#the existential crisis this poor kid had

[forsooth-verily]

Shout out to Davis CA where there's a flock 30+ strong that live in a cemetery, commute through town to one of the elementary schools, threatening cars and stopping traffic like them boys from Greece Lightning.

[pigfacedbitch]

I Worship You

summary : they fell in love with a Greek deity.

word count : 0.8k

type : headcanons

pairing/s : Jason Grace / Percy Jackson x Goddess! Reader.

warning/s : none.

here's my masterlist!

Note : I will also be posting the same idea with Nico, Leo, Frank, and Will.

Jason Grace

You were a Camp Jupiter regular. VIP access. Eternal backstage pass.

Unlike the other gods who ghosted their kids harder than a bad Tinder date, you actually cared about demigods.

Probably because you were one, back in your 'mortal coil' phase.

You knew the struggle. The whole, 'my divine parent left me a prophecy and trauma' starter pack.

The joy of being chased around by monsters while trying to survive longer than Zeus' affairs with women.

Jason first saw you and thought, "Wow, that’s the prettiest counselor I’ve ever seen."

He was just a kid. You were immortal. It was awkward.

The camp had to break the news that you were a literal deity because of Jason’s intense puppy dog crush, and the poor guy almost got zapped into the next reincarnation.

Reyna never lets him live it down. She brings it up during arguments to win.

"You know I’m right, Reyna."

"Fine, but remember when you almost got yeeted with your own lightning because you’re a simp?"

"I was ten!"

It works every time.

As he aged like fine wine (or a stressed Roman soldier), his teen crush evolved.

Your acceptance made him feel seen and understood. It's all he ever wanted.

Jason doesn’t just want your guidance anymore; he wants your love.

He is reminded everyday that supposed to be the perfect Roman, the champion of the gods, a celestial poster child.

But secretly? He prays to you more than any of them.

Not in the "Hey, can you back me up so I don't die?" kind of way. More like "ANYTHING FOR YOU, BEYONCE!" kind of devotion.

You’re having an existential crisis because you practically watched him grow up.

It felt questionable.

"I’ve been around before your puberty."

"Now, I’m emotionally and physically available. Growth."

"I raised you!"

"And I’m trying to wife you up. Can we please just move on?"

You were ancient. Like 'I knew Kronos when he had abs' ancient.

Jason didn’t care.

His whole life was a checklist of what others expected from him.

He had been a puppet his whole life.

Choosing you was finally something he wanted for himself.

It felt like rebellion and therapy.

And once you gave in? Oh, boy.

The golden retriever in Roman armor became yours. Completely, irrevocably, gloriously yours.

Sure, he still does heroic stuff, but you’re his top priority.

Zeus and Hera were livid.

You 'stole their chosen one', or as Hera puts it, "MY PRECIOUS BLOND TROPHY!"

They called you a temptress, a manipulator, basically what they are.

You called them irrelevant.

Because what could they do? Smite you? You've survived worse.

Percy Jackson

You've been his spiritual stalker since Quest #1.

Not in a creepy way, more like a magical support staff that whispers, "You got this!" before he punches a hydra in the face.

Unlike other gods who appear just to flex and disappear like flaky Instagram influencers, you helped from the shadows.

No appearances. No booming voices from the sky. Just vibes.

Whenever he was scared, you sent him courage.

When he was hopeless, you slipped in a little optimism.

When he was depressed, you were the cosmic version of a comfort blanket.

Percy didn’t trust it.

The gods never do nice things without expecting a thank-you fruit basket, or a blood sacrifice.

Yet you did.

So naturally, he did what any traumatized teenager would do: scream "SUS! THIS IS SUS!" in his cabin like he’s playing Among Us at 3AM.

Curiosity got the best of him, so he tried the classic 'summon the mysterious deity' trick. "Hey, mystery spirit! Can you show up before I call customer service?"

Motherfucker even used an Ouija board.

You didn’t show up.

Then he realized you only appear when he’s in real danger.

He decided right then and there that the best way to summon you like some divine Pokemon was to almost die.

Multiple times.

"Hey, Percy, maybe try not to die just to talk to your celestial crush?"

"Grover, let me have this."

When you finally appeared before him, furious and radiating 'I could kill you myself' look, he was dumbfounded.

Not by your glare, but by your beauty. You were beyond words. Probably a good thing, because his brain was busy rebooting.

Hearing his full name made him fall harder, honestly.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, PERSEUS JACKSON?!"

"That I missed you?"

From that point on, he kept 'accidentally' stumbling into peril just to get your attention.

You two became… familiar.

Extremely so.

The more you appeared, the deeper he fell.

When Percy realized he was in love, it wasn’t fireworks or cheesy Disney dance numbers, just serenity.

Just a calm, warm feeling in his chest that said, 'This is home.'

"Are you glowing or did I just eat too many pizzas?"

"That’s eight boxes."

"Shhh. I was trying to flirt."

For the first time, he didn’t feel like he had to fight, to prove, to perform.

You were the calm in his chaotic life.

The eye of the storm.

His little slice of paradise in a life full of monsters, trauma, and water-based destruction. His divine chill pill.

And if anyone tries to mess with that?

Let’s just say he didn’t inherit all of Poseidon’s chaos juice for nothing (Alexa, play Ruthlessness from EPIC: The Musical).

Because Percy’s got two moods: goofy, surfer dude from Manhattan and eldritch hurricane who tortured Akhlys in Tartarus.

Choose wisely.

[bluedosjaykewon]

🥹✨Enhypen as Dads✨🥹

Fluffy, only lots and lots of suggar

Heeseung

Making everyone very sad (I know we would all like to see Heeseung being a “girl dad”, I would love it too) but I see Hee being father of two boys (about 3 or 4 years apart)

I honestly think he would be so happy with that since he grew up with his brother too so he wants to provide a childhood as cool as his children was

He is 100% the type of father "don't tell your mother"

"Don't tell your mother we drank soda at dawn"

"Don't tell your mother we stayed up playing video games until 4 in the morning"

"Don't tell your mother I took you to Burger King after school"

Etc etc

I also can see you scolding your son and he saying "hey honey but he didn't do anything wrong" and you just look at him and automatically he turns around and says “VERY BAD KID THIS IS VERY VERY BAD”

What can he do???? He's the good cop

I think Hee would be the kind of father who would be very supportive of his children, especially if they want to pursue a career in music, but I think he would be very wise to tell his children that it's a very exhausting life and full of very complicated obstacles

His oldest son is definitely his best friend (he lives to make this boy feel proud of him)

His youngest son is his baby

As Heeseung is the youngest children in his family I think he sees himself in his baby boy so is that the reason why he’s always very emotional about the youngest

He wants to be the cool and laid-back father to his youngest son while he wants to be the loyal friend of his oldest

I can really imagine him taking his oldest son for a drive at night to clear his head

Speaking of cars, these 3 always go on a fishing trip every month IT'S A TRADITION

His youngest son doesn't like fishing that much but he loves spending time with his father and brother so he goes anyway🥹

His children always come back covered in mosquito bites because Heeseung always forgets his insect repellent home, but they come back smiling and happy so it doesn't matter.

Jay

Ok, let's go

Jay is a couple father, DOES EVERYONE AGREE?????

He has an older daughter, who he raised with all the love, affection, care and protection and will always take care of her because she is his princess.

And he has a younger son that is his best bro forever (maybe 6 years between the children?)

I imagine that his daughter must have been so jealous of her brother when he was born

I can see them at 16 and 10 years old, having a Disney Chanel sibling dynamic, who live to make each other's lives hell, are fighting 100% of the time but deep down love each other deeply

He and his youngest son are quite a duo

They have a garage band together🥹🫶🏼

Jay taught him to play guitar but the boy's passion is the drums

I imagine that he is much closer to his older daughter, but he doesn't know how to deal very well with his daughter growing up and no longer depending on him.

So he spends all the time he can with his youngest because when the youngest grows up it's over for him

Jay loves to keep his kids entertained so he would be up for anything

“Daddy, are we going to the Taylor Swift concert?”

“Sure, my love.”

“Daddy, can we go to the skate park?”

“We’ll leave in a few minutes, okay? Just let daddy finish this first”

Btw, he supports everything his children want to do

I swear his children have already taken every course and private lesson that exists on the earth

Jay will enroll them in and out of anything they want

Because he wants his children to be happy and he grew up with a family that gave him so much support that I believe he will do the same

Btw, the family tradition is take the childrens to see baseball games

In fact, Jay had a huge existential crisis when his daughter started not wanting to go to the games🥹

He started remembering her when she was little with a t-shirt and a cap that was too big for her, sitting on his shoulders and watching the game🥹🥹🥹🥹

Poor man, he collapsed

Jake

I imagine him being such a calm and relaxed father, you know?

I think he would be such a relaxed father.

His relationship with his children is based on trust, affection and love 100% of the time.

I don't think he smothers his children or wants to be with them 100% of the time.

Of course he is a present father, but I think he respects his children's time a lot.

But let’s go, he has 3 children.

2 older boys and a younger girl (about 2 years apart from each child?)

Oh, how this man was in heaven when these children were born.

Jake loves being a father, I think he considers it his favorite profession.

And he is simply so delicate with his children, his tone of voice is always soft and loving, he touches them as if they were made of porcelain.

He loves taking them to the park, riding his bike with them and stopping for ice cream afterwards, or taking them to the pool, spending the whole day at the water park and then stopping at the McDonald’s🥹🥹🥹🥹

God, he loves his little 4-year-old girl, he’s an idiot for her (she gets whatever she wants, he’s her personal butler)

You see him walking around with weird hairstyles and stickers on his face quite often (he’s a regular at the 4pm tea party with his daughter and her bunny every Wednesday)

But he’s so incredibly in love with his 8 and 6-year-old boys

I can imagine them playing with lots of Hot Wheels tracks lol (and Jake taking it so seriously)

They build a lot of Lego together too, God, his kids have BOXES AND BOXES of Lego of every possible and imaginable type

He’s the kind of father who dances with his daughter dressed as a prince and gives her flowers so she gets used to receiving love early on so he doesn’t worry about future relationships

At the same time, he’s an example of such a good man for your children

Your children are so in love with your relationship🥹♥️

I imagine the 3 of you being so close, they are brothers who truly love each other unconditionally because the only reference they have is love, love and more love♥️😭

Sunghoon

OKAY LISTEN…

Two girls

NOBODY WILL PROVE ME OTHERWISE

He has two girls who are about 3 years apart from each other

His oldest is like “🎀✨���DADDYS GIRL💕✨🎀” and his youngest is more like “💋✨⛸️DADDYS GIRL⛸️✨💋” if you can understand me

Like the oldest is more “Daddy, can I use your card??? I need a new dress” and the youngest is more “Dad, I told you! You don’t have to buy me anything”

BTW

He is absolutely in love with them to an extreme level

They are his world, after they were born nothing else matters more to him than the happiness of his two little girls

He is a REALLY OVERPROTECTIVE FATHER

like really

He can’t be able to sleep if he knows that your girls are on a party or on a date

He just CAN’T

And you’re like “babe, cmon, let’s rest a little” and he will be like “I can’t sleep, y/d must call anytime”

Something he miss when the girls are little babies…

When they were little they cried for him to put them to sleep and sing to them😭♥️

And now his princess wanna buy short skirts and dance all night😭💔

His youngest really like to skating so they do it together sometimes

These two girls are the pinnacle of what a doting and protective father can do with a girl

But like I said he is protective

The day you came to him saying he was so cute like your oldest daughter had a boyfriend in kindergarten….

He went to the school to have a serious talk with a 5-year-old boy and his parents

Even today, more than 10 years later, he still has a grudge against the poor child who just held his little girl's hand

I can imagine your daughter going to say that she has something important to talk about and him saying "did you find out you're a lesbian and are you going to get rid of that idiot?😃"

and your daughter saying "no daddy" and he would reply with "are you absolutely sure you're not a lesbian?😃"

You think Jay would spoil his children but nothing is as good for the economy as Park Sunghoon, his daughters and his black card at the mall

You know that scene from Beverly Hills where the father asks what his daughter is wearing and she answers "Calvin Clain"

They have this energy

He takes them and picks them up from everywhere because he doesn't like his princesses to walk around alone and he doesn't want boys bringing home

Nothing in the world would break his heart more than seeing his daughters cry. He always makes a point of buying their favorite foods, giving them a cuddle and leaving a kiss on their heads when they are crying.

