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aidemint · 10 months

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To Break A Habit | Routine Doesn’t Get You Kisses Like These

Summary: You kinda-actually find out he wasn’t joking about the spider stuff. Okay. But you’re totally cool about it. Totally.

Word Count: 5.1k

Pairing: Hobie Brown/GN!Reader

Notes: 5 minutes of screentime and i’ve already wrote more about this guy in a week than i usually write about anything in three months jesus christ

Masterpost | AO3 | Part 1 | Part 3

“40081’s got this hoodoo shit goin’ on.” Hobie sighs as he makes his way down the main hall of Spider-HQ, recounting his mission discoveries from days prior. “Some sort of bad luck spell that’s making the world lose its plot.”

Gwen paces beside him, listening intently. “Sinister Six behind it?” she asks with a frown. “Or do you think it’s something else?”

“Not certain,” Hobie responds with a shrug. “But I’m close to catching the anomaly. Things should reset once it’s out of the fabric.”

“Hope it gets resolved soon.” Gwen sucks in a breath from between her teeth. “Miguel’s not looking too happy these days.”

Oddly enough, the mission so far had been almost deceptively easy—three days into the operation Hobie had already located and shut down a multitude of energy pockets emanating from certain parts of the city. A variant of Mysterio or Osborn was bound to show up soon, as the sites were likely siphoning vitality from the dimension. Now he just needed to gather intel about the effects of the magic while playing the waiting game. Luckily for him, he has a direct source.

“Relax Gwendy, it’ll be fine. I even got in touch with one of the locals for—” Hobie starts assuredly, turning to address his drummer, but pauses and swivels around when she’s noticeably no longer keeping up with his stride.

“You what?” Gwen stands frozen in the middle of the walkway, eyes blown as large as dinner plates with her mouth slightly ajar. She readjusts herself with a shake of her head, though her hands and shoulders remain raised and stiff. “Hobie, please tell me you’re not getting to know a civilian. ”

“Then I won’t tell you that I’m ‘getting to know’ a civilian.” A roll of his shoulder and he’s back walking, half-lidded eyes peering at Gwen when she inevitably joins again, bobbing and weaving through a downcurrent flow of Peter Parkers. “And I won’t tell you that it’s strictly for information about the mission.” A coy smile tugs the edges of Hobie’s lips upward. “Probably.”

Gwen looks just about ready to explode at the last quip. “You just told me— Oh my God, you know that, out of everything, is against protocol. Very against protocol,” she hisses, her voice lowering as her lip curls and she leans further into the privacy of only each others’ company. “What will you do when Miguel finds out?”

“You gotta live freely past the propaganda, Gwendy,” Hobie replies nonchalantly, patting a palm on her shoulder as a point of reassurance. “Just think about it.”

The best Gwen can offer him is a wary glance and a moment of hesitation, but he takes it with a grin anyhow. He’s certain she’ll eventually come around—the extent of their friendship isn’t something so miniscule that a few words of indoctrination would ever be enough to turn her.

It’s a nice notion to have, but he unfortunately doesn’t get much time to dwell on it—suddenly, his watch buzzes with an alert.

Hobie checks the device. “Someone’s ringing me, gotta bounce.” A few taps of an orange screen and a twist of a dial, then a portal opens up just shy of his left arm. “Been fun, Gwendy. Don’t blame me if I come back late.”

No matter how hard she rolls her eyes, Gwen can’t help but give into the smile that creeps onto her lips. “Stay safe, loser,” she responds, bumping her fist against his.

“Safe is practically my middle name.” With that, Hobie ducks into the gateway, and disappears.

How the fuck do you accuse someone of having spider powers without sounding like you’ve gone insane? Since morning you’ve been stuck in a cycle of decision-making for a seemingly hopeless situation. You thought the hard part was over after seeing the guy in the costume swing away on white silly string, but the mostly sleepless night and brainstorming the resolution to be had was another beast altogether. What doesn’t help much either is the fact your favorite pair of jeans are now stained to shit because an idiot thought it would be a good idea to trickshot a half-full Starbucks drink into a trashcan you were standing right next to.

Oh, New York, how it surprises you each day. You swear you’ve never had bad luck like this in your life—and now you’re twenty minutes late, punching in your timecard and hurrying to tie on an apron.

Even through your shift the anxiety doesn’t go away, despite how you try to ignore it. Nervous energy bleeds into your work, shaking hands spilling and dropping drinks; your preoccupied mind is nowhere near as focused as you need to be for the rush—you remake a drink three times in a row before being on the receiving end of a tired lecture from an angry customer.

“Something on your mind?” one of your coworkers ends up asking after most of the crowd has dissipated. “Or just tired?”

You’re on the verge of bursting into tears actually, but you manage to stifle it with a deep breath in. “A lot of both,” you mumble in response. You can’t tell her about Hobie, and it’d be too winding to describe the entirety of everything. She’s pretty good at giving looks of pity and she’s already shot you one following the complaining customer. Honestly another one is the last thing you want to deal with right now. “Maybe I should’ve just skipped work today.”

“Don’t worry, we all have bad days,” she offers with a consoling pat on the arm. “How about you just calm down for a bit and take your break? I’ll make you your favorite drink and get a bowl started for you.”

The gesture does ease your nerves, even if only by a little. You sigh, shoulders slumping, and give your coworker a grateful smile. Parting ways then, she returns to her station to honor her word and you make your way to the back to punch in the start of your break.

Exhaustion starts to seep in when you catch yourself staring blankly at the time card machine, watching the hands of the clock tick away second by second. There hasn’t been significant progress in terms of settling the whole “Hobie Brown is a superhero” dilemma, you realize, just a lot of pain and aching on your part. Maybe it’s time to put the matter to rest just for a brief half an hour—you’ll pick it up later. There isn’t even a guarantee Hobie will show up to the shop anyhow.

Yeah, you have time.

The chunk sound of the punch machine brings you back to your senses and you put away your slip before making your way back to the front of the house.

“Drink’s ready and bowl’s on the way. You can enjoy that while you wait,” your coworker chirps, sliding a cup to you when you emerge from the back. You’re just about to voice your thanks before she cuts in again, gesturing to a spot just beyond the counter. “Oh, and someone asked for you. He’s right over there.”

Your eye is already twitching before you even look. But you suppose you hate yourself and the world at this point, because you slowly turn to where her hand points regardless and find the one man you just made a pact with yourself to not think about.

Hobie greets you by name and gives you a friendly wave. Out of courtesy, you force yourself to return in, lips pressed together in a tight smile with the short extension of your hand.

“Heard it was your break,” he says, approaching the glass panel between the two of you. “Mind if I intrude?”

Yes! you scream internally. Yes I do mind very much!

“No, it’s alright,” you end up saying to him, staving off a growing impulse to whack yourself upside the head.

“Sick,” is all Hobie replies with before he retreats to a nearby table. “I’ll be waiting here—don’t rush yourself.”

It’s right about now that you’re wishing he wasn’t so nice and you didn’t like him so much so that this process of confrontation would go about smoother. Your gaze lingers on him and you bite in the inside of your cheek as you think about the validity of what you witnessed yesterday.

The option to not tell him and maintain your chances of still potentially becoming friends like normal exists. Dodging the awry reputation that comes with the manic conspiracy theorist persona is always good. You’ll get over it one day, right? Leave the suspicions behind and assume that the image was just a hallucination brought about by stress; convince yourself that Hobie Brown is just your average British punk-rocker.

But you can’t fight the feeling in your gut, how it burns, and suddenly you’re leaning over the counter, over the glass.

This is a bad idea. “Hobie,” you call in his direction.

He looks up. “Yeah?”

Shit, this is a bad idea. “I have something to tell you.”

“Wah’gawn?”

“It’s… I think it’s a matter best told in just our own company.” You look around apprehensively, a slight crease in your brow. “Mind going somewhere more private?”

Trying your best to ignore the suggestive look your coworker shoots at you from your peripheral, you beckon Hobie to come into the back. Walking through the kitchen, you usher him into the storage pantry and shut the door behind you when you join him.

“I’m guessing we’re not just here to kotch?” Hobie teases with the sideways tilt of his head.

“Unfortunately.” Your gaze lowers to the ground at the admission, fingers finding one another and squeezing. “Been thinking about something for a while.”

Hobie lets the change in the air stew until it thickens before responding. “Ready when you are.” His voice is softer, malleable, lost of all its previous playfulness and replaced with a certain kind of sincerity.

The slightest incline of your chin brings your stare back to him. You wish it served the simple purpose of just admiring the slopes and angles of his face, but your lips part and your curled hand trembles, and it all reminds you of the gnawing insecurity.

“I need you to tell me the truth.” You say it slowly, sincerely, keeping your voice as steady as you can despite the way your heart rate thunders. “Please.”

In your supplication, you aren’t certain how to appraise the extent of your desperation, but Hobie’s gaze does not leave yours. He nods wordlessly, a glint of something in his eye and it looks a lot like deference.

You take it as permission to continue. “When you brought up Parker”—you swallow thickly—“you were talking about something real, weren’t you?”

A beat of silence. There isn’t any external reaction from Hobie, standing as still as he had the moment he stopped in front of you, face lax and hands tucked away in his pockets.

“Ain’t got a Scooby-Doo what you’re talking about,” he says plainly, unfaltering in every word. Even then he doesn’t move, fortress-like in his disposition.

Perhaps he truly doesn’t know what you mean, you think. The chance is present, albeit slim, though present nonetheless—and how tightly you clutch this sliver of hope. But for a moment, in your hesitancy and under Hobie’s untelling stare, doubt creeps in—your palms grow clammy against the material of your pants, sweat assisting the glide of your fingers against one another. Your eyes search those of the man in front of you, wishing his look could change so you could find the courage to ground yourself.

What if you’re wrong? What if it’s all a fallacy, some trick of the light? New York is no stranger to oddities but even this seems too extreme. Coincidental talk of Spider-People leading to an impossible accusation. Fucking Spider-People don’t—shouldn’t—exist. The idea grows more absurd the longer you question it. Peter Parker got the short end of the stick, if there was even a long end in the first place, so what the hell are you doing?

But what if you’re right?

A breath rattles through you. “Hobie.” With a new waver in your voice and a tremble to your hands, you stand unsure of how your conviction bleeds through what you say but you try anyhow. “I know you’re gonna think I’m crazy, but I saw a masked man walking on the side of a building yesterday.” The admission comes quickly, riddled with cracks, but you’re entirely too focused on the followup to care. “After the conversation we had about Spider-People, after the whole thing about superheroes, tell me that it wasn’t you up there. Because I saw your— your fucking pins and I’ve never— God, I don’t even know! I’ve never seen something like this.”

Your fists clench, fingers digging crescent-shaped craters into the flesh of your palms. The marks bite, angry red and stinging—perhaps aching even more the absence of Hobie’s response, the seconds you give him to reply.

“Who are you?” Dry—your throat is so dry. Your voice can’t be anything above a whisper with how hoarse the question comes, flaking away with every shallow breath you take.

Silence blankets the both of you then, soundless space a limbo between comfort and unease. Unsure of what to do with it, what to make of the situation you stand in now, you let it hang listlessly, drawing upon an empty room and an even emptier conversation.

It takes a handful of moments for Hobie to even look like he’s processed all that you’ve said. Under your scrutiny, the smallest movement of his eye is the only discernible change to the testament. Whatever goes on inside his head is a complete mystery to you for the few minutes that elapse before he speaks.

Finally, he shifts in his stance. “You want me to just come out with it, yeah?” he asks, not sounding terribly happy, but not as nonplussed as you expected. He sighs when you nod slowly. “Alright. I’ll start from the top, then.”

He tells you his name is still in fact Hobie Brown, and he was bitten by a radioactive spider three years ago. Formerly a runway model, though not a role model, he’s been protecting the streets of his hometown against the PM. When he’s not playing shows, antagonizing fascists, or staging unpermitted political “action-slash-performance art pieces,” he’s out partying with his friends.

“And don’t call me a hero,” he ends with a frown. “Hate the label. Calling yourself a hero makes you a self-mythologizing, narcissistic autocrat.”

When he stops, you have both hands to your temples, pressing down hard. You can deal with his anti-authority spiel just fine—some part of you even agrees with the sentiment—but there is so much to unpack prior to the statement.

“So you— you have actual spider powers? Oh my God?” you sputter, eyes blown wide in an expression of surprise you’re sure looks exaggeratedly dreadful. “What even— that’s— what even are spider powers?”

“Dunno really.” Hobie gives a shrug. “Enhanced hearing, speed, vision, and sticking to walls are the main perks. Also links up to my—”

“Can you shoot webs out of your butt?” you blurt in a sudden horrible realization.

There’s a few seconds of tense silence before Hobie bursts into laughter, arms crossed around his torso to hold himself, shoulders bunched to his ears. The ring of his joy through the air lifts a weight from it and suddenly the atmosphere doesn’t feel as crushing as before.

