thing about the house, asking your opinion and seeming genuinely interested in hearing it. 

“And now it’s time for my favorite part, the backyard,” Din says with a small flourish as he throws the back door open and reveals a nice garden that has recently been planted. There are a few hearty flowering plants and a little vegetable and herb garden too. There is also a small stone path leading to the middle where there is a pretty mosaic of different colored rocks with several red colored stones making a heart. There are a couple lounge chairs there too, making it a nice place to sit and enjoy the fresh air.

Grogu tugs at your leg, urging you forward to see all the pretty rocks.

“Patu!” he says, sounding proud and happy, at least from your perspective. 

“It’s lovely, Grogu, very pretty,” you reply encouragingly and the baby babbles more at you.

“He and I want to know if you like your rock garden? We both worked on it together,” Din tells you. 

“What? My rock garden? You- you made this for me?” You are utterly stunned to hear this.

“Yes, we both wanted a special place for you,” Din replies. You can’t see his face of course but you could swear he must be smiling.

“Why? I don’t understand,” you tell him looking perplexed. You can’t fathom why he would make something like this for you at his house.

“Well, you’re my sweetheart, and I know I haven’t made you a formal offer, but after about four years of courting, I’m hoping that someday soon this will be your house too,” Din sounds sweet and hopeful. 

You stare at Din with your mouth opened in pure shock. You don’t have any idea how to respond to that. Your mind is reeling. The word sweetheart keeps repeating in your head on a loop. You blink at him and finally manage to respond,

“I’m sorry, you- you’re courting me? Din, maybe you could have told me you were courting me?” Your voice comes out sounding high-pitched and quite incredulous. 

Din makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like “oops.”

You keep going, your shock making you babble,

“Don’t get me wrong, Din, I’m thrilled that you think of me as your sweetheart and it makes me swoon that all this time you’ve thought of me like that, I’ve always liked you so much and hoped we could be more someday, but I never realized, I just didn’t know.” 

Din steps close to you, his hand reaches out to cup your cheek. The gesture calms you down and you stare into the dark T of his visor, hoping you’re looking into his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I thought it was obvious, that’s why I was always bringing you the rocks and making sure to come see you,” he sounds a bit sheepish, “I’m not the best at romance and I guess I should have made it a lot clearer.”

You let out a soft sigh, “It would have been nice to know my feelings weren’t one-sided all this time.” You tilt your head and look at him with a slightly exasperated smile. 

“But you do have feelings for me,” Din points out, sounding a touch smug.

“I do, you handsome, infuriating man,” you reply with a laugh.

“And I have feelings for you, romantic, affectionate feelings,” he clarifies unnecessarily at this point. He pulls you closer, dipping his head so that the crown of his helmet touches your forehead.

“What am I going to do with you, Din Djarin?” you ask, marveling at this turn of events.

“I think you should kiss me, so that way you really know how I feel,” Din suggests.

As you watch him with wide eyes, Din tips his helmet up just enough to reveal his full lips and his rather scruffy jaw. You gravitate towards him automatically and your lips meet his in a sweet and tender kiss. He holds you close and gently explores your mouth with his, kissing you as if he’s been dreaming of it for ages. Something he confirms when you eventually pull away.

“If only you knew how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Din says. 

“Probably as long as I have,” you tell him, beaming at him and leaning in for one more precious kiss. 

You hug the little guy close and kiss his cheeks. Grogu responds with a happy giggle as he cuddles up to you. He turns to Din, holding out his hand and babbling happily. 

A tug at yours and Din’s legs have you cutting the kiss short as someone is tired of being ignored. Din scoops little Grogu up in his big hand. The baby immediately lunges for you, his little arms thrown open and a wide smile on his face.

“I guess someone else wants kisses too?” you ask with a giggle. 

“Alright, buddy, I’ll ask her,” Din says, patting Grogu’s head. He looks at you, “Well, what do you say? Will you be our sweetheart and come spend as much time as possible here in your rock garden with us?” 

“I’d love nothing more,” you tell him. You look at the garden again, “Who would have thought a rock would lead to all this?”

“I always knew it would,” Din replies. 

Thank you so much for reading!!!

Tag list: @boomtowngirl @kavecika @becks-things @mysticalgalaxysalad @catsnkooks @starlightrows @tailorvizsla @bitchin-beskar @lilhawkeye3 @acourtofsnakes @grogusmum @buzzybeebee @deannie13 @ladykatakuri @noodlesfics @the-good-shittt @everythingyouwanted @jewfro24 @vaderthepotater @pinkiemme @laichka @myeternalsin @kazthedestroyer @writeforfandoms @trekkingaroundasgard @beskarmermaid @flightlessangelwings @mandoloriancookie @theofficialbugs @heyitsaloy