Now if it is because of some boy... God have mercy and may he not find out the address of that boy

Sunoo

He has two girls too, but they are twins.

He is over the moon with them.

Do you agree with me that they would wear matching outfits????😭😭😭😭

He knows ALL the Disney princess songs

ALL OF THEM.

He would be his daughters' best friend 100%. He gives his daughters a lot of space to talk to him about absolutely anything and everything, he is always very present and aware of everything that happens in the lives of his little gems.

One of them is really extroverted and shining just like him and the other is like “omg you two are making me feel embarrassed please stop”

But he is also very protective of them.

Not like Sunghoon, of course.

Dad Sunoo is like a mother lioness, he protects his children tooth and nail no matter what.

(Like the “PELA CRIANÇA EU DOU A MINHA VIDA GRAÇAS A DEUS!!!” meme)

If this man finds out that one of his daughters is being bullied at school... I feel so sorry for the principal of that institution because he will DESTROY her.

He also watches a lot of movies with his daughters, when he gets home from work and his girls have already come home from school, it's always the perfect time to order food and watch Korean dramas together

He would always be available for serious, intimate, or everyday conversations

I think he would be such an attentive father🥹🥹🥹 but at the same time he would have no patience at all

He seems to me like the kind of father who when his kid makes a fuss he leaves the child on the floor of the store crying, walks away and pretends he doesn't know her

I imagine him being very truly with his daughters too, like "are you going out like that? With those clothes???? No, you can't change that, it's not good, you're dressing like Sponge Bob"

He would be their safe place too

I can see him comforting them when they were crying about something, like them lying on his lap while he caresses them and says "it's okay, love, it'll pass, I already have your age too, it'll pass"

Jungwon

He has a son, a little boy

You are thinking about having another one, but he is always analyzing how you have such a comfortable life with only one child and that a second child would require you to give up some privileges, etc.

Obviously he would be up for more children if you wanted, he catches himself thinking about another baby often, but he always brings up this conversation at some point

But anyway, your little boy is around 5/6 years old????

I feel like Won is in a limbo between “being the cool dad” and “being the example of a responsible man that his son needs”

He demands a lot of himself as a father

whenever he gets home and sees that his son is already in bed sleeping and he didn't get him “good night kisses” he feels terrible😔😔😔 (I think you will have to reassure him several times a day that he is doing an excellent job)

I can imagine him like this:

“What's up, son? Boys' day today, huh? Let's go to the park, the movies, and then have ribs for dinner, what do you think????”

“What's up, buddy? How was school today?”

And your son LOOOOOOOVES HIM

Like that type of kids that say “MY DAD IS MY SUPERHERO” is really cute

Doesn’t help the fact that this kid has his father kitty bubble tea eyes😭✨

But he’s really shy when he’s not with you or Jungwon, like, your two are his best friends.

Jungwon is such a fun father🥹

Even if he comes home feeling sad, limping, anemic, fragile and inconsistent, he will take time to play with your son and this will charge his energy 100%.

Just like Jake, Won is the kind of father who lets his son do whatever he wants with him.

His son will stick stickers on his face, draw a mustache and a goatee with a marker, etc., etc., and he will stand there laughing at how cute his son is.

He loves taking naps with your son (he even went through a difficult time when your son stopped being afraid of sleeping alone and asked to sleep with you every night).

I think he would be such a responsible father. He would know how to say no to his child when necessary and would teach that there is a time and place for everything and that we should be polite and patient. 🥹♥️

Riki

Just like Won, I imagine that Kiki has 2 father skins: the fun-child father with a 4-year-old mentality and the extremely mature father who is aware of his activities as a father.

He fluctuates a lot between these two.

He is extremely responsible when it comes to his children, he can handle any situation on his own without any problems.

Btw, I can see him having a family just like his own (two girls and a middle boy🥹). They are like 10, 8 and 5 years old. 🥹🥹🥹

He and the older ones do so much messy together that I swear to God I don't know how your house is still standing.

They play a lot of running games until Kiki stops and says "Aaaaaah daddy's back isn't the same anymore."

Like I said, his older ones brought out his fun and agitated side, but his youngest is so calm and sweet that he can't be the childish father with her, he just wants to protect her from everything

(he also joins the team of daddys who let their little daughter do whatever she wants with him) this girl is almost always riding on her father's shoulders😭♥️

He is the biggest fan of his children, he is there for everything his children want to do

I can see his children so interested in his “idol” career and always with stars in their eyes when they see videos of enhypen's performances

But unlike Heeseung, I think Riki would be reluctant to let his children enter the world of stardom, especially young ones like him, I think he wouldn't want his children to go through as much as he did and he would be far away and imposing to do something...

His favorite pastime is taking his children to Disney, I swear to God they are at Tokyo Disney almost every weekend

I like to think he likes to hold his two oldest ones by the feet while his youngest is on his back and playing mechanical bull AJAKAKAKAKAKA

His kids feel so comfortable talking to him (he's not a very jealous dad either)

I also think that there’s moments that Riki just stops, look at his kids and says “wow” like “they’re real, I made them”

And I think he’s the “what your mom thinks about that?” Type of dad, like “bro, you know that mommy is the leader of this family go ask her”

[yo-ri-su-ki]

Too Many Shots, Too Many Demons

Dante Sparda x protective gender neutral reader

⚠️!Tw!⚠️ Mentions of death, and alcohol :P

The neon lights outside Devil May Cry pulsed lazily in the dark. The shop was quiet... Too quiet, given the raucous state of the man slumped in the worn-out leather couch. Dante Sparda, legendary demon hunter, part-devil and full-time pain in the ass, was very drunk. You crossed your arms and leaned against the doorway, eyeing the half-empty bottle of whiskey dangling from his hand and the trail of empty shot glasses littering the coffee table.

“Had enough, cowboy?” you asked, keeping your tone neutral.

Dante blinked blearily up at you, a lopsided grin forming. “Heyyy, look who it is. My guardian angel. Come t’save me from my poor decisions?”

You walked over and snatched the bottle out of his hand before it tipped over completely. “Someone has to. You reek of trouble...and booze.”

He pouted, like a kid caught sneaking candy. “S’just... been a long week, y’know? Couple of demons, a portal or two, and- bam! Existential crisis.” You sighed and sat next to him, grabbing a clean towel to wipe the blood, dried or fresh, who could tell anymore. from his jawline. “You could’ve called me. Instead of nearly pickling your liver.”

Dante leaned in, his voice dropping into something softer, almost vulnerable. “Didn’t wanna drag you into the mess. You always look at me like I’m worth saving. Not sure I deserve that tonight.”

Your heart twisted. You cupped his cheek, steadying his gaze. “You always deserve that. I’m not letting you burn out alone, Dante.”

He chuckled weakly, leaning into your touch like a man starved for comfort. “What’d I ever do to get you in my corner, huh?” You smiled faintly, brushing a lock of silver hair from his face. “Maybe I like trouble. Or maybe I just believe there’s still something human left in that half-demon heart.”

Dante’s eyes fluttered closed, his breath evening out against your palm. “If you’re stayin’, I’ll sober up. Promise.” You leaned your head against his shoulder, your arm wrapping around him protectively. “I’m not going anywhere.” And for the first time that night, Dante didn’t feel like running from the darkness.

The silence between you wasn’t awkward.. It was rare, precious. The kind of silence that only came when someone felt safe enough to let go. Dante's breathing had evened out, but you knew he wasn’t asleep. His fingers twitched slightly against the couch, brushing yours by accident or design.

You looked up at him, your voice soft. “You really gonna sober up? Or are you just saying that so I don’t drag you upstairs like a sack of bricks?”

He cracked one eye open, smirking faintly. “Both. Mostly the second one.” You rolled your eyes, but the worry didn't leave your face. Dante noticed.

His expression shifted. “Hey,” he muttered, suddenly serious. “I’m alright. Just… hit harder than I thought tonight.”

“Physically or mentally?” you asked, watching him closely. Dante hesitated. That pause was answer enough. You nudged him gently, the weight of your concern seeping into your voice. “What happened?”

He exhaled slowly. “There was this kid. Looked about... 16? He was trying to fight off this low-tier demon with a broken pipe.” He scoffed, eyes glassy. “Gutsy little bastard. Reminded me of me. Back before I knew what hell really was.”

You stayed quiet, letting him work through the rest.

“I saved him,” Dante continued. “But the look in his eyes, he was already gone. Didn’t even flinch when the demon died. Just turned around and walked off. Like it was just another Tuesday.”

You felt his pain, that ache buried under all the bravado and whiskey. The worst wounds were never physical with him.

“You think you failed him,” you said quietly.

He nodded, gaze fixed somewhere far away. “Or maybe I just see what I’ve turned into. Someone who’s been doing this too long to remember why he started.” You reached for his hand and held it tight. “You do this so people like him don’t have to. So people like me don’t have to.”

Dante looked at you, really looked this time. “Yeah? And what if I’m tired of being the last one standing?"

“Then lean on me,” you said firmly. “You’re not alone, Dante. You never have to be.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, softly, unsure, he murmured, “You mean that?”

You brought his hand to your lips and kissed his knuckles gently. “Always.” Dante’s breath caught, just for a second. He looked like he wanted to say more, to reach for you and confess something heavier than just exhaustion. But the alcohol, the pain, the long night. it all caught up to him.

Instead, he leaned forward, forehead resting against yours. “You’re too good for this world,” he whispered.

You smiled. “Then it’s a good thing I’m staying in yours.”

And there, under the low hum of neon and the scent of whiskey and blood, Dante Sparda finally let himself fall, not into the bottle, not into the abyss, but into the one place he hadn't allowed himself in a long time.

Home.

The morning sun crept in through the slatted blinds, painting golden lines across the battered floor of Devil May Cry. The quiet hum of the city waking up barely reached past the shop’s walls.

Dante stirred beneath the threadbare blanket you’d thrown over both of you during the night. His head was resting heavily against your shoulder, one arm draped around your waist like his subconscious refused to let go. He reeked faintly of whiskey and regret—but more than that, he radiated something rare.

Peace.

You stayed still, listening to the rhythm of his breathing. In the quiet, you could pretend he wasn’t the man always carrying the weight of a dying world on his back. You could pretend he was just Dante—your Dante. Not the half-devil, not the legend, not the walking catastrophe.

Just the man who had clung to you in the dark.

Eventually, he groaned low in his throat and shifted, face scrunching up. “Ugh... who turned up the sun?”

You chuckled and brushed your fingers through his messy silver hair. “It’s called morning. Comes around every day, usually after the part where you drink yourself into a coma.” He gave a raspy laugh, wincing immediately. “Okay, yeah, definitely regretting that last bottle... or three.” “Next time, maybe use words instead of whiskey.” Dante cracked one eye open. “You stayed.” You met his gaze evenly. “Of course I did.”

He looked at you like you were some kind of impossible miracle. Then, with a deep sigh, he leaned his forehead against yours again. “You ever think... I don’t deserve someone like you?”

“All the time,” you said with a smirk. “But I’m still here. So maybe it’s not about deserving. Maybe it’s about needing.” He didn’t argue. Instead, he pulled you closer, his hand sliding up your back to rest between your shoulder blades. There was no fire in his touch, no heat—just the steady comfort of someone who needed to know you were real.

“I’m gonna do better,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “Promise.” You pressed a kiss to his temple. “I believe you. But you don’t have to be perfect, Dante. Just stay alive. That’s all I ask.”

He nodded slowly. “Alive’s a good start.”

There was a soft knock at the shop’s front door. You both tensed instinctively. Dante groaned again.