Witnessing his state, it doesn’t take long for unease to fade away and for you to start softly chuckling with him.

“You’re so jokes,” Hobie cackles, a hand over his eyes as he leans back. A long, shuddering breath tears through him in his attempt to calm down. “But to answer your question, no I can’t shoot webs out of my arse.”

“Thank God,” you breathe, clutching your heart. “Wouldn’t have looked at you the same if you said you could.”

“I don’t think I can look at you the same after you just asked that.”

“Hey, in my defense it was just to get to know you better.”

“I’m sure that’s all it was.” Hobie gives you a pointed look, but is quick to smile after. “Speaking of which, I came in to ask you something as well.”

“Oh?” You blink. The sudden shift in conversation is unprecedented, taking you slightly by surprise, but suspicion is quick to replace your wonderment when you notice a change in Hobie’s features. A squint narrows your eyes. “What are you plotting?”

“Nothing, it’s just I have an excuse now that you know me better.” He pauses briefly, staring at you for a moment. “I wanted to ask if I could know you a little better.”

Your lips purse in confusion at the phrase, forehead pinching. “But you already know me?” you ask, brow raised. “Don’t tell me you forgot everything already.”

“I didn’t,” Hobie reassures gently. “I was just thinking instead of talking over a counter we could do it over dinner? Maybe a movie, if you have the time?”

A beat passes and suddenly realization sets in, drawing all the air out of you. The smallest groan escapes you as you bury your face in your palms, the skin of your neck and cheeks burning hot. Every inch of you seems more sensitive in your mortification—were you always this close to Hobie, and was his cologne always that strong?

“I’m an idiot,” you whisper from between the gap in your hands. “God, I’m such an idiot.”

Hobie supplies a soft chuckle to ease your embarrassment. “You’re not. It came out pretty corny anyways.”

“I can’t believe I’m getting asked out by a guy with spider powers.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

You groan again, a tight breath pressed against your fingers. “You are so lucky you’re cute, Hobie Brown.”

It is as endearing as it is exasperating that you can practically hear how big his smile is. “You free tomorrow?”

“Anytime past five,” you reply softly, slowly inching your hands away from your face to peer at him. “Where should I meet you?”

Hobie’s grin tilts sideways at the query, a new sparkle of mischief brightening his eye. “I’ll come pick you up.”

Dates aren’t exactly a new concept to you—you’ve been on a handful, and they all go about the same. The first time, someone shows up with flowers or a small gift to start the evening right, then you’re whisked away for three hours to some place to hang around and have fun. It’s conventional, it’s safe—sometimes you enjoy the company more than the actual activity, leading to a second or third outing, but there’s nothing too special about the dance you do with routine.

Along this line of reasoning, Hobie crash-landing on your balcony with one of the most ridiculous offers of transportation isn’t exactly the way you imagined your date would start.

“You are not web-swinging me to Manhattan,” you tell him, still inside your apartment, arms crossed and shaking your head vigorously. “I don’t care what you have set up, I’m not gonna risk going splat on the damn concrete.”

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Hobie pushes playfully. “Promise I won’t drop you.”

You frown, brows furrowing and lips pursing as you glare at him. He returns the look as calm as ever, a slight smile edging the corners of his mouth and stance open in invitation. The way he holds himself has uncertainty creeping to you, forcing out your fervent disagreement in favor of consideration in a rather slick way of persuasion.

Perhaps you should’ve known you wouldn’t win, with the sheer difference in your demeanors. Your staredown continues for a couple of minutes before you sigh, breaking eye contact with a reluctant drop of your chin and a gentle moan of diffidence.

“Can I at least close my eyes?” you mumble, walking out and shutting the balcony door behind you.

“You can do whatever you want,” Hobie replies, sliding on his mask and gloves. “Just hold on tight.”

Stifling a breath when his arm wraps around the small of your back and under your thighs, you cling to his shoulders as he lifts you up and climbs on the railing.

“You ready?” His chest rumbles under your touch when he speaks, and you can only give a small nod in your position, heart pounding against your ribs and face buried deep in the nape of his neck.

Hobie laughs—a deep, warm sound—and then launches off your balcony.

There are no words to truly describe the feeling that swallows you while in freefall. Wind blasts past your ears in violent howls, gravity pulls your figure down but your insides up, and the only thing you have to ground yourself is the feel of Hobie as you clutch him with every bit of strength you possess. Adrenaline thrums through every vein, lighting your nerves on fire and prickling your skin with gooseflesh; even your energy to scream depletes into fueling the rush that floods your senses.

Upon the first pull up, Hobie’s web catching a surface to swing from, your gut lurches and a serrated gasp shudders through you. Your arms pull you impossibly closer to him, fingers clawing to dig deeper into the back of his vest.

“Easy now,” he chuckles, sounding miles away with how loud your heart beats in your ears. “I promised I wasn’t gonna drop you, didn’t I?”

“D-Doesn’t make it better,” you gasp, shivering now that the breeze whips against your back.

“Try to relax—we’ll be there soon.” Though he says it like it’s the easiest thing in the world, it proves contrary to the way his grip tightens around you with the next swing.

Despite how comforting the gesture is, you find that you can’t relax much while still flying through New York a hundred feet in the air.

After what seems like days of travel, Hobie finally lands on solid ground, giving you a moment to catch your breath before setting you down gently. His arms are threaded underneath yours as you try to balance on shaky legs, knees bent and feeling all too much like jelly for your own comfort.

“I feel like a newborn deer,” you sigh, voice trembling from the withdrawal of adrenaline. Jitters quiver your fingers, lightly chatter your teeth, and shake the thin chamber of your chest. “My God, how do you even get used to this?”

“Gotta learn to trust yourself,” Hobie hums smoothly. “First time’s always a tad tricky.”

You only nod, gaze now pinned to the ground as he gradually guides you forward, step by step, until you’re stable enough to slowly walk on your own. From there, the slightest incline of your head brings your attention to a small spread of food and flowers laid out nicely on a patterned blanket. A warmth comes to settle in your core at the sight, softening your eyes and easing the tenseness in your limbs—contentment reaches you and the stress gained from the ride here begins to fade, if only by a little.

“Hobie, this is so sweet,” you coo, pleasure lightening the tone of your voice.

His rings just as sweetly through the evening air. “Good to hear—would’ve been gutted if you didn’t like it.”

You laugh at the response, casting an affectionate glance at him that just grows fonder upon meeting his charming reciprocation. The bend of his brow, the part and curve of his lips, the crinkle of his eye—all of it has you transfixed for a generous moment, barely able to notice the way your navel aches with longing in your stupor.

The feeling persists throughout the evening, present in every winding conversation and instance of quiet shared between the two of you. It’s rather freeing to be unconstrained by the formalities usually held by the label of a first date and to sense such endearment for the whole of it. There is no talking to only talk—every sentiment has meaning, every word punctuated by some semblance of tenderness; there is no awkward atmosphere brought about by nervous tension—you rest comfortably, leaning back on your hands, as does Hobie, elbows on crossed legs, positioned towards you.

Hours pass by easily in the space, kissing the sky with hues of orange and gold and violet as they bid a teary farewell, trails of light following in the wake of their departure. Yawning clouds push to the east, unlined shapes dissipating with the fleeting luster. Soon, the New York city skyline is only a bleak, black horizon that cradles a half-yolked sun just shy of its surface.

Golden rays grace your skin, full and temperate and real. You’re just about to gush to Hobie about how this is your favorite time of the day when you’re stopped by the shallow movement of his arm.

He shifts to pick the carnation laid closest to your hand, snaps off the longer part of its stem, then tucks it delicately behind your ear. Wordlessly, he adjusts the petals, and grins when they seem to his liking.

You’re practically bursting at the seams when he retracts his hand, fingers ghosting the curve of your cheek on their path back. Heat rushes to your neck, white-hot on a quick shot up to heat every inch of your face. The sensation catches your breath, widens your eye, tucks the tip of your bottom lip between your teeth, and all you can do is sit and watch Hobie as he admires you.

There’s a look in his eye that you hope is reflected in yours, how beautiful he is. The warm vermillion hue of the sun hits his complexion and it’s like there’s nothing else in the world to behold but him.

Suddenly you find yourself reaching for the flowers on the blanket, clasping multiple in one hand and halving the stems with the other.

Leaning forward, palms stained with sap, you place the carnations in each of Hobie’s wicks, uncaring of the smell of chlorophyll or the tremble of your fingers. You only return to your seat and wipe your hands when you finish, the expanse of his head dotted in small blooms, all that’s left of the original bouquet messily cut stems and loose leaves.

A breathy laugh escapes you at the sight, light and happy and bright. “You are so pretty, Hobie,” you whisper, your heart swelling with adoration. “And I wanna kiss you so bad right now.”

He smiles. “I’m not going to stop you,” he says, then wraps his arms around you when you crush your lips to his.

You feel you must be drunk on something, but are entirely too far gone to care the slightest bit. Hobie is every bit as soft and warm as you imagined, his hold homely, his scent familiar. Breathing him in, bergamot, plum, and sandalwood filling your lungs, a dreamy sigh stutters out of your nose before you start to move.

The kiss takes on a steady rhythm then, perhaps the easiest thing you’ve had to follow. Each press of your lips against his finds just the right amount of resistance, the feel of his piercing snug as it nudges you in every shift. Your hands find purchase in cupping his face, fingertips smoothing the silver studs that line his ears and thumbs stroking his cheeks.

Hobie’s touch rests just shy of your waist, the bend of his elbows against your ribs, palms flat against your scapula. His chest rises and falls with every breath, a slight hitch in the motion when you crawl to his lap, sitting in the space between his legs.

The two of you share your own pocket of heaven for a minute longer, then with one last kiss, you part. As your eyes flutter open, Hobie slides a hand off your back to thumb your lip, swiping a finger across your bottom one.

You make a questioning noise but remain unmoving as he works, sliding his digit across sensitive skin.

“My lipstick got on you,” he explains when he finishes, showing you black makeup smeared on his thumb. “I liked the look of it, but didn’t know if you did.”

A gentle laugh spouts from you at his kindness. “I’m all for you giving me a makeover next time,” you say with a grin.

Hobie gives a small chuckle back, delight sparkling in his eye. “Good.”

The afterbuzz of the date still tingles the back of Hobie’s neck even hours later. It’s ten o’clock, the moon at highrise and not a single star in sight in the muddy violet pool that overhangs New York. He’s in the middle of a stakeout, monitoring an energy station reopened as bait for whatever, whoever, might come out in response. The task of fully focusing proves rather hard in the wake of remembering the warmth of you as you held him, the brush of your lips against his, and your small gasps of breath, but he tries anyhow.

Hobie’s just finished shaking off the image of your face in the light of dusk when his watch buzzes. He looks down with a frown, noting the peculiarity of receiving a call this late.

“Gwendy,” he greets, an orange hologram of Stacy appearing with the twist of a dial. “What are you ringing me for?”

“Hey Hobie,” she returns flatly, not providing much else before quickly casting her gaze askance.

From her projection, Hobie can gather that something seems off—Gwen’s stance is completely closed, arms crossed and feet together. What looks like nervousness twists her features, pinches her forehead, pulls her lips tight together. She’s never been good at hiding her emotions, but even this seems exaggerated.

Sobriety seeps into Hobie then, the high of hours ago eroding. “Something wrong?” he asks, voice dropping low.

Gwen pauses, hesitating. “Miguel wants you back at HQ,” is what comes from her after a few seconds. “Now.”

“What about the mission?”

“He just says to leave. There’s been some new intel. That’s all I know.” Gwen swallows thickly, her eyes flickering back to Hobie. “See you soon.”

“Alright, see ya.” The hologram blinks twice, then disappears. Hobie taps on his watch to open a portal back to Earth-928, dubiety sinking its teeth into his thoughts. Miguel was ever the autocrat, so he was never quite fond of the guy, but the way Gwen had come to him—with a fresh feeling that extended beyond terror etched in her expression—that doesn’t sit well. He doesn’t need a spider-sense to recognize that something is amiss.

Somehow, he can’t elude the feeling of dread that creeps to him when he’s swallowed by the vortex.

#hobie brown x reader #hobie brown/reader #hobie brown x you #hobie brown/you #hobie brown #across the spiderverse #across the spider-verse #hobie brown imagine #fluff #angst #kissing <3 yeah #miguel o'hara #gwen stacy #i wish this kiss were a canon event i really do #yeah uh hold onto your hats for the last part

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anisespice · 1 month

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It’s always been known as the Dragon’s Keep.

A stone-walled prison guarded by a ferocious, fire-breathing monster with an insatiable appetite for death and destruction, a keeper of all things valuable. Stories were spread far and wide about the greedy creatures, terrorizing lands and snatching princesses right from their homes. In the keep, she will remain trapped in the highest room of its tallest tower, no means of escape for she was now a part of the never-ending collection.