[antianakin]

hey, just wanted to say that i appreciate you creating this space to discuss more uh....unpopular takes on star wars. obviously fandom is a hobby and i don't want to ruin anyone's fun! but i also want a space to push back against fanon interpretations without treading on anyone's toes, you know?

like the whole obi-wan catholic guilt trope, jedi repression trope at large...i'm being dramatic but as an asian person, sometimes it sucks that this is such a prevalent idea about a heroic group that was influenced by buddhism and is very asian-coded. i'm not wording this well but just like how stories about european knights often reflect *the very best* of western values like chivalry, honor, gentility, i could really see a lot of the best of asian culture (a huge over-simplification) in the jedi.

but all that being reduced to "oh actually it's totally catholic guilt" or a inadvertently a regurgitation of prevalent asian stereotypes (the jedi as a group suppress individuality, they don't express emotions, they are too harsh, too unforgiving, lack compassion) is...frustrating to see, even though it's everyone's right to interpret & relate to things as they see fit.

especially when focused on obi-wan! even if we assume that obi-wan is repressed, secretly attached to an unhealthy degree but hiding it, or whatnot - the man quite literally airs the dirty laundry in front of mace and yoda, perhaps the "highest" members of the jedi. he says that he thinks anakin is arrogant, isn't listening to him. i dunno but a repressed person who hates confrontation and vulnerability probably wouldn't do that. he should've gone "haha nope anakin and i are totally fine masters, totally fine" instead of looking for advice & airing out his frustrations.

people getting angry at obi-wan for putting the jedi order over anakin is still annoying, but at least accurate. like yes! obi-wan does put the good of his culture and the galaxy at large over his old padawan! good for him!

but honestly all popular fanon obi-wan tropes go round on a roulette wheel waiting for me to pick one to be petty about lmao.

I definitely get what you mean about wanting a space to push back on common fanon interpretations without stepping on anyone's toes. That's obviously exactly why I made this blog in the first place. It's why I named the blog "antianakin" at all, it's supposed to be a giant neon warning sign to people that I'm not going to feel ashamed of some of my more negative opinions. It's why I use anti and critical tags as much as possible, and don't use the more general tags most of the time (aside from just... "star wars"). This is my space to put my feelings out there, positive AND negative, and I work really hard to make sure I'm not invading spaces that are meant for being positive.

I also often don't reblog people's posts that I completely disagree with JUST to talk about why I don't like their take. I won't invade someone's Jedi critical post in order to tell them that they're wrong about Star Wars. People have tried to tag me into posts like that, but I'm not interested in doing that kind of thing. If I DO want to say something about what I've seen, I make my own post about the issue.

It's interesting that you mention that stories about European knights often reflect what's viewed as the best of Western values, because so often when I see people talk about what would make the Jedi BETTER (or Legends versions of the Jedi that they think were done better), it's usually pretty clear that the Jedi are being turned INTO your more typical European knight to reflect those exact values. They're often wandering on their own, doing what they personally believe to be right whenever and wherever they want, defending the helpless wherever they find them by just riding in on a white horse and slaying an enemy or a monster. And of course some of those values they uphold are about what love and relationships should look like, too, so they all end up in committed monogamous relationships (even if it's with more than one person, it's still usually monogamous). This is one of the reasons I started getting frustrated with the High Republic novels by the third one because it started having that vibe that the "good" Jedi who stuck to more "traditional" ways of doing things and "traditional" values were so much more like your typical European knight, while the Jedi character doing something more modern and more political was losing his way and struggling with a desire for things he was repressing.

It's a feeling we've seen come up time and time again and it keeps getting tossed out in more recent shows, too, the idea that the Jedi "lost their way" from what they should've been, that they once used to represent something worthwhile and losing those traditional values is what caused their destruction and the only way to keep it from happening again is to go back to that. It's not hard to see where that storyline feels compelling, obviously, but it IS sad to see the values that the Jedi DO have in the Prequels in particular getting tossed aside as unworthy and to see their defeat being rewritten as THEIR failure instead of everyone else's.

I've had people tell me that this story feels like it has more nuance to it than the Jedi simply being the heroic victims and the Sith being pure villains. And I get why people think that, I just think that there's a lot of nuance they're MISSING in the story being told, and that that nuance exists EVEN WITH the Jedi still being the heroic victims and the Sith being clear villains. I am more than happy to help critique some of the WAYS that that story got told in the Prequels, the issues in the structure of the Prequels and how it maybe muddied some of the messages that the story was trying to get across, but I also think that that critique is SEPARATE from my feelings on the intended narrative itself. I don't think that the narrative itself is bad or lacking in nuance simply because it may not have been told perfectly. And, personally, I think that some of the more "nuanced" Jedi critical takes often seem INCREDIBLY simplistic themselves.