“If that’s another demon cult looking for a fight,” he muttered, “they better bring coffee.” You stood, stretching out the stiffness from a night spent curled around a demon hunter. “Stay there. I’ve got it.” He grinned faintly as you walked to the door, barefoot but fierce, like a silent protector who’d taken up permanent residence in his chaos. And for the first time in weeks, Dante felt something that hadn’t visited him in a long, long time.

An: bbluhhhh cough cough please request something I'm running out of ideas I hoped you enjoyed ts

Made by @yo-ri-su-ki, do not copy or translate my work! Reposts and likes appreciated!!

[akanemnon]

wait, didn't you say your frisk wasn't aware they even had a player? oh, poor thing... i sense an existential + identity crisis combo event on the horizon.

Frisk was never aware that there was something controlling them. The reason as to why will come up in the next comic. But you can also chalk it up to them being a kid and not having the kind of self-awareness a teenager like Kris has for example. That's the thing about puberty. You kinda discover yourself and who exactly you are. And this is why Kris is far more aware that there is something else taking over their body. But yes, these two are gonna trauma bond for sure.

[avastrasposts]

The Exiled Heart - chapter 3

Plot: Crashing his Razor Crest on a remote planet, Din is seriously injured and unconscious when he's found by a local woman. This story explores a few months of Din's life before he meets Grogu and started on the path we know.

Din Djarin x Female reader

Author Note & Warnings: Explicit - smut, fluff, angst, serious injury, blood, poor Din has an existential crisis...

The next morning was bright and clear, and you woke when Din put his hand on your shoulder, waking you up with a surprised start. 

“Morning,” you yawned, glancing up at him once your initial rush of adrenaline subsided. He was already dressed and was wearing his armor over your father’s old shirt and trousers. It reminded you that you needed to mend his flight suit once it was dry from washing. 

“Morning,” came his reply as he stepped back from the couch. Standing still by the kitchen table in the middle of the room he seemed to be waiting for you to get up

“Do you want breakfast first, or do you want to go straight to the ship?” you asked as you noticed his posture, he looked very anxious to get going.

“The ship first, I need to see it so that I know how long it will take me to make repairs and if I can fly to the nearest space port.” 

“Are you in that much of a rush to get away from me?” you teased him with a smile, and to your surprise, he seemed to blush before he quickly looked away from you. 

“No, but I know you want me out of your bed, you’re just too polite to say it,” he replied, fiddling with one of his vambraces, the awkwardness in his tone evident. 

“If I was that desperate, I would’ve left you on the ship,” you said with a grin as you grabbed your clothes and moved to the ‘fresher. Behind you, you heard him give a low chuckle, the sound a nice surprise coming from him.

Your house sat in a fairly large clearing in the forest, the surrounding grounds sloped down towards a river that flowed onwards to Duebert. In the opposite direction, the forest stretched for miles towards the low mountains and beyond. It was there, in one of very few clearings, that Din had managed to bring down his ship in almost one piece. It only took a few minutes to walk there, as Din insisted he was well enough to walk, but you made him walk slowly, much to his badly hidden annoyance, and it took closer to ten minutes to get to the clearing. 

Din stopped as the trees thinned and cursed under his breath as he saw the ship. 

“Is it worse than you thought?” you asked, halting the transporter. 

“Yeah…you said there was a hole in the side, but I didn’t expect it to be that big. And there’s damage underneath from where it must’ve hit the trees.” 

You pointed up to the other side of the clearing where the treetops had been shattered, “You can see the impact there.” 

Din heaved a heavy sigh as he looked up and then approached his ship. The gangway was still down, everything inside in a jumbled mess, and he slowly made his way up with you following behind. 

“You weren’t kidding about the blood,” he commented, pointing to the now rust brown patches on the floor, “This is where you found me?” 

“Yeah, the hatch was half ripped off so I managed to push it down enough to get inside,” you walked up beside him and looked down at the remains of the rags you’d first used on him. “At first I thought no one was onboard but then I heard you move and saw your boots.” 

“I would be dead without you,” he replied, looking down at you, “I got very lucky.” 

“I’m glad I was here and heard the crash, Din.” 

His eyes widened at hearing his name from you, emotions racing across his face in the dim interior light. 

“I…It’s…I’m not used to hearing my name used,” he said after hesitating around the words, “But…I like when you say it.” 

Without thinking, you reached over and gave his hand a quick squeeze, “I feel honored to be able to use it now that I know how much it means to you to keep it hidden.” 

Din’s eyes slid down to your hand as you touched him, his fingers twitching, and you missed how he moved to try to hold on to your hand when you pulled away, looking up at the gaping hole in the ship. 

“So, can you fix it?” 

Din heaved another heavy sigh and moved over to the hole, inspecting it. 

“I can patch it up, try to pressurize the cockpit only, and see if I can get it airborne, but it’s going to take some time.” 

“And please don’t forget that you’re still mending too,” you reminded him, “You can stay for as long as you need, you don’t have to rush off.” 

“As you keep reminding me,” he said, still looking up at the hole and wiring hanging loose, but you could hear the smile in his voice. 

Din spent another half an hour inspecting his ship, making note of what he needed to repair, while you kept an eye on him, making sure he didn’t do something stupid. Like trying to climb the half broken galley ladder up to the cockpit. 

“Din!” you protested as he put his foot on the bottom rung and grabbed it with his hands, the whole thing creaking under only half his weight. 

“It’ll hold,” he said, putting more weight on it, and the ladder gave way with a loud groan, sending him tumbling backwards into the ship’s hull. 

“Famous last words…” you grumbled, grabbing his arms and helping him to his feet. He had the good sense to look sheepish as he stood up. 

“Are you ok? No ripped stitches I hope?”

“No, I’m ok…” 

He cursed and looked up at the cockpit opening, “I need to get up there and see what the damage is like.” 

“Hoist me up?” you asked, stepping over to the hole, “I don’t know anything about ships but I can tell you if it looks intact or not.” 

Din looked skeptical but you stood your ground until he came over and held out his interlocked hands. 

“No exertions now, you hear? Just high enough so that I can grab the edge,” you told him and he carefully lifted you up, your foot in his gloved hands. You glanced down at him, to check that he wasn’t showing signs of pain, but your weight seemed to make no difference to him as he straightened his back. He was looking up as you got your hands over the edge and pulled yourself up, aided by his hands. 

You had never been in a spaceship cockpit before, but it looked much as you’d expect it to, big window, lots of buttons and screens. There was a big chair up front for the pilot, and two smaller at the back. 

“How does it look?” Din’s voice came from down below. 

“Like a spaceship,” you called back down, giggling at his exasperated sigh, “Sorry, I couldn’t help myself,” you told him. “But it looks ok from what I can see but one windscreen is cracked, no wires hanging out though, no holes where all the buttons are.” 

“Control panel…” he called up, the thin patience evident in his voice which only made you smile wider. 

“Yeah, that thing, it looks intact too.” 

You laid down flat on your belly so that you could look down at him, “It looks intact, but that’s all I can say,” you told him, and he nodded. 

“Ok, I’ll work on reattaching the ladder and then fixing the hole and the wiring. I’ll need to get to the cockpit to check if my patch job holds.” 

“I’m coming down again then.” 

You dropped down, feet first, and Din caught you as you landed, his hands around your waist as you stumbled backwards. Your back hit his solid chest plate and you were suddenly aware of how close he was even though you couldn’t see him. You made to move, but Din’s hands held you in place against him as you felt his nose brush over your hair. 

“You smell good,” he murmured, “it’s…new to me…” 

“There must be a lot of things that are new to you,” you said without thinking, heat immediately creeping up your throat and cheeks as you bit your tongue.

Din let go of you as if he’d suddenly burnt his hands through the leather of the gloves, and stepped back, turning abruptly to the nearest crate. You drew a deep breath, silently berating yourself for being so abrupt, and walked away to the entrance again and sat down. Behind you, Din was rummaging around, going through the mess caused by his ship’s tumble from the sky. 

He suddenly gave a short scoff, “Your droid didn’t do a very good job of hiding my weapons.” 

You looked over your shoulder and saw him pick up the long rifle from a storage container. 

“I told him to hide them,” you said, “I didn’t want weapons in my house. Especially since I didn’t know you.” 

“You have no weapons in the house?” Din’s eyebrows rose in surprise as he slipped the two blasters into their holsters, he’d already strapped the belt around his waist. He looked different with them, his hands falling to the belt as his posture changed, a hip cocked out as he tilted his head waiting for your answer. You ignored the question.  

“You look more confident with your guns in place,” you said instead, and Din furrowed his forehead and glanced down at himself, “Like they give you confidence. Makes me wonder how you act when you have your helmet on too.” 

Din looked up at you again, his eyes only flicking to yours before he turned away to the crate again, and he didn’t reply, the set of his shoulder tense. 

It was true though, he held himself differently the moment he’d put the armor on, and when he had those guns in hand too, it changed him even more. You didn’t like it, how much sway simple items had over him and how he portrayed himself to the world, even though it was part of his creed. The guns, the armor, they gave him power over life and death and he stood like he knew it and expected those around him to accept it or fall. With his helmet in place, when he didn’t have to show the world how he reacted to anything, he must be just one solid unit of potential violence and retribution walking around, collecting those others had put a price on. 

It clashed with your image of the man who flinched when you touched him, who would sometimes barely meet your gaze, but still held onto you like he was drowning when panic set in, panic even caused by being without the creed he’d been raised in. He seemed to crave your touch, but was still so quick to cover himself, to cut himself off from touch again. The protectiveness that you felt for him, you wondered if part of it was because you wanted to protect him from his own creed. You didn’t agree with it and wanted him to not be so troubled by breaking it. But it wasn’t fair, you’d known him for just a few days, he’d lived with his creed since he was a boy. You couldn’t judge him or his religion, it was the way of life he’d chosen and it had been a part of him for so many years. You sighed quietly and glanced over at Din, this unexpected guest was becoming more complicated than you first thought.   

Din continued to go through the containers, putting aside tools for the repairs, but the silence stretched tight between you inside the hull, your thoughts racing through your head. 

Eventually you heard Din groan behind you, and as you turned, you saw him holding his side where the stitches were. 

“Did you hurt yourself?” you asked, getting to your feet, but he shook his head. 

“Just the muscles getting tired, but I’m done here for today.” 

He had a small box of tools to bring back to the house, and you both sat on the transporter with it as it glided through the forest. You noticed that his weapons were still in his holsters, the long rifle also on the transporter, but you didn't say anything. The silence still sat between you and it was less comfortable than the previous days. 

He took over your storage building for the rest of the day, working on his helmet you thought, and you wondered if he’d go back to wearing it around you if he managed to fix it. 

“Emotional kriffing security blanket…” you grumbled under your breath as you prepared dinner. The more you thought about what he’d told you about his creed and put it together with the way he’s acted, the panic, the lack of eye contact, the more it angered you that someone decided that a boy should put on a helmet and never know physical touch again. You’d lost your mother at a young age, and you’d missed her touch every day growing up. But your father had tried to be a mother to you too, and he showed his love clearly in the way he tucked you in at night, his skilled healing fingers cupping your cheek, or just in the way he’d stroke your hair as he smiled at you. You couldn’t imagine going through life not properly seeing the faces of the people around you, or not having a parent, or at least someone, touching you, even if it was just a hug.  

But when Din came into the kitchen, the helmet wasn’t with him even though he was still wearing the armor. You’d put away your own work and laid the table for dinner, and you looked up as he entered. He glanced at you, then focused on the table as he sat down, the chair creaking under the weight of the metal and the weapons strapped to him. 

“Ok…new rule in this house,” you said, crossing your arms in front of him, “I know the armor and your weapons are very important to you, and I’ll accept them in my house. But not while we eat, and not when there’s no use for them. Please keep them in the storage building when they’re not needed.” 

You could see his eyebrows furrow in annoyance as he clenched his jaw, meeting your eyes just for a split second, then his gaze moved to a spot just over your shoulder and he tried to smooth his expression. 

“It’s your home and I’m a guest,” he said, “But I can’t keep them so far away from me. I’ll stay on the Crest instead.” 