That is until the arrival of her prince, her knight in shining armor, who’d slay the beast with a courageous thrust of his mighty sword, piercing through its heart in exchange for another. She’d be rescued from an eternity of loneliness, riding off into the sunset with her true love—A happily ever after. The End.

Fairytales. Propaganda, more like.

Even when he was just a wee hatchling, IWAIZUMI knew better than to believe the falsities spread by ignorant non-magicals. No matter if they raised their pitch forks and torches till their arms grew numb, he was taught to wear his scales with pride. Dragons weren’t ferocious or greedy, they never stole nor snatched neither gem or damsel.

They were protectors.

Gentle beasts who roamed Mother Earth to bask in her warmth and enjoy the fruits of her labor. Villagers would sought out their caves for refuge against harsh winters as guests, not as hostages. Princess’s fled unwanted betrothals to hide in their tallest tower by their own free will, not stripped from their beds in the dead of night to be doomed to eternal loneliness.

Iwa wasn’t certain how the rumors began, or why. He didn’t care—Their opinions meant little to nothing to the dragon shifter. One thing was for certain, “They’re a sickness. Nothing short of a plague on our kind, and by allowing them to live it would only mean our demise.”

But, his sentiment fell upon deaf ears. Oikawa hummed absentmindedly, too busy messing with his hair using a gold-encrusted spoon as a mirror. No matter if the reptile preached until he was blue in the face, his commander wouldn’t yield even if he were paying attention. The brunette’s tail flicked in annoyance, the strong appendage whipped around to whack the fellow shifter in the back of his head.

“Oucha!” Oikawa cried out, spoon dropping on the table with a loud clatter as he used both hands to rub away the pain in his now throbbing skull. “What was that for?!”

“Have you not heard a single goddamn word I’ve said?!” Iwa bellowed, making the other wince at the volume with his developing headache.

“Can’t really hear much of anything with a concussion, y’know…”

“The younglings returned from scouting, they’ve reported human activity near one of our northern territories. We’re not certain what they’re up to, but it can’t be anything good.”

He practically shoved the scroll into Oikawa’s chest. He grunts at the force, shoots his second-in-command a half-hearted glare before taking a glance at the report. Skimming through it he pursed his lips before looking back at Iwa, wearing an expression that didn’t take long to piss the other shifter off.

Iwa glared. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.”

“What?”

“Just this...this teenie, tiny little thing, no big deal, just couldn’t help but notice-”

“Spit it out, Shitty-kawa.”

Oikawa flipped the scroll around, pointing at a particular section of the report. “[_____]’s been crossed out. Pretty sure she’s a human. Which, according to your logic, would make her dangerous. Right?”

Iwa attempted to remain neutral, but the slight flick in his tail was enough answer for the commander’s suspicions. Not to mention, the pink hue now dusting across his cheeks. “She is the only exception.”

“Uh huh. Seriously, dude, you gotta drop this radical agenda of yours because I’m certain trying to wipe out her whole species would be considered a huge turn off.”

“Shut up, you don’t know what you’re talking about. She understands my goal, we even share the same opinions.”

“Really? Such as?”

“We both agree that humans are selfish creatures fueled by fear and greed. They despise anything they don’t understand, and destroy what they can’t control. That is why they’ve painted us to be the monsters in their stories—Makes their evil deeds feel justified.”

Oikawa nodded, unconvinced. “Fascinating. What else?”

Iwa huffed, arms crossed. “We also agree that without human interference, we’d be able to restore balance in nature. Migrations would go undisturbed, vegetation would thrive due to the forests no longer being stripped of its resources—We would have a fresh start.”

“Mhm. And, does she also share your sentiments on genocide, or were you planning on shoehorning in that part of your goal to her?”

There’s a brief silence. Both dragons merely stared at one another.

“Tsk.” Was Iwa’s only response.

likes, comments & reblogs much appreciated!

#🍁vanilla #dragon iwa dragon iwa dra-#jus a little something quick i’ve been thinking of #may take this somewhere???#idk but it’s been in my drafts FORVER lol #hq #hq iwaizumi #hq fluff #iwaizumi x reader #iwaizumi fluff #hq scenarios #haikyuu #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #someBODY ONCE TOLD ME

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marinasmarvel · 18 days

Text

Rebuilding

Summary: A few weeks after the fall of the red room, Natasha is living off the grid in Norway while she waits for Steve to get back to her with a plan for the prison break. While there, she gets an unexpected visitor, but not an unwelcome one.

A/N: I’ve been missing these sisters so much, and I find it hard to believe that the last time they saw each other was when they whistled in the red room rubble. This is a soft and fluffy fic where they try and rebuild the bond they once had. Enjoy!

Warnings: Fluff, some tickling, mentions of the red room’s abuse.

Natasha doesn’t get visitors very often.

I mean, who would while living off the grid in the middle of the forest in Norway?

So when she hears the bang of her door opening, she tenses, and immediately grabs her gun.

She stalks out to the kitchen, and breathes a sigh of relief.

It’s just Yelena. She’s standing there in her widow suit, eating a bag of chips. She’s sporting a new vest, and her hair is done in a beautiful braid.

“Privet, sestra.” The blonde greets, a knowing smirk on her face.

“Yelena, seriously? I thought Ross and his goons had found me.” Natasha scolds, but there’s fondness in her tone. “Bah, come on poser. We both know it wouldn’t be that easy for him to find you.” Yelena retorts. Natasha shrugs.

“So, what brings you here?” Natasha questions. “Well, I was in the area, freeing some widows. And…I wanted to see you.” Yelena admits quietly.

Natasha softens at that. She’s seriously questioning how she went 21 years without seeing Yelena, because now all she wants is to hold her tight and never let go.

“Hey, why don’t you stay with me for a few days, until Antonia gets back to you with the next batch of widows.”

Yelena perks up at Natasha’s offer. “Really? Are you sure?” Natasha nods. “Yeah. I know we didn’t get off to the best start, and I’m sorry for that, Yelena. But believe me, you’re my baby sister. Not in blood, but in every way that matters. I’m sorry I ever thought otherwise.”

Yelena feels tears blur her vision, before she crashes into Natasha, hugging her with such force that the redhead can feel her ribs being squeezed. But she doesn’t care.

Natasha presses a kiss to Yelena’s forehead, similarly to how she did when they were kids. “I love you so much, little one.” She murmurs.

“I love you too.”

Hours later, the sisters are curled up on the couch, watching James Bond. While Natasha is fine with the movie, Yelena finds it much more distasteful.

“This is wildly inaccurate. No real spy propaganda, such bullshit.” She grumbles. Natasha rolls her eyes affectionately. “It’s not supposed to be realistic, ‘Lena.”

“Poser.”

Natasha shoots her a sharp, yet playful glare. “Is that your go to insult now?” The blonde nods her head, a sassy smirk on her lips.

Experimentally, Natasha gently pokes Yelena’s ribs, which makes her squeak and jolt. She glances up at Natasha, her eyes wide, but she doesn’t have time to react before Natasha pulls her against her chest, her legs wrapping around Yelena in such a way that she can’t move. It’s tight enough to restrict Yelena’s movements, but not enough to panic her.

Not like the red room.

Natasha gently digs her fingers into Yelena’s ribs, which makes her giggle and thrash. “Heyehehey!” She protests. “Hmm, just like when we were kids, right?” Natasha teases gently, enjoying this far too much.

Yelena continues to laugh and squeal, barely thrashing in Natasha’s arms. She hates the fact that she doesn’t entirely mind Natasha tickling her.

“And you still enjoy it, too.” Natasha murmurs. Yelena shakes her head vehemently, still continuing to deny it, bubbly giggles falling out of her mouth.

Natasha relents after a few more minutes, but she doesn’t let go of Yelena. “Was that ok?” She questions. She’s still trying to figure out this weird and somewhat complicated relationship she has with Yelena.

Yelena nods. “Yeah I’m just…not used to receiving positive touch.” She admits.

Natasha feels her heart crack. “I’m sorry I left you there for so long.” She apologizes. “It’s ok, ‘Tasha.” Yelena replies.

She turns so she’s facing Natasha, burying her head into Natasha’s neck. God, she’s missed her so much.

“I’ll never leave you again, little one. I promise.” Natasha whispers. Yelena nods against her, cuddling closer.

If only Natasha could keep that promise.

A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed. Feel free to send me requests for these two, I’ve been missing them so much lately. Thank you for reading!

#marvel #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvel fanfiction #black widow #natasha romanoff #yelena belova #widow sisters #natasha and yelena

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thatoneluckybee · 4 months

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Ahem. More Propaganda.

@fruit-gummiees HELLO.

Not So Shoujo Love Story: Rei is unashamedly obsessed with manga, particularly the shoujo genre. She spends her time ignoring real life and schoolwork and dreaming of the day the perfect boy will fall for her, and life becomes perfect! The best part? She knows exactly what everyone’s role is! Hansum Ochinchin (google translate his name <3) is the most adored, hottest boy in school, and Hanna, the most popular girl, will be her love rival! That is… until Hanna professes her love for Rei, and her shoujo dream is thrown for a loop! This Webtoon is really cute and absolutely HILARIOUS I’ve cried from laughing at this. Hanna is a proud and self-proclaimed pervert. The bullies (FOUR-AM!) practice dramatic poses in the bathroom. Rei gets a love rival for Hanna against her will. Hanna’s father is an st avid cosplayer. You never learn what exactly Hansum is, but he can photosynthesize. It’s a wild ride and genuinely so enjoyable I love it.

Homesick: Recommending this one since you’ve read School Bus Graveyard! It’s almost a “sister series” in that the fanbases overlap lots and the creators have done collabs too! Disclaimer that it’s mature for a reason. It covers a lot of dark topics and is a HORROR FOR A REASON. If you do choose to read it I can provide trigger warnings, though it may spoil some plotlines a bit. Rayne (my pfp!) wakes up on a rooftop with no memories at all and meets a boy named Samael, who quickly informs her that it’s the apocalypse. Cannibalistic creatures called murks roam the land, feeding on anything that makes eye contact. Rayne and Samael form a deal to survive, but things get really, REALLY messy when they encounter someone from Samael’s past and get wrapped up in something that might just be worse than the apocalypse. On top of it all, Rayne has noticed some strange things about herself, including terrible headaches that warn her of murks… (It’s so good I love it but good lord it gets dark. I really want to say more about it but the story doesn’t jump right into the main action or plot right away so I CAN’T WITHOUT SPOILING IT SOB.) FULL POST:

Our Walk Home: Fake Hating Trope, that’s it, that’s the description. Suisha Academy and Higasa High School have always been rivals, bitter ones at that. Akihiko Shiraishi is the top student for his age at Suisha. He’s the perfect student: charming, polite, smart, athletic, and kind to everyone. In reality… my poor guy is the most anxious little mess with no idea what he’s doing. Worst of all, he’s now being forced into the role of “rival” to Harumi Kurose, top student of Higasa, cold, terrifying, and maybe just enough to defeat Shiraishi. When we meet him, though, he is also literally just some guy, and neither really care about the “rivalry,” so they become fast friends. Whenever they’re with classmates, they’ll have to keep up the masks or golden boy and ice prince who hate each other, but when they’re just walking home, it’s a breath of fresh air to both. But if anyone else outside of school found out, their lives will become a living hell and be ruined forever… maybe this rivalry is a bit too intense. (Still int he early stages but this one is cute!)

Deathsitter: In this cutesy, cartoony, Easter-themed world, dying is a business. Beings called Reapers work tirelessly to ensure YOUR loved ones have a nice death! Felix, described as a “deadbeat drug addict with seemingly supernatural luck,” can’t stop annoying the life out of the local reaper, Lloyd, every time he nearly overdoses. Lloyd himself is an ever-busy, stressed-as-heck single father, and due to unfortunate circumstance and flakey relatives, must rely on Felix as a babysitter. The only rule? DO. NOT. OPEN. HIS. DAUGHTER’S. DOOR. Yeah Felix screws up immediately and thus ensues one the most chaotic, tragic, and comedic series of events as he reaps (ha ha) the consequences of his actions. It’s amazing. Definite trigger warning for violence, language, drug use, and blood/gore (I’m a squeamish person so it’s not bad + anything is all the cutesy pastel style lol.) FULL POST:

Castle Swimmer: Can’t reveal TOO much of this ‘cause spoilers but it’s a really really good story. In this society of “Mers” (merfolk), every kingdom has long awaited the day a mysterious, mythical being known as the Beacon arrives. He will grant each kingdom’s prophecy, be that granting them fortune or saving their lives. When the Beacon arrives, though, turns out he’s literally just some guy named Kappa who has no idea what he’s doing. Siren is the prince of the shark kingdom. The kingdom of the sharks have a curse that will cause them to suffer and become covered in scars and eventually die. The only way they can break the curse is whenever the Beacon arrives—and Siren, as predicted, will kill him. The only problem is that Siren REALLY doesn’t want to be a murderer, and Kappa REALLY doesn’t want to die, and they both are pining HARD. It’s a super entertaining series. There’s a bunch of evil witches who feel guilty if you get them a gift and they don’t get you one back. There’s a sea bunny. Kappa’s only weak spot, romantically, is teeth. There’s living sponges. There’s a Jellyfish who’s dream is to Kill. It’s glorious.