As for Obi-Wan, fandom will do what fandom does to its darlings. I've certainly done my fair share of simplifying my faves down to shadows of themselves because I happened to enjoy the shadow sometimes in its own right. But I do think that there's plenty of evidence to contradict a lot of people's more popular interpretation of Obi-Wan as a repressed, damaged, traumatized waif. I don't mind a LITTLE of that sometimes, usually when I read fics set in the early years of his apprenticeship with Qui-Gon following some of the events of Jedi Apprentice, but it comes with the context that Obi-Wan is still VERY YOUNG at the time and is dealing with some fairly specific things that have just happened to him and is still learning how to do that in a healthy way.

By the time you hit The Phantom Menace and ESPECIALLY the Clone Wars, Obi-Wan should no longer be a repressed, traumatized waif of a person. That's when it stops being believable to me because the character we see on screen in that time period never fits that description. Like you said, he's ACTIVELY confrontational to his superiors. He does do it with Mace and Yoda (and he does it in ROTS as well as in AOTC) and he does it with Qui-Gon during his apprenticeship, too.

The one other time I was willing to accept some of this characterization was in the Kenobi show where we do see him being more repressed and traumatized and less willing to stand up for himself when faced with confrontation with people like Owen. But one of the reasons this worked for me is because, much like with those JA fics, it comes with a VERY SPECIFIC CONTEXT, and it's done with the intentional purpose of giving Obi-Wan somewhere to develop. He also doesn't stay particularly submissive or waif-like for long, we see him gain back a LOT of his willingness to stand up for himself and confront people by the second episode. The message wasn't that Obi-Wan had ALWAYS been damaged and traumatized or that he was always "meant" for sadness or whatever, but that he had the capacity to find happiness IF HE CHOOSES TO ACT LIKE THE JEDI HE ONE WAS. The only reason he's struggling is because he ISN'T acting like a Jedi anymore. He's not finally figuring out how to handle his traumas, he's GOING BACK to being the person who can handle his traumas.

Anyway, yeah, I feel you, I have definitely experienced the roulette wheel of petty frustration at fandom interpretations of Obi-Wan lol. I can barely handle the "he drops his lightsaber all the time" joke because I feel like it often makes him come across as childishly incompetent.

[queenofdragons12]

I BOW FOR NO ONE — darth Vader

Darth Vader's heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor leading to your office, a sound that never failed to make the air thick with anticipation. As the door hissed open, the Dark Lord of the Sith strode in, his imposing figure casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the room. He slammed the door shut with a force that rattled the very foundation of the Star Destroyer, the power of his fury palpable. His eyes, piercing through the darkness of his helmet, locked onto yours—a silent demand for an explanation.

"The Emperor mentioned your summons, ⚚ 𝘼𝙉𝙎𝙐𝘼𝘿𝙄𝙏 ⚚." His voice, deep and resonant, reverberated with irritation. Yet beneath the layers of anger, you could almost taste the sweetness of his love for you, a love that could make even the most feared man in the galaxy tremble like a leaf in a storm.

You met his gaze with a knowing smile, the corners of your lips curling upwards to reveal the faintest hint of mischief. The crimson light of the room danced across the fabric of your robes as you took a step closer to him, the material shifting to expose the delicate lace of your lingerie beneath. The way the light played with the shadows on your skin was a tantalizing promise of the passion that lay dormant in the air, waiting to be released.

Vader's eyes widened imperceptibly, his pupils dilating as he took in the sight of you. The Dark Side pulsed within him, a maelstrom of desire and need that he struggled to contain. Despite his reputation for coldness and control, you had always been the one to make him feel vulnerable, to strip away the layers of darkness and reveal the man beneath the armor.

"I did," you replied, your voice as smooth as the silk that caressed your skin. With a dramatic flourish, your wings unfurled, a vibrant display of power and beauty that made his breath hitch. "I have a proposition for you, my love."

The Sith Lord took a step closer, his eyes raking over your form with a hunger that was almost predatory. You could feel the heat emanating from him, the energy of his desire that was as potent as the Force itself. His hands balled into fists at his sides, the only outward sign of his internal battle to keep his emotions in check.

"And what, pray tell, could possibly be so urgent that it would warrant my presence here?" His voice was strained, a testament to the effort he was making to keep his passion hidden. "I hope it is worth interrupting my busy schedule."

You stepped closer still, your wings brushing against his armor with a whisper that seemed to resonate through him. The scent of your arousal mingled with the acrid stench of the room, a heady cocktail that sent his senses reeling.

"Tell me, Vader," you murmured, your voice a siren's song that he could never resist, "are you not tired of this endless dance of power and control?" You reached out and trailed your fingertips along the line of his jaw, feeling the tension coiled within him. "Would you not prefer a moment of pure, unbridled passion?"

His eyes searched yours, a storm of conflict raging within. "What game is this, ⚚ 𝘼𝙉𝙎𝙐𝘼𝘿𝙄𝙏 ⚚?" he rasped, the sound of his breathing growing heavier. "You know I cannot refuse you when you present yourself like this."