He pushed up from the table, turning his back on you, and you instantly regretted your words. 

“No, Din, you can’t sleep there, it’s a mess and you’re still injured. I just…I just need time to get used to…” you wanted to say ‘the violence’ but Din wasn’t violent, it was just the tools of his trade that reminded you of the violence he was capable of.

He turned as you trailed off and raised an eyebrow as if to tell you to continue, but you struggled to find the right words to say. You wanted him to stay, the last thing you wanted to do was to push him away, but the armor and the guns reminded you too much of what you’d seen him go through as he came out of his unconsciousness, and it angered you. Angered you with his creed, not him. 

“I…I’m a healer and…your weapons and armor, they’re just…they remind me of the injuries and pain they can cause, how…”

“What I do. How I hunt and kill people for credits.” 

Din’s voice was rough, forcing you to admit what you were thinking. 

“Yes…” 

Your voice was low as you dropped your chin to your chest, looking down at your hands, “They…scare me, and it scares me how different you act when you have them on. I wonder…how much of it’s really you, who you’d be without them. I can’t…stop thinking about the boy you were before you joined the creed…” 

Silence falls between you. Din doesn’t say anything and you stare at your hands, you can’t make yourself look up at him. Just as you think you’ll never hear his voice again, he speaks up, his voice lower, calmer than before. 

“We’re very different, but this is who I am, just as you’re someone who rushes into a burning ship and risks your life to rescue an unconscious stranger.” 

You hear the warmth in his voice as he pauses, and from the corner of your eye you see him step forward so that he’s standing just in front of you. He seems to hesitate, raising his hand only half way first, before he gently cups your chin and tilts your head up to meet his gaze. His eyes are gentle, soft and reassuring as he gives you a small nod. 

“But I understand you, vod’ika. I’ll keep them in the storage building, for you. You saved my life, I owe you that much.” 

Din stayed true to his word, he kept his armor and guns in the other building. He put them on before he headed over to the Crest each morning, and you saw him with them on when you joined him there some days, sometimes only to bring him lunch when you thought he worked too hard. But every night he removed all of it and locked them away before coming into the house. He showered and cleaned up and changed his clothes. In the beginning, he wore his flight suit that you’d mended, but after a week he put that away in the storage building too and wore the clothes you’d first put out for him. You found more of your father’s old clothes so that he didn’t need to wear the same things, and he changed into them every evening. 

He watched you cook dinner, helped you with small repairs around the house that Gearz couldn’t manage, and he sat by your kitchen table, without his helmet and armor, and asked you about your life. You told him about your childhood, how your mother had died from a wasting illness that your father couldn’t cure. How it solidified your path to become a healer like him, to help those who lived on this remote planet and didn’t have access to the much more advanced healing other parts of the galaxy had. Din, who was so unaccustomed to physical touch, rested his hand on yours when you told him about your father’s death on a neighboring planet, caught in the crossfire between Rebels and the Empire. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes about how he’s slowly changing. 

And then one day, after about three weeks of work on the Crest, you walked over to the clearing with lunch for you both, and found him in the cockpit with only your father’s clothes on, the armor still stowed away and only a simple holster holding one blaster. You didn’t say anything, but another week passed, and the armor still stayed locked away, the helmet collecting dust on a shelf in the storage building. 

One morning you watched him take your transporter and load the two containers holding his armor and weapons onto it and take them over to the ship, only the helmet remained in the storage building. It made your insides squirm, it looked as if he was beginning to pack, like the Razor Crest was ready to fly again. But when you asked him later, sitting on a storage crate in the hull of the ship, if he was getting ready to leave, he shook his head. 

“There are still a few things I need to repair before it’s safe to fly. If it’s ok with you, I need to stay a bit longer?” 

“Stay as long as you want, Din, get your strength back.” 

The last part was a lie, and he knew it as well as you did. He’d fully recovered, the stitches removed and only the pink scar showed how recent the injury was. 

And as days passed, Din spent less time working on the ship and more time doing chores around your house that he insisted needed doing, repairing the heating unit, adjusting the water tank at the back, clearing the valve. One evening you asked him if he was any good at hunting, you needed to restock your meat larder since you didn’t calculate for a big bounty hunter eating half your food. Din scoffed with a crooked smile and promised to go out and track down some game the following morning. He came back half way through the day with a large dapple gray herbivore creature known as an ishtuun. Together you dressed and cleaned the animal, putting aside the pelt and its horn before preparing the meat. 

“Tricky to track it,” he commented as he hung the meat up in your cold storage, “I usually rely on my helmet to track but this was good practice, tracking the old fashioned way.” 

“You're welcome to do it again,” you said, watching him push the sleeves of his shirt up as he got ready to clean his hands, “any meat you bring that we don’t eat, I can sell or barter for in Duebert. Maybe you need credits to fix your ship?” 

“Maybe,” he replied, “I think the parts will be hard to find here though. But I’ll find them somehow.” 

Except, he didn’t try very hard at finding them. Instead he continued to hunt, prepared the meat and the pelts with you, and you couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when you had to return to Duebert at the end of the summer. You could feel the season beginning to change, and you realised you had to talk to Din about it soon, two months had already passed. 

But you didn’t really want to talk to him about it, you desperately didn’t want him to leave, and it seemed like he didn’t want to either. At least he did less and less to actually try to leave. He spent almost all his time with you, the Razor Crest forgotten in the clearing, the armor and helmet still gathered dust in their crates. 

And he’d grown bolder in his physical touches, any of your bare skin seemed irresistible to him now. He stood next to you at the kitchen counter, and you felt him carefully brush the sliver of skin visible just over the edge of your trousers, almost as if he didn’t know he was doing it. When you glanced over at him, you find his gaze transfixed on the way his fingers slipped over your skin. Only when you moved did he jolt and step back as if the contact had burned him. But he was still terrible at hiding his emotions, and you often caught him staring at you with a hungry expression, especially when you were busy and he thought you weren’t paying attention. You wondered if he was feeling the same thing you were, a steadily growing attraction that seemed ready to boil over as soon as the opportunity presented itself. 

But he was still learning, still adjusting, and you were so wary of crossing any line with him, even if you wanted nothing more than for him to get as close as he did in the first few days when panic was still at the edge of his mind. And the memory of the first time in the Razor Crest with him, pressed against his chest as he brushed his nose over your hair, it still sent a frisson of arousal through your body. You pressed your thighs together in the evening as you sat on the couch, a forgotten piece of equipment in your hand, the image of being pressed up against him filling your mind. 

Din had been in the shower, and now he’d stepped out, still drying his hair with a towel. 

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I left my shirt outside.” 

But you wanted to tell him to never apologise for the view he’s gave you as he crossed the room to where his shirt was hanging. The brown trousers hung low on his narrow hips, his torso, a healthy golden tan now that he was fully recovered, seemed to glisten in the fading evening light. His muscles flexed and moved as he twisted to dry his back, catching your eyes on him. You should look away, stop yourself from staring at the man who only a few short weeks ago flinched when you as much as met his eyes. But you couldn’t, his wide shoulders, strong muscles and smattering of dark hair trailing downwards, they kept you transfixed until Din had pulled his shirt on. 

He looked at you with a small smile, a curious look in his eyes as he smoothed the shirt down over his chest and pushed the sleeves up. 

You really should talk to him about what was next, for him, for you, and for your little life together as the summer season drew to a close, the situation was untenable. 

It came to a head just a few days later, as by chance. Din and you were in the vegetable garden, harvesting the last of the summer crops, another sign that your time was soon up. From the edge of the forest came a low rumble, and then a transporter appeared, a man and a woman on it. You raised your hand in greeting, you knew them both from town. Beside you, Din hastily stuck his shovel in the ground and turned around, retreating into the storage building with his head bowed low. 

You glanced over at him and realised what happened. It was one thing to show his face to you, it had been inevitable and he’d been forced to accept it as he healed. But to show his face voluntarily to strangers, without being prepared, that was probably a difficult step without warning. Especially with it not being on his terms. So you smiled at your guests as the door to the storage building closed behind you. 

“Hi Riclam, Celjas,” you greeted them as they stepped off the transporter. 

“You have a lodger?” Riclam asked as a way of greeting, he was always too nosey for his own good. 

“Just to help with the harvest,” you said noncommittally, “it’s been a great summer season. How’s your harvest been?” The last thing you said to Celjas, a much more pleasant Twi’lek woman.  

“Really good, we’re just returning from selling our first two loads, and when we get home the last field should be ready to harvest too,” Celjas replied before she glanced over to the closed door of the storage building. “We wanted to see if we could stay the night, but if it’s not a good time…”

“The bridge downstream has been washed away so we have to go to the old fording place,” Riclam filled in and pointed north of your house where the old river crossing was. It was about five miles through the forest, a road never used these days since the new bridge had been built ten miles downstream. 

“He’s just busy with repairs, it’s no trouble,” you replied, and waved them towards the house, “I’ll just go let him know, he might be heading out to do some hunting so there’ll be more space in the house.” 

Riclam and Celjas unloaded the transporter, and you went over to the storage building and lightly tapped on the door. Din was standing in the dim space, leaning over the workbench with his head bowed. 

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled as you approached, “I wasn’t prepared.” 

“I understand,” you said softly, coming to stand next to him, “I just wanted to let you know that they have to stay the night, the bridge over the river has been washed away.” 

He nodded and straightened up, but you missed his tight face as you glanced over the workbench. He’d taken down the helmet and it was now resting between his hands. 

“I’ll go to the Crest and do some work and stay there tonight,” he replied, his voice as taut as his posture, “I’ve been neglecting it.” 

“Din, you don’t have to go, they’re nice people, although, Riclam is a bit too nosey. But Celjas is really lovely, and she’s a great cook. Maybe it’ll be a good experience for you to meet others without your helmet on and-” 

You stopped when you saw the way his hands white knuckled the edge of the workbench.

“Is it too much?” you asked, seeking out his hand, carefully linking your fingers through his. 

“With you…it’s fine, but others…I can’t…and I should’ve fixed the helmet, at least enough to be able to wear it again around people.” 

His words filled you with trepidation and fear, fear of losing him even though he wasn’t even ‘yours’, you hadn’t said anything to him to let him know that you wanted him to stay. The plan spoken out loud between you was still for him to fix the ship enough to be able to fly to the trade port where he could get the ship repaired. That plan hadn’t progressed in weeks, but it was still the plan you agreed to weeks ago. And if you didn’t say something, he would think that was still what you wanted. Maybe it’s what he wanted too, to go back to the other Mandalorians and seek redemption and not be an apostate. You'd be asking so much of him if you asked him to stay, to give up his people, his way of life, it was almost impossible to fathom… 

“I…I guess you’ll need it when you…leave,” you mumbled, staring at the violent crack running down the black visor. How you hated that helmet now. 

Your fingers were entwined with his, his thumb rubbing a soft pattern over yours as he looked down at you, “Look at me, vod’ika,” he said, pulling your gaze up to his, his eyes dark in the dim light, brows furrowed tight as if he was in pain, “Tell me you don’t want me to leave.” 

Your heart clenched, squeezed tight with the fear of just a little bit of hope as you processed what he’d said, the words racing through your mind.

Don’t leave

“Din,” you mumbled, transfixed as he leaned closer, his nose brushing over your cheek. 

“Tell me, cyar'ika.” 

“Don’t…don’t leave, Din.” 

His lips were soft against yours, dry and warm, and with a low hum, you kissed him. His hand let go of the helmet, leaving it on the bench as he leaned closer, carefully cupping your cheek as he tentatively moved his lips against yours. 

Daylight suddenly flooded into the dim space, the door abruptly opened. Din pulled away and spun around, grabbing his helmet as by instinct, and retreated to the furthest corner of the room as Riclam entered. 

“Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed, chuckling as he looked over at Din with curiosity, “Didn’t mean to interrupt anything.” 

“Riclam!” you exclaimed, “Ever heard of knocking?” 