School Bus Graveyard: Ashlyn Banner is happy as a loner. Socializing is tired, and people are loud, which hurts because she has extra-sensitive hearing. Because of this, she hears “phantom noises,” or auditory hallucinations. She doesn’t plan to change, until two cousins move to school, and the MOST extraverted child on earth, Aiden Clark, decides to befriend her no matter what. She unfortunately gets partnered with him for a school project (as well as Ben, Aiden’s silent and reserved cousin, Logan, a sweet but shy nerdy kid, Tyler, a short-tempered jock character, and Taylor, Tyler’s twin sister who is so sweet and so amazing.) Everything is fine until one wrong stop causes the six to begin visiting a terrifying world in their sleep, and they begin fighting for their lives against monstrous entities whenever they sleep. (SO GOOD.)

#webtoon propaganda #fambles #not so shoujo love story #homesick webtoon #webtoon #school bus graveyard #sbg #our walk home #our walk home webtoon #castle swimmer #deathsitter webtoon

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thewayofthemandalorian · 2 years

Text

dreams dashed and divided - chapter two

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader

Series rating: M

Chapter rating: M

Word count: 4,281

Notes: Chapter two! I’ve had a lot of questions about what Din did and I promise that things will be made more clear as the series progresses. Not is all as it seems, that’s all I’ll say. The flashbacks begin in this chapter also, so their introduction and beginning of their relationship is seen. Thank you to @ezrasbirdie for the beta.

This fic is cross-posted to AO3 under the same name and my taglist can be found linked in my bio as well as my masterlist which is linked below.

Comments/reblogs appreciated.

Chapter warnings: Swearing, unwanted attention/harassment, friends with benefits relationship, kissing, reference to sex, nightmares, use of weapons (no one is injured) angst, loneliness/isolation, age gap: older man/younger woman (in flashbacks reader is 20 to Din’s 27, and in current day is 29 to his 36).

previous chapter || next chapter || masterlist (main) || masterlist (din djarin)

Nine years ago, 0ABY

You wake up slowly. It’s cold. But it’s always cold on Kijimi. You’ve lived here for twenty years, your whole life, why should today be any different? Every day is the same, sometimes with slight variation: wake up, shower, eat, work at the cantina for Zarah’s mother.

You should be grateful for employment, for your friend’s mother looking out for you since your father disappeared ten years ago, arrested by the Empire. And you are, truly you are, but sometimes you can’t help but think that she doesn’t always have your best interests at heart.

It’s a normal spring day, like every other day on Kijimi, people coming and going as they please. Zarah’s already gone from the bedroom that the two of you share in the flat above the cantina. Probably seeing Arden before she has to work the afternoon shift. You think that maybe your friend should be more careful with her beau. You don’t like him. Don’t like the way he seems almost disinterested in your friend.

As you make your way down the stairs from the most consistent home you’ve had in years, a home that doesn’t feel like a home, you see that the cantina is already open.

It isn’t a speakeasy yet. Just a place for people to gather and drink. There are some under the table tradings, but Zella Bliss doesn’t officially sanction it. It won’t be sanctioned for a few years yet.

It’s a busy day. It always is, people coming and going from this planet. Even with the Imperial guards and stormtroopers breathing down your necks at all hours of the day. It’s a way to escape all of that.

Word had spread the far reaches of the galaxy like wildfire about the destruction of Lord Vader’s space station the Death Star not too long ago. Whispers of a rebellion led by Bail Organa’s daughter Leia became more and more tangible. If the Death Star had been destroyed, that gives you a small reason to hope. Hope is something dangerous and fragile in your care. It’s been that way since your father was arrested by the Empire ten years ago for promoting anti-Imperial propaganda and never returned. You’re not stupid, you know he’s not coming back. You don’t need Zella and Zarah to remind you the way that they do when you get that wistful look in your eyes every now and again. It’s just the way you look sometimes when you think no one is noticing. There’s nothing wrong with hoping, though. Nothing wrong with staying optimistic.

“Hey, what can we do to get some service around here!” snaps a female Twi’lek from a table in your station, pulling you from your reverie. Almost instantly annoyance stabs at you. You don’t know why, people typically don’t annoy you. At least not instantaneously.

Plastering your best serving-girl smile to your face, you walk to the table that’s called your attention. “Hi, welcome to Dark Star cantina. Can I get you something to start? Some drinks?”

It’s an odd group. Two purple Twi’leks who look like they’re siblings, one male, one female. A heavy-set man with long, greying hair and beard. Lastly, there’s a Mandalorian. You feel four sets of eyes on you, even the Mandalorian’s, whose gaze practically burns a whole in you through his expressionless helmet, like he’s trying to suss you out, gauge who you are with a single look. It makes you squirm in your serving-girl outfit and you clear your throat.

“You got any Bantha blasters?” asks the female Twi’lek, assessing you herself. You nod. “Yeah, fine, I’ll take a double of that.”

Her brother speaks next. “I’ll have a Flameout.” Your eyes widen and the man with the long hair and beard whistles low. “You do have those, right?”

“It’s Kijimi. Of course we do,” you reply. “And for you, sir?” you address the man.

“I’ll have a spotchka, honey. Leave the bottle.” Something uncomfortable shifts in you when he calls you honey. You don’t like it. Don’t trust his seemingly kind eyes.

Lastly the armoured man. “For you?”

The table laughs, confusing you. “Nothing for Mando, sweetheart,” says the man who ordered spotchka.

“Lest he break his special, precious code,” the female Twi’lek says with a sickly giggle. “This is the way,” she mocks in a low voice.

You look at the Mandalorian and he gives a faint nod as if to confirm what the others are saying. He hasn’t said a single thing during the entire exchange. “Okay then. I’ll be right back with those drinks.”

When you return, the Mandalorian’s gaze is averted, he’s looking down at the table. The female Twi’lek has her arm draped on his shoulder pauldron. He looks uncomfortable and keeps shoving it off him. You don’t know what – if anything – is going on there, but it’s not your place to comment. “We’re in town for a little while on business and we’re looking for a place to stay,” says the older man. “Any inns around here?”

“There’s only one. The Busted Droid inn. If you go now there should be some rooms still open.” Out of the corner of your eye, you notice the Mandalorian shift his chair away from the Twi’lek, giving himself some room.

The man nods. “And, uh, will there be company?” he asks.

You furrow your brow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“It’s just… a man has needs and he gets lonely doing all these jobs.” He grabs your wrist. “Know what I mean?”

Resisting every urge to be sick, you swallow. “It’s not that kind of place. And neither is this. Please let go of me.” But your voice is tentative, small.

A voice you hadn’t heard before speaks up. “Ran. That’s enough.” It takes a minute for you to realize it’s the Mandalorian. When Ran doesn’t do anything, the Mandalorian repeats himself. “Ran,” his voice brooks no argument.

Ran finally lets go with a cheeky grin. “Sorry, sweetheart. Just havin’ some fun.” The table, save for the Mandalorian, laughs. You hope their job, whatever it is, is quick.

After about two hours the group finally leaves, leaving a morsel of credits for your tip. You look at them on the table and sense someone’s gaze on you. You look up and see the Mandalorian and you know it was him that left the tip. You nod gratefully.

The end of the day arrives with little fanfare. There’s a knock on the door as you and Zarah are tidying up. “Probably Sylar,” says Zarah. “I can finish up here if you wanna go see who it is.”

You unlock the door and open it a crack. It’s the Mandalorian from earlier. “We’re closed for the night,” you say by greeting, not wanting any more discomfort.

“I know,” he says. “I just – I was on my way back to the Crest for the night and I… wanted to apologize for how my…” he struggles to find the right word. This doesn’t seem to come easy to him.“...associates behaved today. It was inappropriate and callow.”

You’re stunned. No one’s ever apologized for it. “It’s okay,” you say. “I’m used to it.”

The Mandalorian – Mando? – shakes his head. “It’s not okay, that’s why I’m here. You shouldn’t have to be used to it.”

He’s right, but you don’t really have a choice in the matter. “Why don’t you take off the helmet?” you ask.

“This is the way,” he says simply. “Good night.”

Feeling ever so slightly emboldened, you call after him. “Hey, do you have a name? You know mine. Doesn’t feel fair if you’re gonna be on my planet for a while.”

The Mandalorian pauses. “Most people call me Mando.”

- - - -

Present day, 9ABY

The blaster bolt bounces off Mando’s new chest plate with a ding. He doesn’t even so much as grunt. The most he does is flinch ever so slightly. It does nothing, but it feels satisfying nevertheless, finally doing what you promised to do when your grief towards him turned to rage about seven years ago.

“I probably deserve that,” he remarks, “plus a lot more.”

“Fuck you. Showing up like this after nine years. What the fuck are you doing here?” you spit, not holstering your weapon.

Mando holds out his hands in a surrendering motion, showing that he means no harm. You eye him warily and lower your blaster slightly. “I need your help. I… it’s too much to explain right here. Is there somewhere we can go?” he asks.

You scoff. “Like I’m going anywhere with you. After what happened last time? After what you promised me and failed to see through? You’re too late by about nine years.”

You were never expecting to see him again. After all these years your emotions are still the same. Grieved, angry, remorseful. Still, the pull between you that existed all those years ago still exists.

“I’m sorry.” You’ve been waiting for years to hear those words. But they feel pyrrhic, hollow. It’s not enough. It sounds more like an acknowledgment of what happened than an actual apology. “Will you please hear me out?”

Your countenance changes slightly. He does sound remorseful. But he’s only here to use you for something, you’re sure of it. What else would he be here for? Again, the pull that exists between you and Mando nags you. You know what Zarah would say. And Zarah’s been the only one who’s had your back this entire time, even if you don’t necessarily agree entirely with her opinion of Mando. That doesn’t mean you’re not angry at him though, not hurt by what he did. Who knows, maybe she’s right.

It’s all a mess of confusion and conflicting emotions and ideas that you can’t bear to deal with right now. “Get out. Get out!” you shout, needing to be alone for one second.

Mando doesn’t need telling twice apparently. He takes one more glance at you and walks out the door without so much as another word. You thought it would be harder getting him to leave. But the thing about Mando is it’s sometimes tricky to get rid of him.

You try to get your breathing back under control. Belatedly, you realize that you’re almost hyperventilating. “Okay, you’re okay. You’re okay,” you tell yourself over and over again.

Outside Din is pacing back and forth in the shadows just out of view. He watches as you try to calm yourself down. Of all the people he expected to be the queenpin of Kijimi, you were the last person he considered. It just didn’t seem to fit with the person he knew nine years ago. You’d been so young, so sweet, so kind. Sure, you’d had to stand up for yourself and do things that you wouldn’t do otherwise. But you were such a gentle soul with hope that couldn’t be dashed. It was what first drew you to him. That and the look in your eyes. The same look he saw in his own eyes every time he looked in the mirror. The look that had only amplified in your eyes over the past nine years. The you of nine years ago would have never told him to fuck off. Not that he doesn’t deserve it and more. The you of nine years ago is still in there, he can sense it.

But watching you interact tonight with your customers, the way you had shot him without hesitation. Your closed-off nature that had never existed around him before. That’s his doing, he’s sure of it. Just as you almost breaking down in the cantina right now is his doing.

Din doesn’t know what to do. He hadn’t planned for this. He wants to go in and apologize. Wants to make things right as he has wanted to for going on ten years. But he can’t. Not right now.

There’s movement from behind him and he turns. A man about your age, maybe a bit older, is making his way to the cantina. “Hey,” Din calls out, getting the man’s attention. “She’s closed for the night.”

In the darkness, Din can see the cocky grin on the man’s face. “Oh. Yeah. I’m not going for drinks or spice, mate. I’m going for something that’s off the menu if you know what I mean.”

Din’s heart sinks. Of course, not only do you want nothing to do with him, but you have someone. Someone new. He doesn’t say anything. Just walks away in the direction of the Razor Crest. “Fucking guy,” the man mutters to himself before entering the cantina.

You’re in Sylar’s arms almost immediately when he comes in. Kissing his face and greeting him as warmly as possible. “Hey, Sy,” you murmur, needing to get your mind off of Mando. “I missed you last night.”

Sylar kisses you. “I missed you, too. You okay?” he asks. He doesn’t notice your slightly stricken expression that you’re trying to erase. Doesn’t notice how tense you are from your meeting with Mando just now. “You’re never gonna believe this,” he says. “I just saw a Mandalorian. How cool is that?”

You offer what can at best be described as a bland smile. “Wow. That is cool.”

“Didn’t you know a Mandalorian once?”