With a flick of your wrist, you sent a tendril of the Force to lift the edge of your robe, revealing more of the seductive lace that clung to your curves. His eyes darkened further, the hunger in them unmistakable.

"Make it quick," he growled, his voice a rumble that seemed to shake the very fabric of the room. "For if it is not, I may not be able to control myself. I might just take you here, now, on this very desk."

The possessive fire in his eyes was intoxicating, a declaration of his need to claim you, to make you his in every conceivable way. Your heart raced, the thrill of the challenge coursing through your veins like a potent elixir. You knew that with every step you took, with every word you spoke, you pushed him closer to the edge. And you reveled in the power you had over him.

The heat emanating from your body as you lean in creates a sanctuary of intimacy, your tail extending with the grace of a willow branch to tenderly caress the fabric of his torso. The fur on his skin rises as the gentle pressure of your tail glides over him, setting his nerves alight with a longing he thought only you could elicit. His breathing deepens as he feels the warmth of your closeness, his eyes locking onto yours with a fierce yearning.

"You are indeed a marvel, my dear," you murmur, the timbre of your voice a melody that resonates through his very being. "Your dedication and skill are truly unrivaled."

The softness of your smile is a balm to his soul, as you stroke his cheek with the utmost care, your fingertips whispering secrets of adoration against the warmth of his skin. His pulse quickens beneath your touch, the blood rushing to the surface, eager to meet the warmth of your gaze.

"I had thought it only fair to offer you a token of my appreciation," you continue, the mischief in your eyes hinting at the delightful surprise that awaits. "A small reward for the boundless effort you've invested in our bond."

Vader's heart swells with affection at your words, his own voice thick with feeling as he responds. "⚚ 𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙄𝙃 ⚚," he whispers, his breath hitching. "You leave me in constant awe. Your compassion and generosity know no bounds."

With a gentle nuzzle into the softness of your palm, he surrenders to the comfort of your touch, his eyelids fluttering closed for a brief reprieve from the intensity of your gaze. His breaths come in quiet, uneven gasps, his body alive with anticipation.

"My existence is yours to command, ⚚ 𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙃 ⚚," he murmurs, the words a solemn vow that resonates in the air between you. "I am yours, in this life and any other that may follow."

Your snout grazes his lips with the barest touch, a tantalizing prelude to the passion that lies dormant within you. The scent of your breath fills his nostrils, stirring his desire even further.

"Ah, I see," you purr, your voice a siren's call. "Perhaps I should assist with this?" You gesture with a playful flick of your claw at the obstruction of his belt.

Vader nods, his voice barely a whisper. "Yes, please," he urges, his eyes gleaming with desire.

With a deft touch, you release the belt, allowing his trousers to fall away, exposing his rigid arousal to the cool air of the chamber. The tip glistens with pre-cum, a testament to his readiness for the pleasure you are about to bestow upon him.

"Magnificent," you murmur, your voice thick with appreciation. "Your beauty is truly breathtaking."

Dropping to your knees, you extend your tongue, the wet heat of it sliding along the velvety skin of his length. His body jolts at the sensation, a guttural groan escaping his lips as he feels you explore his most intimate part.

"⚚ 𝘼𝙉𝙃 ⚚," he moans, his hands reflexively reaching for your head, his grip in your fur firm but not demanding. "Please, don't stop, it feels so…so…amazing."

His hips rock slightly, urging you closer, seeking the warm embrace of your mouth. Each stroke of your tongue sends waves of pleasure through him, his legs trembling with the effort to remain standing.

Vader's eyes are transfixed on the sight of you, kneeling before him, your mouth working its magic. "You're perfect," he gasps, his voice strained with need. "I can't get enough of you."

With each breath, his desire for you grows more intense, his body tightening with the promise of release. "I love you," he whispers, the words a fervent declaration of his soul's bond to yours.

A knowing smile of pure seduction blossoms across your snout as you gently nuzzle against the firmness of Vader's body, your soft fur brushing teasingly against his sensitive scrotum. This tender touch elicits a muffled gasp from the dark lord, his eyes fluttering shut as he succumbs to the tantalizing sensation. "You're doing so well, my boy," you purr into his ear, your voice a siren's call, laden with the richness of honey and the promise of passionate indulgence. Each word is a warm caress, a gentle encouragement to explore the depths of pleasure that await him.

Vader's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, each breath a silent testament to the raging storm of desire that builds within him. His body responds instinctively to your tender ministrations, his cock pulsing with anticipation. As you pull away, your fur leaves a trail of warmth against his skin, and you stand before him, stretching with the grace of a jungle cat. The deliberate arch of your back and the fluid motion of your limbs are an erotic dance that speaks of your readiness, a silent invitation that no creature could resist.

"Take me, my love," you whisper, your eyes sparkling with an intensity that mirrors the brightest stars in the night sky. Your words hang in the air, a declaration of wanton desire that echoes through the room.