“Sorry, sorry, was just looking for somewhere to put the transporter,” he said, at least managing to sound a little bit ashamed. You ushered him out of the building, letting the door close behind you. 

“The transporter doesn’t fit in there, put it in the woodshed, it should fit there,” you told him, pointing in the direction of another building. 

“So, who’s the guy you’re hiding?” Riclam grinned, giving you a smug look. 

“None of your business,” you snapped back at him, “Didn’t your mother teach you it’s rude to pry?” 

“Yeah, sure, but finding you out here, all alone with a stranger, a mysterious one who dodges out of sight as soon as we appear? You’ve got to admit that’s intriguing…” He chuckled again, crossing his arms as he leaned back on his transporter. 

“I swear, Riclam, if you don’t drop it, I’m kicking you out. You can sleep under your damn transporter for all I care. See how Celjas likes that.” 

“Alright, alright,” he said, still laughing as he held up his hands in surrender, “Not another word about it.” 

You gave him a dark look, daring him to say anything, before you went over to the woodshed and opened the door. 

“In here.” 

Chapter 4

[beevean]

Soleil: I'm so sorry. It's all my fault 😭

Christopher: Don't blame yourself, my son. We'll just never speak of this again and pretend this never happened 🙂

Soleil: 😰

I'm musing about how was Soleil treated afterwards. Was he still the heir to the Vampire Killer, he just was not allowed to ever speak of his experience or trauma. Or if Soleil was passed over as a heir. Wouldn't want to re-traumatize him 🙂. And that's assuming Soleil himself wasn't so traumatized he rejected the role of vampire hunter. And if we go with EoC version then you have Soleil been possessed since birth. Christopher would never blame Soleil, buuuuuut he don't know what long-term effects Dracula had on Soleil for possessing him for so long.

Soleil is such a tragedy. Poor kid.

I know it's not a real Castlevania game, but I'm still not over how Vampire Survivors put Soleil in the "enemies" category, and doesn't grant him the privilege of accessing to the Morning Star. They say that he fight well with (and against) his father, but did he ever have the chance?

The games never mention the Belmonts having any siblings, but it's highly unlikely they all produced one boy per generation. It's not farfetched to assume that Soleil could have had a sibling, and the VK was passed onto them - you never know if the boy was corrupted by having his soul touched by Dracula. Soleil would be then quietly erased from the records :) or, perhaps, he erased himself in adulthood, ashamed of what happened to him.

The horrible thing is that. With Richter, one could say that his corruption started from his personal flaw, that of tying himself too tightly to his own legacy, and having an existential crisis after killing Dracula because he didn't know what to do with himself. Soleil? Did nothing wrong except being born in the Belmont family. He was only 16. He didn't have the chance to do anything with his heritage before falling into Dracula's clutches.

Don't forget that Christopher may never blame his boy, but he sure would blame himself, for not finishing the job when he could have :) everytime Soleil has nightmares, or considers himself worthless, he would think that it's his fault that his son had to be punished for his carelessness.

anyway i have feelings for this 1991 gameboy game that maybe five people played

[interstellarlyinlove]

Folklore (October 5th)

word count: 819

@wolfstarmicrofic

“This is so unlike her!” Harry says, rubbing his eyes. His hair is a mess and he looks incredibly stressed. Harry, Sirius, and Remus are sitting around the Potters’ kitchen table.  

“That is the joy of being fifteen, isn’t it?” Sirius asks. “Trying to figure out who you are and being unbelievably stupid in the process?”

“I don’t remember that part really well.”

“We do,” Remus says, grinning. Sirius grins as well. “I remember you being fifteen and stupid so well.”

“Not reporting a scum teacher or even just telling us about it, for example,” Sirius says. “While Remus worked at the very same school. What were you thinking, babe?”

“Creating an army as an after school club.”

“Let’s not even get into the ‘everyone hates me and I hate everyone’ winter phase because that was–”

“Okay, okay,” Harry says, thumping his head on the table. “I get it,” he mumbles. 

Remus looks at Sirius and laughs. He clears his throat. “This isn’t such a big deal, Harry, love. You’re a good dad. And Lily’s a lovely kid.”

Harry groans. “Well, she doesn’t like me all that much right now. She’s grounded.”

Sirius whistles. “You had the heart to ground Lily?”

“You horrendous human being,” Remus comments. 

Harry’s head hits the kitchen table once again. “I feel horrible about it, but she did run away from Hogwarts.” His voice is muffled. He raises his head. “Do you think I’m being too harsh with her?”

Remus just smiles. Sirius says, “Oh, yes. You’re horrible. How could you–”

“We’ll go talk to her, okay?” Remus says, cutting Sirius off. 

“Please,” Harry says. “Thank you guys. Love you.”

“Boohoo, Harry.” 

“Do they tell you everything?” Lily Luna says when she opens her bedroom door. 

Sirius flicks her forehead. “Hello to you too, Lily, love.” He enters her room, Remus closely behind. 

“Hi, Remus,” Lily says. She slams the door behind them. 

“Ouch. What did the poor door do to you?”

“Remus gets a ‘hi’ and I don’t? I see how it is, Flora.”

Lily sighs, all melodramatic and angsty, and sits on top of her desk. Sirius sits on the edge of the bed and Remus on the desk chair. 

“I know what I did was irresponsible and I won’t do it again, okay?” Lily talks as she does something on her computer.

“And you sound so sincere,” Sirius says. 

Lily rolls her eyes. She looks at Remus then at Sirius. “I missed you guys. Do you want to listen to music with me?”

Sirius smiles despite himself. “Awe, Lavender, love, we’ve missed you too.”

“What are you listening to?” Remus asks.

“Sad music, mostly” Lily says, grinning. “I’m sulking.”

“You’re sulking?” Sirius asks. “You ran away from Hogwarts and skipped classes and got a tattoo. Poor Harry’s having an existential crisis. He should be sulking.”

“I didn’t get a tattoo,” Lily says. 

“I know.” Sirius winks. “I just wanted to make you sound cooler than you actually are, Daisy.”

Lily sighs. “I just walked around muggle London for a little while. Had coffee. And also, there was this fairy circle in someone’s front porch that I just had to sit in.” Lily pauses. “Even though now I remember Trelawney telling us not to do that when we were going over different Folklore stories. What do you think happens to people who sit in fairy circles?”

 “I guess you’ll find out, won’t you?” Remus says lightly. “And we’re not saying that the things you did after sneaking out were wrong. Though the trespassing and angering fairies is a little questionable I think. We’re more worried about the sneaking out part itself.”

“Your dad went nuts. Ginny nearly brought Hogwarts to the ground looking for you.”

“We were worried, too,” Remus says. “We didn’t know if you just ran off or if something had happened to you.”

Lily bites her lips and looks down. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to– I mean, I didn’t think it would be a big deal. I just wanted to get away for a little while.”

“And that’s okay, Jasmine, babe,” Sirius says. “Hell, just floo to our house next time. Or at least tell someone where you’re going. Albus or James or whoever.”

“So we know that you’re safe,” Remus adds. “Also– so that Harry doesn’t go gray so soon.”

“He’s already going gray,” Lily mumbles. 

Sirius chuckles. “I can’t argue with you there, Hydrangea.”

“That’s not even a name,” Lily says. “And– I am sorry. I’ll talk to dad before I go back to Hogwarts tonight.”

Remus looks at Sirius then at Lily, and he smiles. “Thank you, Flower.”

“Oh, Merlin, not you too, Remus.”

Sirius laughs. “Go talk to your dad now, Marigold.”

“Will you take me to get a tattoo when I decide that I want one?” Lily asks as she gets off the desk.

“We’ll think about it, Dahlia. Now go away.”

[vodka0kcal]

Our little secret. PT.2

Izzy Stradlin X Reader

warnings: *pregnancy* *fluffy* *sad*

.

Izzy hadn’t fucking moved. He was still crouched by the crib, still staring at Violet like she might disappear if he blinked. His cigarette, forgotten in his other hand, had burned down to the filter.

You didn’t know what the hell was going through his mind, and that scared you more than anything. Izzy was unpredictable as fuck—one second calm, the next a goddamn storm.

And right now? He looked like both.

“She looks like you,” he finally muttered, voice rough.

Your throat felt tight. “She’s got your eyes.”

Izzy scoffed, shaking his head. “Poor kid.”

A choked laugh left you, even though none of this was funny. It was fucking terrifying.

“She have a middle name?” he asked, still not looking at you.

“Jane.”

His lips pressed together, and you swore you saw the ghost of a smile before it disappeared. “My mom’s name.”

You nodded. “I wanted her to have something from you.”

That did something to him. His shoulders tensed, his breath hitched just a little. Then, slowly, he let go of Violet’s tiny hand and stood up. His gaze finally met yours, and fuck, it was like looking at a hurricane—wild, furious, exhausted.

“You should’ve fucking told me.”

The guilt had been eating you alive for months, but hearing him say it out loud made it worse. You wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling like the worst person on the planet. “I know.”

Izzy ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know how to be a dad, Y/N.” His voice cracked, just a little. “I never wanted to be one because I knew I’d fuck it up.”

Your heart clenched.

“Izzy—”

“I can’t be some picture-perfect father,” he cut you off, pacing the small apartment like he was trying to escape his own goddamn thoughts. “I don’t know how to do this shit. I’m gone more than I’m here. I’m a fucking disaster.” He gestured at himself like he was stating the obvious. “And now there’s a kid involved?” He laughed, but it wasn’t funny. “Jesus Christ.”

You took a step forward, stomach twisting. “I didn’t expect you to come back and suddenly be a father, Izzy. I just—” You swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to lose you.”

Izzy stopped pacing. Just stood there, staring at you like you’d just fucking wrecked him.

For a long time, he didn’t say anything. Then, finally—

“You didn’t lose me.”

Your breath caught.

Izzy let out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head. “Fuck, if anything, I think I just lost myself in all this.” His dark eyes flicked toward Violet, who was still staring up at him from her crib, completely oblivious to the weight of the situation. “Shit,” he muttered again.

You took another cautious step toward him, unsure if he was about to bolt or break down. Maybe both.

“Izzy… you don’t have to figure it all out right now,” you said softly. “I know this is a lot. But if you want to be in her life, you can be. We’ll figure it out.”

He scoffed. “And if I don’t?”

Your chest ached.

“Then I’ll raise her on my own.”

Izzy flinched, like the thought of that physically hurt him.

A long silence stretched between you.

Then—

“Fuck.” He raked a hand through his hair, looking at you like he was standing at the edge of a cliff. “I can’t promise I won’t fuck this up.”

You swallowed back the lump in your throat. “Then don’t. Just… be here.”

Izzy’s jaw clenched. His fists curled at his sides. Then, after what felt like a lifetime, he nodded once.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Okay.”

And just like that, your whole fucking world shifted.

Izzy was still in your apartment.

You had half expected him to storm out after hearing the truth, but he was still fucking here. Standing in the middle of the room, looking like his entire world had just been thrown into a blender.

Violet yawned in her crib, stretching her tiny fingers, completely unaware that her dad was going through a full-blown existential crisis three feet away.

Izzy dragged a hand down his face. “I need a drink.”

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Yeah, well, I need a goddamn time machine, but we’re both shit out of luck.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh and shook his head. “Jesus, Y/N.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m serious, Izzy. If you’re gonna stay, you can’t just drown yourself in a bottle every time shit gets hard. That’s not how this works.”

Izzy’s eyes darkened, like he wanted to snap at you, but then he glanced at Violet. Whatever words had been on his tongue, he swallowed them down.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice quieter this time.

“I know.” You softened a little, stepping closer. “Neither do I. But I’ve been doing it. And you can too, if you want to.”

Izzy was silent. His fingers twitched, like he wanted to reach for something—a cigarette, a drink, maybe just something to hold onto. But there was nothing but you and the weight of what you’d just thrown at him.

Finally, he spoke.

“What if I’m not good at it?”

Your chest ached.

“Izzy…” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Nobody’s good at it. Nobody knows what the fuck they’re doing. But you get up, and you try.”