You take his hand in yours. “I am entirely sick of talking about Mandalorians for a lifetime. Let’s go upstairs.” Your friend doesn’t need telling twice.

Usually Sylar is good at what he does, getting you out of your head and getting you to calm down. But tonight, when he warms your bed and body with his, the only person you can think of is Mando. You look up at the ceiling and think of the armoured man you once shared this very bed with.

It comes as no surprise that you have the dream again that night.

- - - -

Din can’t leave. He can’t leave without arguing his case for why he’s there. And he has to attempt to make things right with you. It’s a restless night on the Razor Crest, a far cry from the last restless night he had on the Razor Crest when he was here. He still can’t believe you’re the queenpin of Kijimi. It just doesn’t seem congruent to him. You had wanted to get away from Kijimi, the reminders of everything that had happened here. The kid is only peripherally aware of what Din’s going through. He watches as Din paces back and forth. The display was staggering to see. You, held within yourself, flirting and laughing with customers who didn’t see what was in your eyes. What was in your soul. None of those people who frequented your cantina know you the way that he once had. He supposes that people change. However, he saw a flicker in your eyes last night when he had attempted to appeal to you. A flicker of your old self hidden behind the facade. He never knew you could be so closed off and vivacious at the same time.

He needs to talk to you. Try to get some closure. He wants to make good on the promise he made to you. To take you away from here. But you don’t seem to want to anymore.

The next morning, you wake up alone. Sylar always has to leave before dawn. He works odd hours. All the same, it’s nice to have a lover who shows his face to you. Even if you don’t… Nope. You’re not going down that road. It isn’t fair to Sylar. Logically you know you should end things. But it’s a good thing you’ve got. No strings, not really. And your friendship with him doesn’t really have to change.

The bed is still warm where he lay, so he hasn’t been gone for long. You stretch out on your mattress before you have to get up for another day.

Marta is already there when you come downstairs. “How are you, my love?” you ask her. She’s young, maybe seventeen or eighteen. She has the same look in her eyes that you sometimes have. The same look that most women on Kijimi seem to have.

“I’m fine. Did you hear that there’s a Mandalorian in town?”

Closing your eyes, you rub your temples, already feeling the headache coming on. He can’t go quietly. It isn’t in his nature despite being a man of shadows, a man of quiet seriousness. “Is there?” you ask.

Marta nods. “Yeah, his ship’s landed in the starport just down the road. Zacharias saw him this morning. Word has it that he has a kid with him.”

You frown, taken off-guard. “A kid?” you echo.

“Yeah. That’s what the rumour is.” It sounds like he’s digging in. Setting roots. And stupidly you thought today was going to be an easy day.

Your mind’s made up before you can fully think things through. “Marta? Can you and Adria and Yana open today? I have something that I forgot about. Zarah should be in soon if I’m not back by then.”

Marta looks quizzical. “Um… sure? Is everything okay, boss?” she asks.

You have an affection for this young girl you took under your wing. She reminds you of yourself. “Yeah, I’m fine, honey. I just need to look in on something.”

She nods and you quickly leave in the direction of the starport. You have a bone to pick with the metal man. Some scores that need settling.

- - - -

Your feet take you most of the way to the starport on autopilot. The old pre-imperial gunship is there and you would recognize it anywhere. The Mandalorian is doing some repairs with Sylar. The two seem tense. Or rather, Mando seems tense. Sylar seems oblivious.

“Hey, Sylar,” you greet. “I missed you this morning,” you say. It’s a lie. You don’t really miss his presence when he leaves. But Mando doesn’t need to know that. Are you trying to make him jealous? That can’t be the reason you said that… Can it?

Sylar grins. “Sorry, love. I had to get started early. Can you believe it? An actual pre-Empire gunship!” He gestures to the Razor Crest. You never told him what happened with Mando. He knows someone hurt you. But that’s all you’ll tell him. He doesn’t need to know. And you don’t need or want to tell him. He’ll only feel sorry for you, and that’s the last thing you want. Too many people do already, including the man standing with Sylar.

“I know,” you say instead. “Pretty incredible, right? Um… listen, Sylar. I need to talk shop with him for a minute or two. Why don’t you go and get some caf or something while Mando and I talk business?” It’s manipulative and you hate how easily it works.

Sylar is amenable. “Sure. Yeah, I could go for some. Maker knows I didn’t get enough sleep last night. Women, right?” he says to Mando in a teasing, jokey way..

Your laugh is stiff, uncomfortable. He goes to kiss you and you move your face so his lips land on your cheek. “I’ll see you tonight?” he asks.

“You know where to find me,” you reply.

Mando’s been watching the entire scene unfold in front of him. Assessing. When Sylar is out of earshot, he says, “You don’t love him, do you? Are you happy here?” he asks, knowing he has no right asking it.

That wasn’t what Din wanted his first question to be. He couldn’t help himself, though. It just slipped out.

You don’t love Sylar. But Mando doesn’t need to know that. “That’s none of your concern,” you reply airily. “It’s nice having a man who isn’t afraid to show his face to his lover… Mando.” It is a low dig and you know it. Doesn’t make it any less true though. In the entire span of your relationship, you never learned what he looks like, the shape of his face, any imperfections, or even his name. After a while it started getting to you. “And you already know the answer to the second question. It’s the same as it was when you first asked it nine years ago.”

Mando doesn’t say anything. Never reveals anything. Behind the helmet he frowns. “You’re different,” he says after a long minute. “Less… open. You were always so sweet and gentle and kind.”

You scoff, not knowing what he means. “Yeah, well. I learned from the best.” Meaning Mando. This is ridiculous. This isn’t why you came here. “What are you doing here?” you ask.

“If I recall correctly, you’re the one who came to the starport, cyar’ika.”

“Don’t call me that,” you snarl. “You lost the right to call me that a long time ago. And that’s not what I meant. What are you doing on Kijimi? Why did you come back? And don’t say you came to make things right. If you wanted to do that you could have done that nine years ago.”

Mando sighs. “I didn’t know you were… I didn’t expect… You being the person I was looking for to help me came as being a bit of a surprise.”

You swallow, the last of your hope that he had come to make things right and take you away dashed in a second. “Well, things change, people change. Or people aren’t who they say they are. They can say one thing and do another.” You look pointedly at him.

He sighs again. “Anyway, that doesn’t matter. I have a bit of a quandary. I have a child in my care – a foundling. And he is a person of interest to dangerous people, people who hired me to return him to them. I don’t know all the details.”

The rumours are true, then, about him being here with a child. You’ve heard rumblings of a bounty of high importance for a while. You wonder if it’s the same child. “Let me guess, you didn’t take him back?” you ask.

Mando shakes his head. “I did. That’s how I got my beskar. That was the reward.”

This revelation stuns you. “You did? Then what—? How—?”

“It didn’t feel right. I went back for him and we’ve been on the run ever since.”

“And how do the others play into this?” you ask.

Mando tilts his helmet. “The others?” he repeats.

“Yeah. Ran, Qin, Xi’an,” you mimic Xi’an’s sickly giggle that always set your teeth on edge. “How is she these days?”

He shakes his head. “They’re all on a New Republic prison transport ship. I made sure of it.”

You weren’t expecting this. “Oh. Well, what does this have to do with me then?”

“Recently, Karga reached out to me with a proposition. Our last meeting went… poorly.” Mando explains everything that he knows. Just as he’s finishing his story, a small green child with floppy ears waddles down the ramp. He’s no older than a toddler. That’s the bounty you’ve heard so much about.

“I still don’t know what this has to do with me,” you argue, the wheels turning in your head.

The child looks up at the Mandalorian. “Did you have a good sleep, ad’ika?” he asks the child, a tenderness in his voice that you only heard on one or two occasions, before turning his attention back to you. “I need protection. I asked my friend who is a former shock trooper, but she can’t.”

“So you thought you’d come to me?” you ask.

“Like I said, I didn’t know it was you until last night. If you have some enforcers or —”

“The answer is no. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Mando’s head whips around, noticing something or someone in the starport that you hadn’t. “Kriff, we have to go.”

You balk. “What? Did you not hear what I just said?” With his free hand, Mando grabs your wrist, not tightly but enough so that you know it’s urgent. “Let go of me! Are you crazy?”

Mando gestures with his helmet to a man who’s skulking in the corner. “That’s one of the client’s men. One of the ex-Imperial guards. The people I’ve been trying to evade for months.”

“So? I might make it easy for everyone. Bring this little one right to him. Cash in on that bounty. Create a lot less problems.” You don’t mean it at all. It’s a last ditch effort. At what, you’re not entirely sure.

Mando sees right through your bluff. “You’re not going to do that. I know you better than that. You’re mad at me, that’s fine. That’s justified. But don’t punish the kid for it. He’s innocent.” He’s right, you know he is. “Come on. If you stay you’ll just have a target on your back. And I know your cantina won’t survive. Or you. I know what they’re capable of.”

You know you don’t have a lot of options. And you know that he’s right when he says that the remnants of the Empire will paint a target on your back if you stay after this. You sigh. “Okay. Okay, fine. But the second that this is over, you bring me back here. And you never seek me out again.”

Mando doesn’t want that but he doesn’t have an option. “Fine. We have to go.”

And that’s how you find yourself on the old gunship you never thought you would set foot on. After a second so Mando can get situated, you’re in the air. It’s the first and only time you’ll be off Kijimi. With the person who originally promised it and then broke that promise into a million pieces along with your heart.

---- taglist in reblog

#pedro pascal #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #the mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #din djarin #the mandalorian #my fic #my writing #dreams dashed and divided

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andersonlore · 3 months

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I've seen people post and rant about "tlou💓" DURING the time the strike was going on. And I mean, they would say, "Not everyone knew about it." But you're on tlou Tumblr where people preach about it left and right, so I do expect you to know. And it's the same ones that post about Palestine, too, and it makes me sick. As soon as that strike was over, a lot of people js went about their day like it didn't even happen. A lot of tlou writers said they weren't posting for tlou for a while after the strike, and I appreciate that. And I can't expect everyone to do the same, but alteast have some compassion 😭. There's so many non zionist games that r so good u can move onto writing about. Like people need to do better. And the people on tt aren't any better. Someone will tell u to boycott, and they're ignorant asses will say, " ohh, well at Starbucks right now, they didn't kill people." Do you all not do research anymore???. I'm so sick of people. They need to grow a pair

From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸 (sorry if I worded this weird, not directed at you!!)

i could not agree more! i think it’s important for everyone to be talking about palestine, congo, sudan, etc. these are living and breathing human beings being wiped from existence, forced out of land that rightfully belongs to them. everyone needs to talk about it! don’t know about? educate yourselves. it’s really that simple.

we have an unlimited access of knowledge at our fingertips. there is no justification for you not to know what’s going on.

taking a beat from writing tlou content, is the very least we can do. and you’re right, there is plenty of other games to write for. i’ve never played the game personally, i fell in love with abby through watching play throughs. there isn’t much representation for women who look like abby at least that i’m aware of and that’s why i personally gravitated towards her. i have no love towards the game, especially now.

but it’s ignorant to not see the zionist propaganda where the game originates from and neil’s intentions when creating tlou. if you don’t know what i’m talking about, READ THIS NOW. you have no excuse to ignore it at this point.

if you can’t take a break from pixel pussy…..idk man…..grow a fucking heart. reading porn shouldn’t be a deal breaker in your day to day life. jesus fucking christ.

women, men, and children are being murdered, starved, their families are being killed, being torn from their homes. they don’t know safety right now. they’re begging to be heard, the least we can do is pause our lives and listen.

from the river to the sea, palestine will be free 🇵🇸

#+ asks #꒰ jisoonunn ꒱

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tezla7 · 2 years

Text

The Queen

It's all pretty strange.

I genuinely don't care about the British royal family. The UK needs to be a republic. Because I don't care, I can't connect with people getting angry about them either because, they just do not matter to me. I've ignored them as much as possible my whole life.

I'm also learning from people around the world about crimes of the British Empire- that I suspected in various ways but never had enough knowledge of because- no Empire teaches that to its own subjects.

https://twitter.com/Aldanimarki/status/1567861763219116032?s=20&t=XO8mujD2X7MnXTG-0KoROw

The UK is experiencing pervasive non-stop propaganda, it's unavoidable. I tried to find out some information about Manchester airport to pick up my relatives yesterday and I had to get through a splash screen about the Queen just to get to the website. It's insane.

At the same time as I'm learning from other people, hearing their anger and what it all means for them, there's also this weird thing going on with the nation that I'm not a part of. This death has a big influence on the UK. My parents have lived their entire lives with the Queen being head of state. 70 years. She's been head of state so long that it had this kind of feeling of permanence, that it would always be that way. Like she wasn't going to die.