With a feral growl, Vader steps closer, his eyes devouring every inch of your exposed form. His gaze lingers on the curves of your hips, the swell of your breasts, and the seductive arch of your back. His hands come up to cup the flesh of your thighs, his touch reverent, as if you were a deity to be worshipped. His mouth claims yours in a bruising kiss, his tongue delving deep, conquering the softness of your lips with an urgent passion that leaves you both gasping for air.

The Dark Lord's breath hitches as he breaks the kiss, his eyes dark with a hunger that could consume worlds. "You're so beautiful, so perfect," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly testament to his need for you. His hands slide up to grip your hips, his strength apparent as he lifts you off the ground, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist.

With a primal growl, Vader carries you to the desk, the cold, hard surface a stark contrast to the heat of your bodies. He lays you down with a gentleness that belies his power, his eyes never leaving yours as he positions himself between your spread thighs.

You reach down, hooking your thumbs into the waistband of your lingerie, and with a swift, sensual movement, pull them aside to reveal the glistening entrance to your core. His pupils dilate, his breath coming in harsh gasps as he takes in the sight before him.

"⚚ ANGOL ⚚," he groans, his voice thick with lust. "You're so ready for me, my love."

Vader leans in, his mouth watering as he takes in the sweet scent of your arousal. His tongue darts out, tasting the delicate folds of your sex, the salty-sweet flavor of your desire. He explores you with the finesse of an experienced lover, his tongue tracing intricate patterns that make you quiver and arch off the desk.

"You taste like the nectar of the gods," he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. "I could spend an eternity tasting you."

His mouth closes around your clit, suckling the sensitive nub with an enthusiasm that sends waves of pleasure crashing through your body. His fingers slip inside you, stretching and filling you, his thumb rubbing insistently against your g-spot.

"You're so tight," he groans, his own need palpable. "I've got to be inside you."

The anticipation is a living thing, coiling in your belly, as you feel the tip of his cock press against your slick entrance. He pauses, looking up at you, seeking permission, his eyes burning with a fiery need that could consume galaxies.

Your smile sends a warm rush of anticipation through him as you snap your finger, and suddenly, you are bare before him, a vision of beauty and temptation. His eyes widen, and the air seems to thicken with desire. "Do it, then, my love," you say, your voice a sultry purr. "You have your queen's love, too."

Darth Vader's gaze is intense, his eyes darkening like the deepest abyss of space. He moves closer, the tip of his manhood brushing against your slick entrance. The room is silent except for the sound of his heavy breathing. He whispers your name, "⚚ 𝘼𝙉𝙄𝘿𝙄𝘼𝙃𝙉𝘼 ⚚," as if it's a sacred incantation.

With a gentle touch, he slides into you, filling you up, inch by inch. His movements are deliberate and measured, each one designed to maximize your pleasure. You gasp as he reaches the deepest part of you, your eyes fluttering shut.

He whispers sweet nothings in your ear, words of love and passion, as his hands explore your bare skin. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, tilting your head back to expose your neck, and he kisses you there, his teeth grazing your flesh.

Vader's hands grip your hips tightly as he starts to move within you, his hips pistoning in a slow, rhythmic dance. His eyes never leave yours, the love and lust swirling in their depths. "You feel incredible," he murmurs, the words a growl of pure need. "I could lose myself in you forever."

With a graceful shift, you wrap your tail around his throat, pulling him closer as you adjust your position. Now he's the one with his back to the desk, his cock still buried deep inside you, but your tail isn't choking him—it's caressing him, stroking him gently.

He gasps in surprise and pleasure, his eyes widening with excitement. "Oh, ⚚ 𝘼𝙄𝘿𝙃𝙄𝘼𝙉𝘼 ⚚," he says, his voice strained with desire. "You're so powerful, so in control."

Your tail releases his throat, sliding down to wrap around his cock. You start to move your hips, rocking against him, setting your own pace. He moans, his hands moving to your waist, his fingers digging in as he tries to keep up with your rhythm.

You lean down, your breath hot against his ear. "Thank you," you murmur, your voice a seductive whisper. "But it should have been you getting the award, not me." You chuckle lightly, your tail flicking against his cheek.

Vader's eyes spark with love and amusement. He nuzzles into your neck, his breathing ragged. "⚚ 𝘼𝙃𝙄𝙃𝘼𝘽𝘼 ⚚," he says, his voice thick with passion. "You're the one who deserves everything. I'm just honored to be your mate."

He kisses you deeply, his tongue dueling with yours as you both come down from the peak of ecstasy. His love for you is palpable, a force as strong as the one that binds the stars in the sky.

As your breathing evens out, you pull back to gaze into his eyes, a soft smile playing on your lips. "I love you," you say, the words a gentle caress. "More than anything in this galaxy or beyond."

And in that moment, as your bodies are entwined and your hearts beating as one, you both know that nothing in the universe can ever come between you. Your love is a beacon in the darkness, a force that not even the Sith could ever hope to conquer.