He let out a slow breath and looked at Violet again. She had dozed off, her tiny chest rising and falling in soft, steady breaths. Izzy’s face did something unreadable, something almost… vulnerable.

You watched as he hesitated, then took a slow step toward the crib. His long fingers hovered over the edge like he was afraid to get too close.

“She’s so small,” he muttered.

“She won’t be forever.”

Izzy swallowed hard. Then, in the most careful fucking movement you’d ever seen, he reached down and picked her up.

You held your breath, half expecting him to freeze up or panic, but he didn’t. He just stood there, holding his daughter for the first time, looking more lost than you’d ever seen him.

And then—

“She’s warm.” His voice cracked, just a little.

You blinked back tears. “Yeah. She is.”

Izzy looked at you, something breaking in his dark eyes. “Fuck, Y/N.”

“I know.”

His hold on Violet tightened, like maybe he was afraid to let go. And for the first time since he’d walked through that door, you saw it—

The moment Izzy Stradlin realized he was a father.

And he wasn’t fucking running.

Not this time.

[gilverrwrites]

Back on my annoying ass Kid bs cause I love putting Tim in situations 🫶

I feel like for the kid to get away with this they have to be a carbon print of their other parent

For a second he considered getting a dna test, not because he thought you were unfaithful

He was just worried that the kid was secretly a clone because they literally look exactly like you?? How can they be so perfect???

Super clingy newborn that wants to spend all day with you, but the moment they get sleepy they will scream-cry until Tim holds them

Toddler years were rough because oml they are so clumsy, constant bumping into things, falling down, and accidentally hitting themself

Every time Tim finishes babyproofing the manor, lil guy manages to find a way </3 Tim actively is getting grey hairs help

The moment the little punk starts talking it's so over for Tim 😞

Little sass monster that hurts your feelings in the way only a little kid can

"Unca dick why aren't you married yet?" Kori staring real hard at the side of Dick's head waiting for him to answer

"Grandpa got funny face lines!" The family has to drag Bruce away from the clinic, he's already setting up a botox appointment

You think it'd get better with age, but it absolutely does not honestly it gets worse because now it's on purpose

Kon: hey buddy you can't talk to your dad like that

Kid: You can't tell me what to do you aren't my parent- you're just their mistress

Kon: 😧

Kid: Harlot

Genuinely snorted at the harlot comment lmao, and poor Brucie. That man is fighting back ageing so hard I wouldn't be surprised if he had some kind of at home botox kit. Just as soon as those words come out of the kids mouth Bruce is off to The Wayne Manor spar to start shooting up his face.

Tim's trying to be distant in the newborn phase but he can't because you've called him 200 times, leaving messages begging him to come see the baby because they haven't slept through a single night since he left and you're ready to let Bruce take them for the weekend if it means you can get some sleep.

Grey Tim, I swear, he's gonna have salt and pepper hair by the time he's 30 and it's gonna be delish, and he's gonna be the only Robin to not have an existential crisis over it.

[hypodermicfroggy]

I really like Psychonauts and its writing, don't get me wrong, though after having read the very ancient Li-Po Backstory Document I do wish we could have gotten more from some of the concepts that had been in there.

Like the fact that Sasha's real struggle with his father wasn't just "lol he accidentally caught his father thinking about sex with his dead mom" (though don't get me wrong I love a good Freud joke and overcoming your traumatic intimacy issues for the one you love as much as the next person), but was in fact due to him having an existential crisis over the nature of the human mind and concept of a soul and that's also why he so doggedly went into scientific experimentation. Could also tie into his fascination with extraterrestrial life and wondering if they, too, qualify for his existential studies, or even given us interesting interactions with Camper Phoebe.

(Also, stopping a terrorist/bomber with the help of his father was a cool as fuck detail.)

Or the fact that Milla actually ended up moved from mental facility to mental facility before she was finally able to be helped with quieting down the nightmares and voices of the orphanage children (among others she was able to hear) through psychoisolation. Could have more insights on her extreme pyrophobia and how she manages to come to grips with the fact that Whispering Rock *does* in fact encourage pyrokinesis.

We could have had a chance to expand on Oleander's animal telepathy/empathy powers (post Psy1, it could have been some improved character development/showing he's at least trying to not be so warhawkish), especially since we know that's also a very strong power in the Booles and Sam Boole was assigned to him as an intern.

Or how about Truman being a distinctly "conservative" and extremely politically-motivated figure with regards to how he apparently rose to power as the Head of the Psychonauts? Sure, we see parts of the fatherly side with Lili, but we don't see the politics of the Psychonauts apart from glimpses through Hollis, and maybe a tiny bit with regards to poor Bob. Hell, that political-mindedness could have even contributed to the estrangement between Truman and Bob over Bob's addiction issues, and Lili's personal apathy as well since she's basically a 'prodigy' who has never been properly challenged *since* she's a Zanotto. It could even be part of why Oleander was even recruited in the first place. Animal empath or not, he's the militaristic type that a more openly political and conservative Truman would potentially want in the organization.

And of course I know the big one was how they changed the Aquato lore and backstory from the document, and again, I LOVE what they did with that writing in Psychonauts 2 with regards to Maligula and Ford. But at the same time the Galochio family rivalry would have been so FASCINATING. Zalto could even become a future villain to deal with, possibly tied to a Grulovian mission or arc since it was hinted at the end of Psy2 they'd have to go there anyway to recover Helmut's body. Raz back in his family's homeland! The Galochios reigniting the family feud! FINALLY GETTING PROPER WATER LEVELS! Insert a joke about "why is it always you?" with Raz's Protagonist Syndrome!

I also want literally ANYTHING else with regards to the camp and interns, too. Elka has an entire backstory that is not once remotely implied in the first game that her entire family has extreme powers of clairvoyance to the point an ancestor was basically a Norwegian prophet/soothsayer. Are you kidding me? That is cool as shit. And besides horrific traumatic events, how do you even figure out your kids are psychic? Like some families clearly show an aptitude for it (the Aquatos, the Booles, the Zanottos), but is it just a genetic quirk, is it through direct Psitanium exposure causing mutation, or is it just random chance? How do you qualify to be part of Psychonauts programs? Also does Loboto actually have a kid or was he just talking insane nonsense?

Maybe if we ever get a Psychonauts cartoon like I'm coping for we could get some of these ideas returned to and elaborated on.

[maxdibert]

i want to know what do you think about Remus since you already talk about James and Sirius i really need to know :3

When someone puts a big topic on the table, in Spain we say: sujétame la cerveza lol So yeah, Lupin is one of THAT topics. Here we go:

Look, I can deal with Remus Lupin having literally zero self-esteem and a massive inferiority complex, and for that reason using Sirius and James as his safety net at Hogwarts, not stopping them when they were complete jerks because he was afraid they'd reject him and he’d end up alone. I can deal with that, I can excuse being an accomplice to bullying just like I can excuse Severus for getting involved with the Death Eaters because he saw himself as vulnerable. I forgive him, seriously. I can even forgive him for being an absolutely irresponsible adult and not taking his potion—Merlin knows why. I can let that slide too. But there are two things I can’t let slide.

The first, and less important one, is that he justified James’ actions to Harry. I mean, it's the least important because I can understand not wanting to tarnish the kid’s image of his father, but when the same kid is telling you that his father and his friends (including you) were assholes, maybe you should admit that you were a total jerk. Or that at least your friends were, and you did nothing. I get why Sirius denied his guilt because, well, Sirius Black. Like, what are you going to expect from him? To him, there was nothing wrong with it. But Remus was aware that it was wrong, and as an adult, he can admit it. You don’t have to make up some story about Snape envying James over Quidditch (lolololol like Severus Snape would remotely care about that gym-bro crap). But anyway, I see this as almost the least serious thing.

What I will never, ever forgive him for in my entire fucking life is that at 36/37 years old, with gray hair already down there, HE WAS ALMOST FORTY YEARS OLD, PEOPLE, he got a woman in her twenties pregnant, had an existential crisis, and was considering leaving her WHILE SHE WAS PREGNANT WITH HIS CHILD. WHAT IS HE DOING?? Like, I don’t even know how to express this in English because my language is Spanish, and I swear I have a ton of adjectives in that language to insult this man, but in English, it’s harder—but hello?? He was ALMOST FORTY YEARS OLD, HIS WIFE WAS TWENTY-FIVE, HE SLEPT WITH HER, GOT HER PREGNANT, AND LEFT??? HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE, REMUS LUPIN?? WHAT’S IN YOUR HEAD?? Like, if he was so terrified of passing on lycanthropy to the child, why didn’t he use a condom?? Or, I don’t know, the magical equivalent—HAVE YOU HEARD OF A VASECTOMY?? And if he really, truly felt so bad about impregnating A WOMAN IN HER TWENTIES—LIKE SERIOUSLY, LET'S PUT THIS IN PERSPECTIVE: SOMEONE THIRTEEN YEARS YOUNGER THAN HIM. THIRTEEN. DAMN. YEARS. Why didn’t he just NOT DO IT? Like, as the adult in the relationship, he could’ve genuinely said no. No, this is unacceptable. No. No, sorry. So many years of gender studies and feminist readings for this. SCREW THE NICE GUYS. Like, his whole “woe is me, I’m poor, I’m old, I’m ugly, I’m dangerous” schtick? Well, you should have gone off to Timbuktu then, but don’t get her pregnant only to then abandon her. A TEENAGER HAD TO GO. A TEEN-AGER had to tell him he was being a piece of shit. This is why I say Rowling doesn’t respect her female characters because if she really did, she would have had Tonks dump him and raise the child on her own because, seriously, what was she thinking?

Just talking about this makes me genuinely angry. It's just that Lupin is THAT KIND OF GUY, you know? The one who acts all nice and soft and like he’s never broken a plate in his life, and he’s all poor me, and I’m super nice and super sweet, but then he turns out to be a huge jerk, like a giant piece of work. He’s the textbook nice guy, and one of the worst, the kind who goes after young women. Look, I’m just saying that if Harry Potter were written today and the topic of Lupin came up, and Rowling didn’t condemn him to the stake in her books, she would have been canceled a long time ago. Seriously. There’s no way that in today’s fiction a man nearly 40 years old gets a twenty-something pregnant and threatens to leave her, and that this guy is seen positively by the narrative. Simply no. Canceled. I’m canceling you, Remus Lupin, not for myself, but for feminism. Thanks.

[mod-ellisa]

I've succumb to the Blue Eye Samurai brainrot. My poor little meow meows. My disaster bisexuals. I love them your honor. Who would have thunk I of all people would hyperfixate on something so explicit, with my previous hyperfixations that almost exclusively consist of children’s shows. Long text below the cut.

Its so so important to me that Taigen confesses his feelings before he finds out Mizu's gender situation. Get that man an existential sexuality crisis.

Speaking of Mizu, "gender? I hardly know her." The man, the woman, the swordsmith, the samurai, the demon. Revenge is their gender, but pronouns are situational.

Mizu, Akemi, and Taigen all have two hands, do not pit them against eachother. Ik Ik Akemi has a royal husband now, that'll last until mother-in-law tries (maybe succeedes if its her son) to have one of them assassinated, at which point the other two will rescue her.

In fact the only one without two hands is Ringo and he's proven himself capable of handling two women at the same time anyway. He's gonna end up with one of Akemi's girls, they're gonna be happy and in love and have kids.

Mizu comes back from London after completing their mission, finds Ringo still living with Eiji, Taigen visiting frequently but working for the Shogunate. Taigen has had a lot of time to think, to have his crisis and come to terms with being bi, no longer wants to kill Mizu but still wants to fight him.

Mizu wants to die, is angry when Taigen won't kill him. Swords are thrown to the side and they grapple in hand to hand combat, Taigen ending up on top this time, same position as the last time they sparred. He confesses his feelings, apologizes profusely over the way he was in the past, both of them are sobbing. Does Mizu run away, Taigen chasing only a little while later after Eiji and/or Ringo tell him the truth? Or does she break down, making Taigen promise to kill her if he doesn't still love her once she reveals her true identity? Either way he still loves them.