It's hard to explain what the monarchy is to British people, it will mean very different things to different British people but, it's all very weird and this is another part of it. When I was a little child in infants school, about 6 years old, I remember being taken by the school, all of us to the main road to wait for an hour to wave little flags while the Queen was driven past at 40mph. I can still remember the black Rolls Royce, but I barely saw anything else. I explained the story to my Dad recently and he sat there and said- he remembers doing exactly the same thing 60 years ago when he was a child. That's the depth we're talking about- millions of very young children brainwashed their entire lives with the same thing, for decade after decade. What do you call a nation scale cult? A religion?

https://pediaa.com/difference-between-cult-and-religion/

A friend and I talked months ago about how when the Queen dies, it will be a referendum on the royal family and this country becoming a republic. Charles isn't popular and nor should he be. We expected a huge onslaught of propaganda, the last big huge attempt to save the monarchy vomited up from the British establishment- then, when it fades- people seriously asking the question that surely it’s time to look at getting rid of it. Except, the Queen died one day after electing a dangerously stupid new Prime Minister with the whole country on the edge of widespread disaster.

The UK government is being suspended for another 2 weeks, but it’s already been in suspension for months while the country slides into an abyss. All around Europe countries had their emergency sessions and already made emergency budgets in preparation for a winter crisis (of their own making). Not in the UK. Boris Johnson resigned but refused to leave office shutting everything down while he went on several holidays. Everyone else has been holding their breath wondering how they’re going to survive into the next financial year.

The new leader Truss did her first speech saying she would cut taxes. THE NEXT DAY she announced a plan to spend £150 billion on energy bills and told everyone she would explain the details tomorrow.

https://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2022/09/08/gccl-s08.html

The day after they've said they're going to implement the plans but not explain them, while they disappear for two weeks, meaning there may never be any scrutiny. They're going to tax every citizen in the country the £150 billion like another mortgage- and hand all the money to the private energy companies. At the same time as Truss did her first speech it was quietly announced the largest donation to the Truss campaign was from BP. Truss used to work for Shell.

The people in Truss's cabinet are hardcore right-wing neoliberal ideologues who literally wrote a book on how to completely sellout the country. The reason I was on the Manchester Airport website in the first place is that it’s a private airport, the government sold it. You have to pay £5 for 5 minutes to drop anyone off, it’s £6 for 30 minutes to pick anyone up. The airport is understaffed to increase profits, uses robots at passport control that often don’t work, which increases delays which makes them more money in both the car parks and offering things like fast track lanes in passport control- pay £5 to get through quicker. My uncle was delayed an hour in passport control, because I’d planned ahead, I was waiting several miles away with all the other taxi drivers and people on a surrounding housing estate otherwise it would have cost me £20- for the delay, caused by the airport in the first place.

Why was I picking them up from the airport by car? UK rail strikes- the trains, tracks and services were sold by Margaret Thatcher- idolised by Liz Truss.

Copy and paste this across public life- road tolls, fully privatised healthcare, no employment rights or protections, no housing rights or protections. All the things we have to look forward to under new leadership.

EU flags at half mast- unelected anti-democratic ideologues recognise their own.

So The Queen, something that has been there my whole life, my parents whole life and is a huge part of British identity- isn't there anymore. The money needs to change, flags, signage, plus international flags, signage, currency...

Meanwhile it's all being used as a massive distraction to screw everyone over. Also at the same time the event does mean something to a lot of people in this country. Most of them are brainwashed of course but lots of them are just normal people who see a person who they thought was a nice woman and they are sad about the death of a complete stranger they felt connected to. I remember the same kind of hysteria over the death of Princess Diana. Diana never really did much, at all. But she was built into a Mother Teresa figure who was portrayed as a saint. Ironic perhaps, because Mother Teresa wasn’t exactly who she was portrayed as either.

The Queen of England was the figurehead of an extremely evil Empire, but, she did that job very well. And that's the powerful contradiction that is hard to articulate. To her victims she's evil incarnate. To lots of British people she's this weird supreme civil servant who never did any wrong, was always dependable, always discreet, noble, consistent- a paradigm of virtue. She was there but not there, like a benevolent demigod that’s been alive so long it seemed like she wouldn't die.

And it's just impossible to reckon with all these contradictions simultaneously right now. Especially for me because I don’t connect to any of it emotionally.

I want the monarchy to end. But hating people as part of that really means nothing to me. At the same time this is only my perspective, and it has nothing to do with all the voices I hear from all over the world who have righteous anger.

It's a global event, a truly global deep historical event because the Queen echos back into history directly to the British Empire, nobody else does. Nothing else like this does.

Lots of people might ask- why should they care? Well I agree to that sentiment. What I do worry about is that Liz Truss is genuinely reckless in a very real way- she is arrogant and no has no idea how stupid she is. Aggressive, with no comprehension of danger- like a true idiot, blundering in making threats at people as if the UK has any real power in the world whatsoever. It all adds to a hostile global environment already on the brink of war in many places.

Well, so what? Why should people care? Because the UK often obfuscates and enables US NATO aggression. Boris Johnson was the one who went to Ukraine and stopped peace negotiations. If he hadn't, we might have avoided the whole crisis that's coming this winter.

The first foreign leader to speak to the newly elected Liz Truss was Volodymyr Zelenskyy. That doesn’t bode well.

https://consortiumnews.com/2022/09/09/craig-murray-thats-enough-monarchy-for-now-thank-you/

https://jacobin.com/2022/09/queen-elizabeth-ii-glamorize-britain-obituary-royal-monarchy

https://www.mintpressnews.com/queen-elizabeth-ii-her-legacy-21st-century-britain-never-looked-so-medieval/281898/

https://chrishedges.substack.com/p/monarchs-belong-in-the-dustbin-of

Norman Baker https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qunmjOpYps

https://www.bitebackpublishing.com/books/and-what-do-you-do

https://www.thenational.scot/politics/21253709.richard-murphy-one-sentence-told-us-everything-liz-trusss-priorities/

#Queen #the queen #empire #british empire #liz truss #uk #boris johnson #NATO

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229zmi · 2 years

Text

KIND REGARDS

PAIRING: Iwaizumi Hajime/Reader

CONTENT: iwaizumi and reader are #college students, awkward confession, reader uses corporate language jokingly

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

“Happy Wednesday, Hajime. I hope you’re having an amazing evening so far,” you greet chirpily. Your voice is like the pre-jumpscare music of a horror game compared to the otherwise quiet dormitory building, causing Iwaizumi to quickly clasp a hand over your mouth once he registers what’s going on. Eyes now alert, though hair and clothes still tousled, he brings a finger to his lips as a way of telling you to be quieter so that he doesn’t have to deal with any potential complaints from his neighbours in the morning.

Although you only really understand the first part, you nod, and he lets both his hands fall back to his sides for a moment before crossing his arms and leaning against the side of the doorway.

“[Y/N], what the hell? What’re you doing here” — he rubs his eye and glances behind to check the clock hanging in the living room — “at 3:56 in the morning?”

“I’m so glad you asked,” you say intelligently, making some hand gestures as if you’re giving a TedTalk presentation. Despite his grogginess, he can’t help but arch an eyebrow at your questionable behaviour. “My name is [Y/N] [L/N], and I am a broke college student committed to maximising the hours of sleep I get each night.”

You pause momentarily, starting to wonder if he’s actually listening or if he’s still too sleepy to actually know what you’re talking about; you think that maybe if you just walked away now and pretend like nothing happened, he won’t even remember this encounter by the morning.

However, to your surprise, he nods at you. “Go on,” he encourages you even though this feels like some sort of propaganda, and it is way too early for that. Or late? Whatever. “I’m listening.”

You smile, which he finds strangely comforting with the shitty dim lighting of the dormitory hallway. “My mission is to make sure I don’t fall asleep in the middle of my Astronomy exam in five hours, so after some careful consideration, I’ve decided to contact you in-person, face-to-face, at this hour because—“

“Okay, quit it with the corporate language. What—“ Iwaizumi yawns, and you almost feel bad about visiting his dorm room at this ungodly hour “—what d’ya want?”

“I can’t sleep,” you inform him, plain and simple. You have already tried every method to fall asleep that you could think of — yoga, breathing exercises, peaceful music, and even Foot Wart Treatment ASMR on YouTube as a last resort — but lo and behold, you’re still awake, so now you’ve decided to visit your wise best friend Hajime Iwaizumi, who you know has always been good at giving health advice so maybe he’d know a thing or two about falling asleep quicker.

Though it is at a rather inconvenient time, you suppose that it’s sort of payback for the time he came knocking at your door sometime in the middle of night, asking if you had any flour so that he could bake a cake. (You never found out exactly why. But you think it has something to do with his friends all the way on the other side of the globe.)

Iwaizumi raises an eyebrow once again. You try to mirror him but fail miserably so you settle for just mimicking his movie-protagonist-like posture by slouching against the other side of the door frame, arms casually crossed and legs positioned at a 60-degree angle with the ground. He lets out another sigh, and you can’t tell if it’s either of amusement or of disappointment. After all, you’ve never failed to amuse or disappoint him, so perhaps it’s a little bit of both. You’d like think he’s slightly more amused this time though.

“Why do you think so?” he asks.

You give him a judgemental look that insinuates his question as something unusual. “What are you? My therapist?” you accuse with a disbelieving snort. “Thought you were majoring in sports science or something.”

“I could be. Actually yes, I am,” he declares. He clears his throat and copies your previous movements and tone of voice. “Hi, my name is Hajime Iwaizumi, and I am your super reliable and super friendly therapist who’s committed to listening to, as well as solving, all your problems.”

You laugh, but as much as Iwaizumi loves hearing it, he has to tell you to be quiet again so you don’t wake anyone else up.

“If there’s an hourly rate, then I’m not telling you anything ‘cause I’ve only got three dollars in my pocket right now.” You make a point of this by pulling out three crumpled up dollar bills from the pockets of your pajama pants and waving them in his face.

“Yeah, I can see that. Thanks.” He swats your hand out of the way before giving you an overly warm smile. “I’ll make this session free of charge just for you though, so don’t worry. Now tell me what’s on your mind, [Y/N]. All your troubles. All your burdens. All the reasons behind why you can’t fall asleep at” — he glances back again to look at the time — “four o’clock in the morning.”

“Well, for starters,” you begin, “I have an exam in Astronomy tomorrow.”

“You can do it. I believe in you,” he cheers weakly.

“And then I have a presentation after that for my professional communication project.”

“You can do that too. I believe in you. Again.”

“I’m also thinking about confessing to this guy I’ve been in love with for the past year and a half. I just don’t know when I should.”

“You can do—“

“With the way that this conversation’s going right now, I think I might just be able to fall asleep in the middle of your doorway,” you tell him with a constipated glare.

He adjusts himself to stand straight up and places a heavy hand on your shoulder with a playful grin. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop,” he replies. He then proceeds to act like he’s deep in thought, squinting his eyes and stroking his chin as if that’ll somehow help his thought process. “It seems to me that you’re very troubled.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. I see that the main reason for this is schoolwork,” he continues, hesitating slightly before his next few words, “but also love.“ His voices quietens at the last word, as if saying it is taboo.

“Uh-huh,” you confirm, staring down at your Vintage 1998-1999 Ultra-Rare Grey & White Furby Plush slippers. “Any tips, Mr. Therapist?”

“Just do it,” he says wisely.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Your breath hitches, though Iwaizumi doesn’t seem to notice. Is this it? Is this where you’re supposed to finally confess?

“Well, not right now though. They might be asleep so—“

“Hajime, I like you,” you blurt out and then instantly regret it. You’re not used to these kinds of situations, really, and you think that maybe you should have confessed in corporate language instead (perhaps something like “Hajime Iwaizumi, I must admit that your character has truly left me in awe to the point where I cannot deny that I have feelings for you! Kind regards, [Y/N]” would have sufficed) because at least your confession would be intentionally awkward. But here you are now, anxiously waiting for a response and possibly death by first-hand embarrassment.

“[Y/N],” Iwaizumi starts in a typical rejection manner. You know this because that’s how all your college rejection letters have started. You scrunch up your face, preparing yourself for the rejection that’s about to kick your ass, but instead you feel him delicately cup your face, his thumb brushing over the expanse of your cheek. “Can I kiss you?”

Your eyes shoot open. What?

Iwaizumi must be a mind-reader or something because then he repeats his question. The phrase is delicate, almost as though he’s scared you’ll run away.

Gingerly, you nod.

The kiss is brief and nothing at all like how you imagined it would be like, but it leaves the both of you breathless and smiling at each other dumbly for a couple of moments. You’re unsure of what to do next so he offers to walk you back to your dorm, and you’re more than happy to accept.

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x gender neutral reader #haikyuu iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #iwaizumi x reader #haikyuu oneshot #hq #hq x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #229ZMI

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charcadett · 1 year

Text

First Time With Larry NSFW

⚠️!! MDNI !!⚠️

I am so serious about this. DNI if you don’t have any indication that you’re an adult anywhere on your blog either. I will block.