[cybertron-after-dark]

You should write beast wars, can I have some silly predacon headcanons?

I should absolutely write beast wars. Silly Predacon headcanons coming up

-Megatron talks battle strategy with his rubber duck all the time. He considers it his most trusted advisor because it's never said anything stupid and never tried to kill him. Honestly, he's tempted to think of the little dude as his only real friend.

-Speaking of Megatron, the man is a WHORE for a good bath bomb. Lush addiction, 100%. He has a whole hidden stock of bath bombs, bath salts, scented oils, candles, decorative soaps, scented metal polish and flower petals specifically for spoiling himself when he feels like hes completely surrounded by idiots. Which is often. Has he ever tried to eat one of the decorative soaps that look like baked goods? It doesn't count if it's the t rex hand.

-the reason skorponok occasionally reverts into caveman speak for some episodes is the writers couldn't figure out what to do with him he knows talking like that pisses off tarantulas and he thinks his annoyance is funny even though literally nobody else is amused by the bit.

-skorponok actually kind of misses dinobot because he made his job a lot easier. Constantly pitching ideas, suggesting battle strategies, pointing out flaws in plans. He was useful, even if he seemed to hate skorponok. He doesn't really know how to be a good second in command anymore because a crucial part of the dynamic is missing and he just can't adapt.

-waspinator is perfectly capable of speaking in normal grammar and not in the third person but he's been doing it since he joined in with Megatron and at this point he thinks he's in too deep to knock it off. He thinks it makes him sound cuter because it's actually an evolution of internet uwu speak. Memes get weirdly translated from earth to Cybertron and back.

-waspinator is actually really good at baking but he'll get blasted to bits a thousand times over before he lets anyone other than terrorsaur know because none of his other coworkers deserve to try his cupcakes (and also because he doesn't want to get "promoted" to kitchen slave). Dinobot knew, but he didn't snitch. Wasp never found out that Dinobot would occasionally snag a brownie, he always thought he just counted wrong.

-Terrorsaur is not above attempting to seduce a maximal but all his flirting attempts go horribly awry. If they don't outright reject him they just have no idea what he's getting at bc Predacon flirting is usually a lot different than maximal flirting so everyone thinks he's just kind of being a dick like usual. Dinobot knows exactly what is happening and ranges anywhere from amused to disgusted by the cross-faction fling attempts. The flying weasel clearly has no principles.

-Every couple weeks or so wasp and terrorsaur will get together to watch terrible movies over a bottle of highgrade and it always devolves into bitching about megatron. They tried inviting tarantulas a few times but he'd always make things Weird by bringing in slashers with really good special effects and proceeding to gush about how tasty the gore looks.

-Tarantulas knows what just about every living species in the known galaxy tastes like, organic, mechanical and everything in between. If it's made contact with Cybertron, chances are he's he's tried their flesh (or lack thereof). If it's at all possible, he wants to find out enough about the Vok to figure out how to capture, kill and eat one.

-Tarantulas also thinks rampage is a total poser when it comes to cannibalism. He doesn't even look like he's having fun with it. Barely any torturing or teasing beforehand, only dramatic monologues about fear and anguish. Bah! Amateur...

-Blackarachnia has a trash tv addiction. She doesn't know WHY the Darksyde's datatrax has every season of Keeping Up with the Kardashians and like 30 TLC produced shows, but she refuses to stop watching them. Tarantulas fucking hates it. She does not care and if he complains she will turn the volume higher.

-Blackarachnia has incredibly mixed feelings on the story Cinderella. On the one hand, it gives her a degree of hope. A girl reduced to a work slave for terrible people that gets to escape and live it up with a guy that lives her? Great conceptually, but she only got to get out of it because she was a good person and nice to everyone. Blackarachnia? Not quite so disgustingly sweet. She's a bad girl through and through. And evidently bad people don't get to escape bad situations. Oh well. She can always try to fake it til she makes it.

-Inferno has always secretly hoped that when the war is over, his Queen Megatron will settle down with him and repopulate the colony together. He has wildly saccharine domestic daydreams of being with his giant beloved lizardy queen and their 3000+ kids. He has accidentally let this slip around Megatron once, who proceeded to pointedly ignore what he just said.

-Terrorsaur and Blackarachnia got Inferno to watch Drag Race but upon hearing the contestants being called queen, he took it a bit too literally and interpreted the show as the sad, underwhelming way human queens settle disputes between their colonies instead of just fighting the proper way. Lame.

-Quickstrike is so so very sad he can't play video games. He wants to play GTA and cause excessive and wanton death and destruction, but his fucked up hands cannot hold the controller. He forsakes Primus for building him the way he did. He keeps trying to get tarantulas to make him a usable controller but he gets brushed off every time.

-Quickstrike has attempted to ride inferno in his beast mode into battle. It did not end well but for about a solid 18 seconds it looked metal as hell.