The parallels between the first spar and this one. Between their first husband's reaction to their strength and Taigen's. Reassurances that nothing has changed, he still loves her, in fact moreso for their strength. That's what attracted him to them in the first place, and their body parts are irrelevant. Nothing has to change, except you can't keep leaving me behind.

Taigen's ties to the palace are what tips them off to Akemi needing a way out. Mizu "kidnaps" her, Taigen avoiding suspicion by keeping his post, which gives the girls some alone time. Akemi figures it out so fast, she's smart and observant and it takes her less than a day to laugh and ask bluntly. They have an argument, about who's life is worse, then kiss and make-up with newfound respect for eachother. Fake married trope while they travel. Akemi makes Mizu let her treat their wounds and teach her self defense. Wicked aim, takes up archery and throwing knives.

When they all make it back to the forge, they realize they didn't have a plan for the future. It's a weird and awkward moment. "We'll figure it out... together."

Give Mizu his horse back. Let him feel peace over that life, recognize it as part of themself, forgive herself. Akemi wants to learn how to ride. Something something weak knees.

Nsfw stuff below

MizuxTaigen is rough and needy. Sparring is foreplay, gets both of them going and leads to hot power struggles during sex. Mizu is so touch starved, so scared. Taigen's force grounds them in reality so they can't get lost in their head. They leave bruises on eachother, and provide eachother with lots of aftercare.

AkemixMizu is soft and delicate. Each of them sees what they want in the other: Akemi wants Mizu's freedom and strength, Mizu wants Akemi's wit and confidence. Full body touching, bathing eachother, worship.

TaigenxMizuxAkemi is hot, heavy, kinky. Akemi is a puppeteer, pulling the strings with her words. Mizu is whiny, almost demanding. Taigen is lost in it, gives in to the pleasure, has to be held back so both of his partners have a chance.

[bestworstcase]

@cryptidblues tumblr ate this one too, maybe drop tumblr support a line to check if you’ve been erroneously shadowbanned 

Oscar is dying! He’s dying! We’re getting the full weight and crisis of the merge in volume 10 I NEED IT. The image of him collapsed on the sand as the sunrises with his back to the long memory OOUGH just like Ruby and crescent rose after she drank the tea, before the tree took her. The reversal on “I don’t want to be me anymore” / please let me stay myself. The lad is being eaten alive! From the inside out! By an unstoppable brain parasite that will kill him! And Replace Him! I Need the slow build up of horror from Oscar and everyone involved. “And Oscar…just isn’t himself” they’re place setting. Getting the table ready. Ooh yknow he’s hiding those merge episodes/attacks from his friends. I NEED the existential terror and dread! BUT I NEED THE CATHARSIS OF OSCAR BEING KNOWN, SEEN & SAVED TOO ;-;

NOT to make a post oscar about ozma instead but the thing that is really, really pulling the hinges off for me is the implication that this is happening because oz started actively fighting the merge. as long as oscar resisted and oz kept up the drumbeat of “this is inevitable, there is nothing either of us can do,” the curse kept on quietly eroding oscar as the boundary became thinner and thinner between them. it was, for lack of a better term, stable. 

the moment oz tries to resist, the curse starts trying to rip him forward. to force him to take over, inflicting what seems to be torturous amounts of pain on both of them. the subtle, silent, invisible violence that was inflicted on oscar before explodes outward to attack both of them. 

how many times have i said this curse is specifically designed to make it impossible for ozma to change? that the whole point is to prevent ozma from ever changing his mind or defying the god of light? never doubt me. the literal fucking instant ozma tries to break free, the curse becomes YOU DO NOT HAVE A CHOICE. 

the curse had a failsafe the whole time.

/ozma tangent

oscar though. this poor kid. like the greatest burden on his shoulders in the last four volumes has always been that no one wants to openly acknowledge what’s happening to him and the nature of the merge’s violence being so completely internal means that no one has to look at it except him. and he’s been so isolated in that existential dread but he’s also grown so accustomed to being treated like just. the next ozpin. that when the violence abruptly becomes externalized in reaction to oz’s resistance, oscar… hides it. keeps it to himself. somewhere deep down the idea that it doesn’t matter to anyone what happens to him got lodged in his brain so deeply that he keeps it hidden!!

and i’m obsessed with the emotional complexity the layers of what he’s feeling with regard to ruby, because it’s not as simple as that he misses her and aspires to her optimism; there’s also some underlying resentment there (“you were always so sure that everything would work out…right up until the moment it didn’t” <- paraphrasing) because she was wrong and he wishes he could borrow her certainty but she was wrong. she fell. she was wrong. 

BUT AT THE SAME TIME, everyone else believes that they’re gone forever. that they’re dead. oscar doesn’t. he’s thinking about it in terms of where they might have gone, what might have happened to them, he’s doing research because deep down, there’s a teeny tiny spark of hope that hasn’t been extinguished yet. so there’s this subtext of i wish i had your certainty. even though you were wrong. i’m still trying to find you. we’re still fighting this. you always saw me for who i really was. i don’t know who i am anymore.—there’s this tension throughout the monologue between bitterness and hope, and i don’t know if oscar is even capable of seeing that he is still hopeful or that he does have, if not ruby’s kind of certainty, something of his own that rhymes. he’s feeling this bleak about everything and still trying to figure out where they are because he doesn’t believe they’re dead. 

it was oscar’s idea to put the memorial where the portal had been. it’s taller than a person and shaped like a door. it’s a memorial but it’s also a symbol; the portal is gone, but they were inside it still, we should build our own door so they can find their way home. and then they do, according to the context given. the blacksmith gave them a doorway that went right through their memorial.  ETA: never mind, misremembered

ruby confronting and facing his mortality after running away from it for three volumes to galvanize her to really try to save him vs oscar doing whatever he can think of to somehow save her while roiling in all these complicated painful feelings about how no one cares to know how he’s suffering because it isn’t like there’s any real hope for him. tasty!

[l0cked0uttt]

If I'm Taking Care Of Your Ass Then I Sure As Hell Ain't Doing It Sober.

Revivebur x Las Navadas!Male Reader (Romantic)

Fluff, slight suggestive stuff, no smut

Prompt: Reveivebur comes to Las Navadas hurt, he's already here so why not take pity on the poor man and help him out, not without a couple of drinks first though.

CW/TW: Drinking, mentions of blood, mentions of stitching, smoking, cursing

M/N is also a bartender for Quackity

M/N is used (meaning male name)

S/C is used (meaning skin color)

M/N was sitting in his living room, bored out of his goddamn mind. Normally when he was this bored, he'd break into his liquor cabinet, open a bottle of some kind of liquor or cheap wine, and drink till he was shit faced. And he would, unless he wanted to go to work with the worst hangover known to man. You see, Quackity was oh so kind enough to stick M/N on one of the earlier shifts (early being 12) which didn't sit well with the man who stays up till 3 am and sleeps till 3 pm to go to his more normal shifts at 5 pm.

So he was stuck, he could go for a walk, but that would mean he had to leave his house. He could read a book except that it wasn't good enough. Living in Las Navadas was great, he had a great boss and a nice house and a good paying job but that doesn't mean that the slowly growing city had more to do than gamble and drink, which was fun until it got repetitive.

M/N was on the verge of entering the existential crisis talk until a knock came from his door. Which was definitely new. It probably wouldn't be Quackity, that man just spams your communicator with calls and messages till you reply, and Slime had no reason to be at your house at this hour. So who the hell was bothering your mental turmoil? M/N reluctantly got up to answer the door.

"Okay who are you and why the hell- " M/N looked up at the man standing at his doorstep.

"Wilbur fucking Soot." M/N said through his teeth, he crossed his arms and leaned against his door frame.

"In the flesh, literally considering I'm revived, courtesy of Dream may I add." Wilbur had an shit eating grin on his face as he stared at the male in front of him.

M/N did a small face laugh, "Why the hell are you here?" his demeanor quickly changed back to serious.

"What? Can I not come back and see an old friend?"

"You have to be friends in the first place to do that Wilbur, now tell me what you want or I'll just leave you here."

Wilbur straightened his posture and M/N finally noticed that he was holding his arm. His eye traveled down to his hand, where he saw blood start to drip.

M/N quickly grabbed Wilbur's hand, his eyes widening at the sight of the dripping blood. "Asshole, you're gonna get blood on my front porch!" M/N pulled Wilbur inside, closing the door.

"My, my, M/N if you wanted to hold my hand you should've just asked I would've said yes." Wilbur smirked while M/N rolled his eyes.

"Go sit on the couch and don't get blood anywhere, if you do I'll behead you." M/N let go of his hand and walked into his bathroom to find a first aid kit.

After he grabbed one he set it on the coffee table before walking over to his liquor cabinet.

Wilbur laughed lightly as he watched the male rummage through the various bottles, who turned around with an annoyed glare on his face.

"What are laughing about smart ass?"

"Does Quackity not pay you enough to afford proper rubbing alcohol?"

"No, he pays me plenty." The male grabbed a glass and filled it with a couple cubes of ice. "This is for me."

M/N slowly sipped the liquor as he walked back to the couch, sitting next to Wilbur.

"Take off your jacket so I can see what you did." M/N set the cup down and opened the first aid kid while Wilbur took off his jack and folded it neatly behind him.

M/N looked at his arm, slowly pulling the torn fabric away from the wound. "It doesn't look terrible, maybe a few stitches, but you'll live. Now take off your shirt."

"Don't you think you should ask me out first? It's a little rude to ask me to undress seeing as we haven't spoken in so long." That same smirk dawned Wilbur's face.

"Not like that idiot! I meant it as in, let me see the wound better."

Wilbur chuckled to himself, seemingly pleased with getting a rise out of him and removed his shirt placing it on top of his jacket.

M/N grabbed a few rubbing alcohol pads and started slowly cleaning the wound on Wilbur's arm, taking a "small sip" from the glass on the coffee table. After a few times of getting up to throw away blooded gaze pads and rubbing alcohol pads and filling up his glass on the way, he decided to grab the whole bottle of liquor, as well as a bottle of wine and two glasses. M/N filled up the two glasses handing one to Wilbur.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of being granted the pleasure of drinking with you?"

"Stop speaking so poshly, I get it you're fancy, now shut up while I finish wrapping your arm."

Wilbur backed off the male but kept a smile on his face as he watched him wrap his arm in bandages.

When he was done, M/N snipped off the extra and put it back in the first aid kit. He quickly downed the rest of his wine and went to put the first aid kit away.

When he got back, his body was facing forward and his head was tilted upwards toward the ceiling. "I hate you." M/N mumbled.

"How come? All I did was ask for your help, which you could've denied, might I add." Wilbur's tone was somewhat mocking and he put an arm around M/N, playing with the hair on his head.

"I told myself I wasn't going to drink tonight and look where I'm at."

"Well, it's not like I told you to drink."

"If I'm taking care of your ass I'm sure as hell not doing it sober." M/N turned his head to look at the male beside him, he brought a hand up to his face and began to trace down his jawline, stopping at the corner of his lips. M/N slowly climbed over to Wilbur's lap, neither of them breaking eye contact. Wilbur's arms rested at M/N's waist while M/N's other hand rested in Wilbur's crest feeling the soft skin on his fingertips.

M/N leaned in closer to Wilbur, lips slightly parted as they each waited for the other to make a move.

"You do realize the consequences that this can have if you go through with this." Wilbur's voice was barely above a whisper.

"And what's 'this'" M/N giggled as one of his hands slowly moved to the base of Wilbur's hair, lightly playing with the strands.

"I don't think Quackity will like it very much if you kiss his enemy."

"What he doesn't know won't hurt him."

The two got even closer, lips brushing against each other.

"You willing to make that bet?" Wilbur's lips curled into a small smile.

"I'll bet everything I got, pretty boy."

Wilbur laughed lightly before pulling M/N in by his waist, kissing his lips. M/N's hands further tangled themselves in Wilbur's hair while Wilbur's hands were untucking M/N's neat dress shirt, almost desperate to feel his S/C skin.