Okay, I’ve never written anything NSFW before, so like. Bear with me here. However, I will take any chance I’m given to spread bottom Larry propaganda. (pun intended)

- It doesn’t take a lot to turn Larry on. He craves intimacy and closeness. Something as simple as sitting on the couch in his apartment, with stained old pajamas and messy hair, makes his mind wander. You’re always attractive to him, Larry can’t think of a time when he’s been able to take his eyes off you. But, being here with you, when you’re both at your most comfortable, no walls up, no masks on, makes him feel safe. In moments like this, Larry is completely overwhelmed by how much he loves you. If you would have him, he would be overjoyed to make you feel as good as you make him feel.

- Alternatively, if you grabbed him by his tie and pulled him into a kiss, he’ll be throbbing in his pants.

- While he has some experience, it’s really nothing to write home about. He has a lot of anxiety about not living up to your expectations. You will definitely have to take the lead here. He’s incredibly handsy. As you press lazy kisses against his jaw, he won’t be able to keep his hands from running up and down your sides. His fingers tangle in your hair, flexing against your scalp. The others hover above your hip. Larry won’t touch you anywhere intimate without your explicit consent. Even if you guide him along your thighs or towards your chest, he’ll mutter a quiet, “Is this okay?” “Here? Are you sure?” “Do you want me to touch you there?”

- Larry is incredibly sensitive, particularly on his inner thighs, along his ribs, and his nipples. He isn’t loud in bed by any means, though you can hear his breath hitch whenever you brush past a sensitive spot. If you decide to pay special attention to him, you’ll manage a few whines out of him. His blush is splotchy as he furrows his brows. Play with his nipples and he’ll throw his head back so fast he might knock it against the headboard. You make a note to put more pillows there next time. Or make him wear a helmet.

- Appearance-wise, Larry is pretty average. He’s soft around the middle, with stretch marks around his stomach and shoulders. He doesn’t have a lot of body hair. There’s just a bit on his chest and limbs, just a little gray in places. Can I say he has salt and pepper pubes or is that too far? Anyway, he usually keeps it trimmed, but he will admit that he tends to forget and tonight caught him off guard. If you prefer him to clean up down there, he’s more than happy to. Just be prepared for it to slip his mind sometimes. His cock is average size, five and a half to six inches. Uncut, and sort of thick. He also has a mole on his inner thigh.

- Sometimes, when he’s nervous and doesn’t know what to do with his hands, he’ll reach to fix his tie, only to blush when he remembers it’s not there. He wears those sock garters and will get so lost in the moment, he’ll forget to take them off. Honestly, if he’s coming from a shift where he did the Elite Test, you might have to remind him to take off his gloves too.

- Larry is a switch, but during your first time together, he will end up following orders far more than anything else. He’s willing to top, though if anything, Larry is a service top rather than a dominating force. His hands shake and he’s got a case of nervous sweats, which makes him worry even more because what if you think he’s gross. You have to take it slow. Ultimately, this is an act of love for him. He's not used to being so vulnerable with someone. Be gentle with him.

- As vanilla as he is, Larry has a (not so) secret praise kink. Compliments and soft touches make his head spin. If you called him a good boy during sex, I think he’d have to take a breather or he’d cum instantly. He’s not very adventurous, preferring to stick to well-trodden paths. Though, after some character development, he’s willing to try out a few things. Mostly at your request.

- He does consider bringing food into the bedroom. It makes sense to combine his two favorite things. But after a bit of research, he comes to the conclusion that the clean-up sounds like a bit too much for him to handle. If it’s something he suggests, he believes it’s his job to deal with the aftermath. And he is very aware he’s prone to falling asleep immediately after. Usually with you wrapped up tightly in his arms. So, ultimately, the decision is up to you.

#pokemon x reader #gym leader larry x reader #elite four larry x reader #not sft #I COULDNT POST THIS LIKE I USUALLY DO BY ANSWERING ASKS BECAUSE I COULDNT ADD A COMMUNITY LABEL TO THAT FOR SOME REASON????#I DIDNT KNOW THAT #i know now though ig

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balkanradfem · 2 years

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Thought I'd bring this here instead of derailing the herbal discussion. XD I’ve honestly never been too attractive by either “woman in her 30s” or “man in his 50s” standards, but I’ve actually kind of made that my thing. I’m a teacher, and female beauty standards in Korea are pretty insane. So me being unashamedly fat, aging, and ugly out here is a bit of a revolutionary concept for the little girls that I’ve taught. “What’s so wrong about being ugly? Does it make me a bad person? No. Am I going to JAAAAAIIIIILLLL for being ugly? No. It just means I have all of that time in the morning to sleep instead of fighting with hair and makeup. I hate makeup anyway."

The little girls appreciate this. The little boys suddenly realize just how much work it takes to be a “proper” woman in Korea and start to rethink their roles in that system. I once almost had a riot of 2nd graders break out when I showed the girls how my very un-feminist (insert eyeroll here because HOW ARE TRADITIONALY FEMININE SKILLS UNFEMINIST WHAT THE ACTUAL HELL) sewing skills put pockets in my skirts... and the boys learned that most of those floofy dresses the girls wore didn't have those. They were horrified that something they had taken so much for granted was denied their friends, based entirely on gender. They were also upset that their fathers had made fun of women for carrying purses around when they didn't have any other way to carry things.

At that age, a lot of the patriarchal bullshit hasn't quite taken hold yet, and I work hard to get them to question it all. Maybe in 20 years or so things will be better for women here, you know?

Welcome to my inbox!

I have nothing but respect for choosing to rest, rejoice and live rather than to worry about appearance! I would not think a woman who is unashamedly fat or daring to be a certain age ugly, but I understand that in this social environment, it's considered revolutionary to dare to do that and not be sorry. I love it so much what you did, you showed those impressionable girls there's more options than one, there's more ways to live than by conforming and sacrificing your time and energy for the sake of looking decorative.

I'm also really sorry the standards in your country are so rigid and unforgiving of female freedom, it must be jarring for any woman who lives there to be subjected to such unnatural and freedom-taking practices, you must be like a breath of fresh air to anyone who's being suffocated by the propaganda.

Everyone thinks feminine skills are silly but they actually make useful things happen! You're teaching awesome things to these kids, and I'm sure they will benefit from it their entire lives, and questioning the system so young will make them strong. I really hope things do get better, keep fighting, and we'll do the same!

Can't wait to be powerful like you are :)

#radical feminism #forced standards #korean feminism #feminism #female standards of beauty #women standing up to the system #women being free

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weirdmageddon · 2 years

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There’s something I’ve been struggling with for a while and I was hoping to get some insight from someone in a similar situation: I’ve been feeling kind of insecure about being Jewish lately because I feel like so much of the religion/culture is tied to Israel which is, as is pretty well known at this point, a military state with a stranglehold on its original Palestinian natives. How much of Judaism is intertwined with Zionism? Is it okay to identify with a culture that’s associated with a state that’s so cruel to a culture they think don’t belong there? Please don’t take this as some sort of interrogation or attack, it’s just been nagging at me for a while now.

dont worry i feel the exact same way. i think the bottom line about it is having a sense of fairness, justice, and peace as an individual. an ethnostate violates each one of those. it’s not that i don’t support a safe place for jews i just don’t support ethnostates, regardless of who it’s for, even if i would benefit. i would not feel comfortable moving to israel knowing the policies they have in place for the people living there.

palestinians created this website and they address this. anti-zionism is NOT antisemitism!

The recent rise to prominence of a distorted and shallow understanding of identity politics has been a boon to this kind of conflation. Suddenly we see Zionism being detached from its material history and presented as an integral part of Jewish identity. This is especially popular in the West, where young Zionists who are raised on propaganda and myths of this “amazing” Zionist project come to treat it as inseparable from themselves. Here, we see the cynical twisting of social justice language to declare that only Zionists may define what Zionism is — as if it was a subjective phenomenon, with no material reality, founders, history, effects or victims — and that it was an attack on the Jewish people to oppose it or describe it as colonial.

Criticism of Israel and its founding ideology cannot be conflated with the hatred of the Jewish people. When Palestinians resist Israeli colonialism, it is not due to the religion or ethnicity of Israelis. Resistance to foreign domination has been a staple of oppressed and colonized people all across the globe. From the very beginning, the Zionist movement had the goal of establishing an exclusivist ethnic state at the expense of the natives already living there, Palestinians objecting to and resisting this endeavor cannot be compared to the odious, murderous antisemitism that plagued Europe throughout history. This is not even to mention that most Zionists today aren’t even Jewish, and many anti-Zionists are.

as a jewish person myself, zionism very much is colonial. the words zionists use to talk about it is colonialist language, including the terra nullius argument. religious text is never a good excuse to nullify the reality that is right in front of you, which in this case is living breathing people occupying that space in the present just living their lives.

in an ideal world, territorial bastards wouldn’t desire to play king of the hill on small piece of land in the middle east because an ancient text took place there. “back then” is completely irrelevant. what matters is now. things have changed. other people occupy that territory now. it’s like…girl move on. earth has been following this pattern forever: populations changing and migrating over time. religion doesn’t make anyone’s case special. settler colonialism is settler colonialism regardless of the “justification”.

this is more of a personal opinion and is only tangentially related but i’m honestly not a fan of religion in general since it creates an arbitrary distance and “us-vs-them” mentality where there otherwise wouldn’t be any. it creates a barrier to cooperation and harmony because one group has to assert their belief system over the other group as “right” when we can never really know the truth so who gives a shit. we need to look at what actually matters immediately which is resources (food, shelter, supplies) and how we can cooperate to survive. the stories of religion and whose religion is right has no bearing on that and is basically setting us up for unnecessary self-destruction instead of grounded concerns. i understand the important role religion can play for the individual but in all honesty it becomes a problem on a larger scale when people form in-group out-group based on theistic beliefs that can’t be proven or disproven. i don’t like to talk about religion much because it does not hold importance to me and having genuine discussions like this are like stepping on eggshells around many people

anyway lets get you some latkes and maybe youll feel better

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celestiall0tus · 9 months

Text

Miraculous Salvation - Chapter 6 - Game Plan

Beginning || Previous || Next

Nathalie leaned back in her seat. She held a book in one hand while she petted cat Plagg with the other. A sensation burned within them and shocked their systems. She gasped and dropped her book as her body convulsed at the shock. Plagg’s body trembled, but he shook it off. She shook her head as the sensation passed.

“She didn’t waste any time, did she?” Nathalie remarked.

Plagg shook his head.

Nathalie took a deep breath and leaned back in her chair. Plagg meowed and curled back up on her lap. She reached for her book when her computer dinged, then rang. She looked and saw an incoming call from Colt. She rolled her eyes ant accepted the call.

“Keeping your late hours, I see,” Colt mused.

“What do you want?”

“Has the Tsurugi girl accepted the black cat?”

“Yes.”

“Good. How has the propaganda been spreading?”

“Slowly, though we haven’t actively spread it for certain reasons. However, Paris’s upper class is beginning its whispers.”

“Good. Apply more pressure and spread it further. It’s finally time.”

“When should we expect your arrival?”

“Tomorrow. Hopefully by noon.”

“Very well. I’ll ensure that you and Felix have rooms prepared along with the others.”

“I have a few requests for my living arrangements,” Colt cooed.

“You get the same arrangements as everyone else. The only requests we accept are your menu preferences, which you can send that to Gabriel’s business email. Any other business will wait until you arrive. Now, have yourself a good night and safe trip.”

Nathalie ended the call before Colt could get another word in. She sighed and rubbed her head. Plagg looked at her and meowed.

“I’m not going anywhere, liege. Get comfy. I’ll be here all night.”

Plagg smiled. He stood and kneaded Nathalie’s lap, then curled back up. She placed a hand on his body and begun her work.

Marinette peered into the room. Luka stood with Juleka, his outfit altered. His usual white Jagged Stone shirt was a black shirt with a red ladybug symbol in the middle. His black jeans and boots remained, but the blue dyed tips of his hair had turned red.

“I don’t like the red,” Bridgette remarked.

“I dunno. I think it looks nice,” Marinette whispered.

“I suppose, just a bit jarring though. Anyway, what do we do?”

“Wake the others. We have to discuss things moving forward.”

“Should we wait for Alya?”

“I’ve no idea where she ran off to or what she’s doing. We could wait, but there’s no telling when she’ll be back.”

“Fair enough. Alright, I’ll get the others up. You speak to the twins.”

Bridgette headed to the living room. Marinette sighed and stepped into the room.

“Bridge went to wake the others. Perhaps it would be best if you two discussed things with the other holders,” Marinette said.

“Aren’t you one of them? Tikki said all of Jule’s friends,” Luka pointed out.

“Not all of us. Just those that Juleka spends the most time with. I do spend a fair amount of time with her, but nothing like the others,” Marinette explained.

“I see. Shall we then?” Luka asked.

Marinette led them to the living room. The girls were all roused from their sleep as Bridgette sat on the couch. Marinette sat beside Bridgette while Juleka and Luka sat across from them.