-Rampage actually really likes depth charge and wants to be friends sooooo bad but he doesn't know how to handle that in a healthy way so he keeps trying to get his attention by playing up the cannibalism thing and hoping they fight again. Honestly he just kind of likes depth charge holding him, even if it's in a chokehold.

-After losing transmutate, Rampage projected a lot of his grief onto waspinator, which lead to a very strange period of time on the ship where rampage would get very cuddly and protective of wasp, who was incredibly terrified of what would happen if he shoved the crab off. Usually accompanied by Rampage being Incredibly Sad.

-every month the preds have a game night. Usually a board game or card game with Megatron's house rules. Said house rules are specifically designed to make a fight break out for his amusement. These game nights typically end with at least three people in the r-chamber and somebody missing at least one limb.

[writingamongther0ses]

The New Pet

Summary: Zavir is having a very rough day. The warlord's pet is probably having a worse one- at least they have a giant monster to befriend. Based on @flashfictionfridayofficial's prompt of Galaxies Away. It was either this or aliens deal with Earth's oceans.

Today was a horrible day for Zavir.

Scratch that, it had been a horrible month. Starting when he had been told- he hadn't even volunteered, he had been told like he was a common soldier- that he was going to be sneaking onto the ship of the most feared warlord in the universe.

To be fair, Pix Gui Haban was in a good mood. It was dangerous when he was in a good mood. That was when he wiped out species. Zavir's mission was to sneak on board and where and when Haban was attacking next. The part that was kept quiet was figuring out why the warlord was in a good mood.

There could be a few reasons. One, the Light just shone down on Haban. Two, Haban had just succeeded in a new conquest and the good mood lingered. The third was most horrifying.

Gui Haban could be in a good mood because he got a new pet.

Generally, new pets weren't a problem. Most species in the universe liked having animal companionship. The issue with Haban's pets, however, was that the Pix's pets were people.

Haban liked to kidnap members of rare or dying races and keep them until he got bored. Only four had ever escaped Haban's grasp, and that included Haban's sister, Gui Ava. Their stories were horrifying. Zavir's stomach turned whenever one let out a new piece of info.

So, yeah. The secret part of Zavir's mission was seeing if Haban had kidnapped a new person. If he did, he would have to figure out how to get them out or at least get the information out so the Federation could figure out how to rescue them.

That led into the horrible day.

Sneaking in had been easy. Zavir had trained himself to look like he was meant to be there. The trick was not secretly panicking. The issue was when he had to start poking around and stealing information and then accidentally triggered the alarms.

There was way too many alarms. He knew Gui Haban was a paranoid man, especially considering his species' history of civil war, but this felt like too much even for him.

Either way, guards started rushing around. Zavir flattened himself against the wall, trying to count the number of guards.

Then the wall had opened behind him.

Zavir fell back with a yelp. He should've expected this, considering Haban liked hidden doors. (Ava had complained about it many times, with her brother using them for dramatics or to stalk his prey.) Instead of a hallway, however, he found himself falling down a shaft, his tail aching as it whacked into the walls as he tried to slow his fall. It didn't work-

SPLASH.

Most species were weak to hydrogen hydroxide. Zavir's race, the Selken, were not. But that didn't mean that they liked water. Rather, it was the opposite- hydrogen hydroxide matted and tangled their fur to such a painful degree.

The minute he was submerged, he began to swim up. He looked around as he moved. He could see what looked to be glass, like something at an actual zoo and a feature of the quarters of the "pets". The hydrogen hydroxide meant that there was a few species that could be kept in here.

Then Zavir made the mistake of looking down.

He shrieked the minute he realized he was being stared at. The monster, because his frazzled mind couldn't think of what species it was, was huge. It stared at him with huge, beady eyes, like it was considering whether or not to eat him. That was all he could take in because the hydrogen hydroxide was rushing into his open mouth, of shit he was going to-

SPLASH!

He barely felt hands grab his arms and yank him up. In his daze, he thought he saw one of those hands move forward and make...make...make...okay, he was hallucinating. There was no way someone was stupid enough to shoo a giant monster.

Then his head breached the surface.

The person he hallucinated shooing grabbed his collar and started dragging him along. Zavir barely felt his back hit something soft in his haze.

The last thing he saw was green eyes, staring at him with concern, and then the silver collar she wore, the tag announcing her planet and species. His last thing was well, guess we know he got a new pet.

What was a human?

[ineedsleepsoleavemealone]

you know what I love about the star wars fandom? we all love Obi-wan, but this man is a terrible jedi master. he is 0 for 2. Anakin... y'know committed genocide and became a sith. Ahsoka, (yes, I'm counting her. she was both Anakin's and Obi-Wan's padawan.) left the jedi order. So, in the eyes of the jedi order, Obi-Wan failed as a master.

you may be saying "what about Luke?? Luke saved the galaxy!" Bro did NOT train Luke. He knew that kid for two days and then DIED LIKE THE DRAMATIC MAN HE WAS. Then, Luke became a horrible jedi trainer too.