The two broke apart for air, breathing heavily for a moment before Wilbur began kissing down his jaw and neck.

"God I hate you so much." M/N said, half out of breath

Wilbur hummed on his skin, lightly nipping at it before answering the male.

"If you hate me so much then tell me to stop and I will." Wil looked at M/N, still leaving a trail of kisses on his neck, none of them deep enough to create a hickey though, Wilbur was smarter than that.

M/N let out an airy chuckle, pulling at Wilbur's hair. "No, you're too hot to stop."

Wilbur kissed his cheek, looking M/N in the eyes. "And You're too drunk for me to continue."

M/N groaned, tilting head back. "Why must you do this to me?"

Wilbur chuckled, "Maybe another time darling."

M/N got off his lap, stumbling before regaining his balance, but he was still swaying back and forth.

Wilbur went to grab his jumper before M/N put a hand on Wilbur's cheek making him look back at him.

"Please don't leave." He looked at him with pleading eyes that not even Wilbur could say no to.

"Alright, I'll stay." He stood up and gave M/N a quick kiss before picking him up bridal style and then walked down the hall, M/N's arm was stretched out to one of the doors and Wilbur assumed it was his room.

Once Wilbur sat him down on the bed, M/N quickly began to take off the uncomfortable suspenders and dress shirt before laying down and making grabby hands at Wilbur, who laid next to him.

After a few minutes of cuddling, M/N spoke up.

"I hate you so much." He said holding on tighter to Wilbur and burying his face in his chest.

"I love you too darling."

********

Another one in the bags. I got this idea from reading another story on Wattpad, it's called MidNight Walks by mannequins_inafeild, despite only having two chapters I really liked it so I would consider checking it out!

Also who knew writing kissing scenes was so hard? I literally took a break to work on another story (the one that came out before this one actually) because I didn't know where to go or how to do it. I hope it wasn't too awkward. I don't know how many more scenes I'm gonna do like that in the future but give me some feedback, I'd like to hear your thoughts!

Word Count: 1557

[conclover]

｡ﾟﾟ ･ ｡ ･ﾟﾟ ｡ ﾟ。 𝒴ℴ𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝒾𝑔𝑔ℯ𝓈𝓉 𝒻𝒶𝓃 ₊ ⊹ 𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘵 1 　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

NEXT CHAPTER

❤︎ Pairing ₊ ⊹ Mettaton x GN! Reader

❤︎ Summary ₊ ⊹ You’ve applied for a position at the renowned MTT Resort, with the exciting opportunity of becoming Mettaton’s personal assistant. As you step into the glamorous building, the celebrity robot himself conducts the interview and expresses a genuine interest in the idea of working together.

❤︎ Warnings ₊ ⊹ Mettaton being physically touchy (SFW). Slight yandere vibes. Burgerpants is having an existential crisis. Cursing.

❤︎ Notes ₊ ⊹ I just learned that ’ and ' are not the same thing. I’ve been using ' all my life thinking it was the correct one. I'll copy paste them bc my puter doesn’t have that curly apostrophe. Updates will be slower because I have to correct this in all of my fics (yes, I’m posposing something work related).

❤︎ Word count ₊ ⊹ 1861

₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊ ⊹₊

Before you started this job, you had a different expectation. The position was sold to you in such an irresistible way that rejecting it seemed impossible. You were going to work for a superstar, and you'd be known by everyone. Perhaps the promise was a bit exaggerated, and though you didn't fully buy into that last part, you decided to apply for the position anyway. After all, being Mettaton's assistant at his MTT Resort—the grandest, most imposing building in all of the Underworld—didn’t sound that bad.

However, as you stepped through the gates of your new beginning, your hopes were quickly shatered. This was nothing like it had been presented. First, the fountain adorned with a statue of your boss’ old form was poorly constructed. A large puddle had gathered on the otherwise gleaming marble floor, a direct result of the poorly made design. The restaurant, while decent was far too dimly lit, as though they were cutting costs on lighting. The receptionist, quite strangely, was just a hand—literally. On the bright side, you had to say that the MTT fast food chain was running efficiently, but only thanks to some overworked employees. One of them gave you all the chilling details about your new boss.

“Good luck,” the young boy said with a forced smile, his voice lacking enthusiasm. “Though, you probably won’t need it.” His gaze drifted, lost in the depths of his own despair.

Despite the boy’s demoralizing words, you held on to a sliver of hope. Maybe Mettaton wasn’t as terrible as everyone made him out to be. Sure, there was that time he tried to kill that little kid. Or the times he belittled Burgerpants for his poor performance. Not to mention the exploitation of his staff and his temper. Or at least thats what you had been told by the burger boy.

“What have I gotten myself into?” you wondered aloud, your concern growing with each passing moment as you made your way to the elevator.

First floor

“Maybe he is not as bad as they say?”

Second floor

“Yes, I can do this!”

Third floor

“Oh fuck, what am I going to say?”

Fourth floor

“You got this!”

Fifth floor

“You have been practicing!”

Sixth floor

“At least the elevator is pretty fast...”

Seventh floor

“I hope I don't end up like Burgerpants.”

Eight floor

“Almost there...”

Ninth floor

You stepped onto Mettaton’s floor, uncertain of what awaited you. You weren’t too worried about getting the job itself. If he was truly an exploiter, it would likely be easy—like a lamb to the slaughter. Even if those terrible things were still lingering in your mind, you tried to set them aside and approach the day as if none of it were true. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe Burgerpants’ words, but you knew that starting the job with a frown wouldn’t make things any better. Right?

You took a deep breath as you stepped off the elevator, the soft hum of the lights above you making the silence feel heavier. The floor was immaculate—gleaming, pristine, almost too perfect to be real. The walls were adorned with movie posters that almost seemed to glow under the soft lighting. If there was one thing Mettaton’s empire had going for it, it was its undeniable glamour.

A small knot of anxiety tightened in your stomach as you walked trough the long hallway, trying to ignore the feeling of a gaze that followed your every step. As you moved down the hall, the sharp scent of expensive cologne filled the air, making you feel even more out of place. The door at the end of the hall was polished to a mirror finish. You knocked twice before opening it, your heart pounding in your chest.

The room inside was exactly what you’d expected—a lavish, out of the Underwold, with a view that stretched out over the entire city. Mettaton himself was sitting behind a large, glittering desk, his humanoid form radiating an almost otherworldly glow. His smile was as dazzling as ever, just like in TV! Though something about it felt a little too rehearsed. Just like in TV...

“Ah, there you are!” he exclaimed in his usual, theatrical voice. “I’ve been eagerly anticipating your arrival. Welcome to the future of luxury, glamour and... whatever!”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to respond. “Thank you, Mr. Mettaton Ex,” you replied, trying to maintain a confident posture while offering a wide smile.

His eyes gleamed as he rose from his desk, moving towards you with graceful steps. “Please,” he said, his tone warm yet oddly calculating. “Call me Mettaton.”

Despite the charm, a chill ran down your spine as he circled you, his gaze lingering a little too long. “I trust you’re ready for what’s ahead. The Underworld is waiting for us to revolutionize it. And you, my dear, will play a crucial role in making that happen.”

You nodded, a bit surprised to hear that you already had the job. Though still uncertain, you were determined to maintain the facade of confidence. “Of course, Mettaton. I’m ready.”

He smiled again, this time with a sly grin. “Good. You’ll need to be. This isn’t a job for the faint-hearted.” His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “But I have a feeling you’re not faint-hearted, are you?”

You shook your head, as if to say no, wondering just how much of the rumors were true. More importantly, whether you were ready for whatever came next.

Mettaton’s smile widened as he took a step closer, clearly pleased with your response. His movements were fluid and graceful, like a well-practiced performance. As he gestured toward the pink leather chair opposite his desk, you couldn’t help but feel as though you were on stage.

“Take a seat, darling,” he said, his voice dripping with that familiar, honeyed charm. “We have so much to discuss.”

You lowered yourself into the chair, the fabric sinking beneath you as you tried to control your steady breathing. There was a strange tension in the air, like something was just beyond your reach, waiting to spring into action. Mettaton lowered himself into his chair, his eyes gleaming with an intensity that made your skin prickle.

“Now, let's get down to business,” he said, leaning forward, his hands folding neatly in front of him. “The Underworld, as you know, is at a crossroads. The old way of doing things has worn thin. It’s time for a new era, one of luxury and never ending entertainment.” Rising from his chair, he moved behind yours. His hands rested firmly on your shoulders, giving them a tight, deliberate massage. “And you, my dear. You are perfect for this role!”

His words, while promising, carried a hint of something darker beneath the surface. You shifted in your seat, trying to keep your composure as he walked around you, scanning your every move.

“I see,” you said, forcing your voice to remain steady. “But… what exactly would I be doing?”

Mettaton’s smile only widened. “Oh, darling, there's no need to worry about that right now,” he purred taking a seat on his desk. “We'll speak about it tomorrow. Congratulations. The job is yours.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a heavy cloak. Even if you were happy that you got the job you applied for, something darker hid behind those words.

“Thank you for the opportunity, Mr.—I mean, Mettaton.” You rose from your seat and extended your hand, ready for a handshake.

“Pleasure is mine, darling.” His eyes flickered with something unreadable as he shook your hand, the dim light reflecting off his metallic form while his free hand’s fingers tapped rhythmically on the surface of his desk. "And don’t worry,” he continued, his voice softening. “I’ll be keeping a very close eye on you. After all, I want you to succeed.”

You didn’t know whether that should make you feel better or worse.

“I… I won’t disappoint you,” you said, a knot tightening in your throat as you awkwardly pulled your hand back. There was no turning back now. You were committed, whether you liked it or not.

Mettaton’s eyes sparkled, but there was an edge to his smile now, one that wasn’t nearly as inviting. “That’s the spirit. But remember, this is more than a job. It’s a position of trust. The Underworld is counting on us, darling, and there’s no room for failure.”

You nodded, but something about the way he said it, the weight behind those words, felt like a warning more than an encouragement. As you sat there, his presence enveloping the room, you couldn’t help but wonder just how much you were about to sacrifice to play your part in this glamorous, yet undeniably dangerous, job.

“You can leave now, darling,” he said, his smile almost condescending, as if he were doing you a favor. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Do I need to bring anything in particular?” you asked, walking toward the elevator with him close behind.

“Just that lovely smile of yours.” He lifted a hand to cup your cheeks, the pressure making your face feel uncomfortably squished. You weren’t sure how to react to his unexpected displays of closeness. Maybe that was just how he was. Outgoing and touchy.

“Have a nice day,” you said, stepping into the elevator, keeping your manners sharp.

“You too, darling!” he said, clasping his hands together, his enthusiasm for tomorrow already clear.

You pressed the button, waiting for the doors to close, deliberately avoiding his gaze. You already had enough of his attention for one day. Once they closed, you let out a quiet sigh of relief and leaned against the metallic wall. You tried to steady your breathing, but your mind kept drifting back to his words, his touch, the way he seemed to see right through you. There was no turning back now.

“Hey!” Burgerpants called out, catching your attention as you stepped into the cool evening air. “Already leaving?”

"Yeah,” you replied, watching closely as the boy took another drag from his cigarette. “He told me I could go home.”

“That’s weird,” he said, flicking the cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot. “I haven’t had a day off since I was a teenager with pimples.”

“I’m starting tomorrow,” you hummed, trying to steer the conversation away from your unsettling day. "I just did the interview, so I don’t know."

“Well, congratulations on the job anyway.” He flashed you a forced smile before turning and heading back towards the building.

“Thanks,” you murmured, still lost in your thoughts.

The events of the day felt almost surreal, and you couldn’t quite wrap your head around what had just happened. How was tomorrow going to be like? More of Mettaton’s cryptic charm? More uncomfortable moments? Or would it be something entirely different? Something you couldn’t predict, no matter how hard you tried. The rest of the night passed in a blur, your mind racing with questions and half-formed thoughts. When you finally lay in your bed, sleep came quickly, as though your body instinctively knew it needed to rest for what might come tomorrow.

NEXT CHAPTER