Edit: I also realized that Luke's most important padawans also went down the same paths that Anakin and Ahsoka did. Ben Solo/Kylo Ren committed padawan genocide and Grogu/Baby Yoda left the jedi order. idk just found the parallels between Luke and Obi-Wan's padawans interesting

[toska-writes]

Jedi Maul has been on the brainnnnn!

“Jedi Knight Maul AU”

Summary: With the idea of Jedi Maul of course knowing me I had to twist it into a Platonic piece! Enjoy these headcannons of Jedi Maul

Pairing: Jedi!Maul AU x GN padawan!Reader (ofc it’s platonic!)

Warning: ummm none really I can think of!

Word Count: 913 (I didn’t proof read lol)

Notes: since I couldn’t find any fics like this I filled in! I swear I’ll get back to doing requests but with school now fully back I do have a little more to do in my free time, whether I like it or not

-if anyone ever messed with or talked bad about his commander or men they definitely have another thing coming

-He gives me very protective dad/older brother vibes but only to his little tight knit circle

-And that would include you soon enough

- I definitely think if this certain AU wasn't set in the clone wars Maul would look for a strong willed padawan to pass his teachings too

-HOWEVER do you know how many bad things you would learn from him??? Mostly likely any swear word from any dialect in the entire galaxy. He would give Wolffe a run for his money for the way he would roll his eyes- and don't get me started on how he would totally blow senators off " in the most polite way"

-except of course the nice senators that want the best for everyone including the clones *cough cough Senator Chunchi my beloved*

-and I just keep thinking of this scene where maybe the both of you are talking to the council or maybe some Sith, and Maul would totally make a quip to you or something to ease the tension

-He would want the absolute best and peace of mind when he can't be right with you on the battlefield, because at the beginning he definitely wanted to be

-Maul definitely isn't the type to verbally encourage you, I think he'd be more of an act of services. Whether that be with a blanket and a shoulder to lean on after a hard battle, or helping you clean and wrap a wound if you don't necessarily want to go to the med bay

-Teaching you have to fly is like doing math homework with a parent at the kitchen counter. However after a few more lessons it is definitely a hobby you like doing together even if there is a little banter

-I can imagine on a far away planet while away for a campaign he may or may not sign you up for a pod race just for some extra credits. Would he cheat?... well it's worth it when he sees you fly around the corner with the rest of the troops cheering like mad men

-Meditating is... something else. He knows how hard it is to just sit. And relax, especially in a time of war. But it seems more bearable with someone else for the both of you

-Maul would take lightsaber and dueling technique training very seriously, it's an art form in his eyes and something that he believes he can excel at so of course it's one of the first things the two of you bond over

-He would want to make sure you are prepared for anything, hand to hand, blasters, lightsaber you name it

-Now let’s say something does go wrong and maybe just maybe you get hurt

-One word would be furious, what ever man or creature did that better say their good byes quickly.

-He’s not one to lose his padawan, or hurt by seppies in that matter

-now let’s be honest he’s pretty intimidating and holds a high standard for everything but when the broken little voice of his padawan says they’re scared- his heart is broken into a million pieces.

-that would probably be the only time where he properly brought his voice down to provide some comfort.

-Also can we talk about how dramatic he would be, maybe your sparing and you jab him in the chest.

-he would definitely grab his chest and look at you stunned saying his own padawan is growing before falling to the ground

-two more words: war crimes. I don’t have to explain and I won’t

-there would be so many different competitions among the ranks, kinda like how Anakin and Ahsoka see who can kill the most droids. Something to make the war seem bearable

-Now if anyone ever found out about these last few parts he’d wither away to nothing

-I would say Maul has something against the cold, he doesn’t like snow or being freezing. And so when it comes time for a cold related planet everyone has to know

-the clones would definitely be making different jokes and such but of course behind closed doors, no one wants a cold upset Maul

-however when it comes time for night Mauls CC definitely let’s him bunk with him

-that’s when the clone cuddle piles with the two Jedi really get started

-there’s just something about being absolutely surround by people you know you can properly trust and they trust you to protect them.

-and I’m more than certain the both of you have probably stolen blankets from the clones barracks

-On sleepless nights you both could probably be found talking about the most random shit that had nothing to do with the raging responsibility. Or even in tougher ones with nightmares Maul would most likely put an arm around you and have you fall asleep there

-My boys trying ok. Being a single father to his padawan with a bunch of crazy uncles

-He tries, maybe one day it’s both of you painting your own fighter or tricking it out, maybe it’s another where it’s all intense training and he carries you back to the temple room

-All in all I think Maul would be a fun interesting master to have!

If you want to see this take the form of an actual fic let me know!!!

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