“Woah, Luka. Did you do something different with your… everything?” Alix asked.

“He’s the holder of the ladybug,” Juleka said.

Rose, Mylene, and Alix shot up. “What?”

“I mean, he has a giant ladybug symbol on his shirt. Was that not clue enough?” Bridgette remarked.

“Does this mean that the games have begun?” Mylene asked.

“The ladybug is active. Surely, they have,” Alix retorted.

“What about the black cat?” Rose asked.

“The black cat is active,” Alya’s voice said.

Everyone looked around as the area distorted. Their eyes fell on Alya with Zoe Bourgeois and Adrien Agreste beside her.

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Adrien Agreste?”

Adrien’s jaw dropped. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

Luka tilted his head. “You two know each other?”

“No. At least, not personally, just reputation. He’s the model for his father’s brand,” Marinette explained.

“And she’s an internet sensation. Everyone knows her name and face,” Adrien said in awe.

“And she’s my friend,” Zoe added.

“What? She’s your friend and you didn’t tell me?” Adrien asked.

“You never asked. If you asked, I would have told you,” Zoe remarked.

Marinette looked at Zoe. “What are you doing here? Where is Chloe? Is everything alright?”

Tears welled in Zoe’s eyes. “Something is happening. I don’t know what, but it has to do with our mother and her friends. They said something about it finally beginning after Kagami found a black cat.”

“Who’s Kagami?” Marinette asked.

“The Tsurugi heiress. You know, Tsurugi Industries. The leads in cutting edge technology,” Adrien explained.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Marinette asked.

Zoe and Adrien shook their heads.

“Whispers from a familiar voice as of late and a new voice. They move forward with their plans with Destruction,” Alya whispered.

“Did they say what plans?”

“No.”

Marinette pursed her lips and tapped her fingers.

“How are you able to hear this, Alya?” Luka asked.

The girls all exchanged glances. Alya blinked and moved over to Luka.

“Spots off.”

“What?”

“Say, spots off. Take her off.”

“Oh. Uh, Tikki, spots off?”

Luka’s outfit reverted and Tikki emerged from the gauges.

Zoe gasped while Adrien grimaced.

“What is that thing?” Adrien asked.

“A kwami,” Mylene answered.

“What’s a kwami?” Zoe asked.

“We’re powerful beings that can grant mortals powers. And I’m not the only one. Come on out everyone!” Tikki commanded.

The air shifted. A teal snake appeared wrapped around Juleka’s shoulders. A white rabbit was laid out on Rose’s pillow. A dragon kwami sat atop Mylene’s head. A purple tiger materialized beside Alix. A white cat appeared on Adrien’s shoulders.

“What the-? You… you were a kwami thing?” Adrien asked the cat.

The cat meowed and nodded. It purred and rubbed its chin on Adrien.

Luka raised a brow as he looked at the kwamis, then at Alya. Nothing appeared around her.

“Where’s your kwami?” Luka asked.

“Creation, may I have permission to tell him?” Alya asked.

Tikki hummed. “You may tell him what you are, but nothing more.”

“May I show him?”

“You may.”

Alya nodded. She turned around as her flannel overshirt vanished. She ruffled her mane of hair, then lifted it up. A large golden mouse tattoo was on the back of her neck.

“I’m not a holder anymore. I’m an avatar,” Alya said.

“What’s an avatar?” Luka asked.

Alya turned to face him and pressed a finger to her lips.

“Just know that avatars are nothing like holders,” Bridgette remarked.

“How do you know?” Luka asked.

Bridgette snorted and stood. Her green sleeveless top morphed into a black crop top. On her stomach was a white turtle tattoo with brown markings on its shell and waves around it. She leaned on Alya and smiled.

“Ten guesses.”

Luka blinked. His eyes darted to Marinette, then back to Bridgette and Alya. He wondered if Marinette was an avatar, but he wasn’t going to press the matter.

“You ask how I hear these things. It is because I’m an avatar. That of perception. Each kwami has their own concept and mine was perception. The voices that cut through the noise are those belonging to other avatars,” Alya explained.

“How do you know?” Luka asked.

“Because she can hear avatars. She can hear me just fine, but not Cousin. It’s because we’re… unique,” Bridgette added.

Luka scrunched up his face in confusion.

“It’s very confusing, Brother. Try not to dive too deep into it tonight. It’s something that needs to be taken in small bites at a time,” Juleka reassured.

Luka hummed.

“So, this is nice and all, but what are you guys going to do?” Adrien asked.

“What can we do right now?” Mylene asked.

Everyone exchanged glances, then looked to Luka. Luka blinked and held up his hands.

“Don’t look to me. I have no idea.”

Tikki opened her mouth but was cut off by Marinette.

“We wait. We go about our days until our enemy makes a move. If Alya can hear them, we will have information about their movements, but it would be unwise to go after them since they are avatars. At least until we know which concepts they are.”

“And those two?” Alix asked, pointing to Adrien and Zoe.

Marinette looked to Alya.

“Well, I was hoping I could pawn them off on one of you guys. Maybe let Adrien stay here and Zoe go with one of the girls. They will be disguised, kinda. I’ll be keeping up constant alterations, so the public doesn’t see them as they are. So, there’s that,” Alya explained.

“Marinette! I want to go with Marinette!” Zoe yelled as she tackled Marinette.

“That should be fine. Mom and Dad like her. I’m sure they won’t mind,” Marinette said.

“Mom should be fine with that,” Juleka said.

“Shouldn’t we ask her?” Luka asked.

Juleka snickered. “When has she ever had a problem with anything, Brother?”

“Good point, but still.”

“Fine. You can ask when she gets home, but he can stay here with the others for the night. It is a sleepover after all,” Juleka mused.

“So, you’re saying we have two new additions to the group?” Alix asked.

“Hell yeah! I mean, if you’ll have me,” Zoe cheered.

Alix grinned. “You all know what that means.”

Mylene groaned. “Please, no. I just want to-.”

“Already done! I messaged everyone. They’ll be swinging by to welcome Adrien and Zoe,” Rose cheered.

Mylene groaned and covered her head with her pillow. Alix jumped up and cheered. Bridgette joined Alix in celebrating. Rose, Marinette, and Alya moved to the kitchen to prepare snacks. Zoe trotted after Marinette while Adrien sat on a barstool near them.

“I’m going to retire for the night,” Luka said.

“Sleep well, if you can,” Juleka remarked.

Luka gave a weak laugh, then headed to his room.

Tikki blinked and faded into the world between worlds, the unseen realm. The other kwamis followed suit save for Sass, who remained around Juleka’s shoulders.

“Fluff, it’s time. Send a message to the kwamis on this rock. Tomorrow, the games will begin. Oh, and if you have any requests or ideas for this game, please do let me know. You know I’ll do my best to pull some strings.”

The kwamis nodded and went about their own ways except the rabbit kwami, Fluff.

Fluff closed her eyes and sent a message to all kwamis:

Brothers and sisters, it is time to play a new game. Those who found their way to Earth, find a holder within the city of Paris. With the dawn, our game begins anew.

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musicofthenightphantomoftheopera · 7 months

Text

I’m not really excited about my birthday this year…..

Come November 17, 2023, I’ll be 25 years old.

I should be excited. I should be making plans to celebrate. But I’m not. Not because I don’t want to, but because I can’t.

That day will just solidify the fact that Covid took away my entire early 20s. The time when I’m supposed to be going out into the world and “figuring myself out” “meeting new people” “making mistakes”and “growing as a person” according to most movies, tv, and people I’ve met. All of that stolen from me. Gone.

I have Asthma, therefore I am disabled. So I have a lot more at risk than most if I catch it. Since 2020 when the pandemic started, I stopped going out to places as often, I wore a mask at all times to protect myself, and others. I stopped going to anime conventions entirely. I didn’t even have a birthday party that year outside of the one my family had cuz I was that scared. And when the vaccines came out of course I got fully vaccinated as soon as I could, But I still exercised all those other cautions.

I like everyone else thought it would be over in a couple months or at least after the vaccines came out, But it wasn’t. due to the disturbingly widespread acceptance of abelism, eugenics, anti vax misinformation and right wing propaganda brought on by covid and those in power who simply cannot be bothered to care about anyone other than themselves & would gladly laugh & celebrate our deaths should we not survive, I like many other disabled people have been forced to become prisoners in our own houses for the last 4 years.

Nowadays I watch through my phone as people and friends alike go to anime conventions, Rennaisance fairs, and other fun life events with absolutely ZERO covid precaution to keep themselves & other safe even though the virus continues to kill ppl by the millions and act as if nothing is wrong.

I see them there and wish I could be there too having a good time and living my life. But I can’t.

(And don’t bother coming at me with the whole “you can’t expect us to mask forever, it’s restricting!” First of all of you don’t wanna end up like me or worse you kind of have to and second of all. It is a goddam peice of fabric over your face. I am asthmatic and I can breathe in not one but TWO masks perfectly fine. So can you ya goddam crybaby. Get it together. )

I know if I go if catch it and run the risk of becoming more disabled than I already am. All the conventions I wanted to go to, the Rennaisance fairs I could’ve attended. All the plans I had for my future were ripped away from me. But not a lot seem to care.

Because the universal truth about ppl in America is that not a lot of people give a fuck about disabled people. Most of them see us as less than human and actively want us to die. Even if it’s their own family members or friends. Anyone the claim to care about. No one is safe.

You have no idea how many horror stories I have of people saying “it’s only killing the elderly and the disabled, so who cares?!” Not only is that ungodly vile but also wholly untrue. It’s killing & disabling ppl my age and also children. But again. Not enough care.

I used to be so excited about seeing what the world had in store for me in the future. But now I don’t think I have one anymore. And how can I be excited to experience a world with so much ugliness that I’m pretty much risking my life every time I leave the house nowadays?

If the plague doesn’t get me there’s the risk of a wacko that just so happens to have a gun deciding to shoot up a place because of their inhumane ideology or they were “having a bad day” or run the risk of a man literally doing one of the worst possible things you can do to another human and knowing that because of the state I live in, I will be penalized or even imprisoned for not wanting a rapists baby.

It makes me never want to leave the house again even though I desperately want to. And want to be part of the world again. But I can’t. Because even if I do nothing at all, I’ll be punished. But I don’t really know what I can do or if there’s anything I can do to fight back besides voting. I have no political power. I have almost no money no matter how hard I try to work for some, And no resources. I also recently moved to a very rural area. I have no friends that live near me nor do I know or know if I can trust anyone here, therefor Di have no community to rely on. Besides my family I’m basically completely isolated. And it feels like my granny and I are the only sane ones left in my family because my mom and stepdad refuse to wear masks. My mom got the vaccine but refuses to mask.

I can’t leave because 1 I’m broke, 2 I’m also autistic which actually bans me from gaining citizenship/a visa in certain countries, and 3, this fascist ideology is spreading and abelism and covid are still pretty much everywhere. There is no true escape.

I can’t even get any therapy for what I’ve been through due to the US Healthcare system being a sick joke and I can’t afford it and of course the risk of having an ableist therapist or one who has zero experience with autistic ppl or one that’s just there to collect a paycheck.

What am I supposed to do? Why do I even bother trying anymore? What’s the point of living if I’m just living in a constant state of fear, anxiety, anger and hopelessness and misery? I can’t get excited about Halloween, Christmas, or even my own birthday anymore because I’m so emotionally exhausted and I feel so hopeless. And don’t even get me started on climate change anxiety.

There’s not really a point to this. I just needed to vent and wanted to share my experience.

#I feel hopeless #hopeless #personal vent #vent post #disabled #i hate it here #just why #i feel alone #mental health #trauma #abelism #i don’t want to feel like this anymore #i don’t want to die #i’m tired #isolated

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nerdyydragon · 2 years

Text

I’m gonna get absolutely ripped into by the Tumblr purity police for this, and I’ve been around the internet long enough (too damned long) to know that this isn’t a new thing at all whatsoever but… fandom does know that people can enjoy a good villain, right? They can enjoy the character and don’t have to make excuses for liking them and remind everyone that they, the fan and poster of this content, do not in any way condone their behaviour and actually wrestle with the morality of enjoying them with every other breath, as though it is some Herculean undertaking to enjoy a character written explicitly to be enticing?

I’m going to talk specifically about RoP here for a minute because it’s the most recent show I’ve seen (and thus most recent subfandom I’ve dived into), but going into the tags there is an absolutely overwhelming amount of fic that tries to take the moral high ground about liking a character that’s written to be… evil. Like that’s it. Halbrand’s the bad guy!! Technically he doesn’t even exist! Sauron made up the alias because he couldn’t just go around giving people any number of names associated with a guy who supposedly died over a thousand years ago and has committed multiple fantasy war crimes, probably. The reveal scene where the ruse drops (Halbrand you’re scaring the hoes) is gorgeous, and Charlie does an absolutely delicious job of portraying a human smith-king struggling with a murky past only to drop it the moment it’s no longer useful. You are allowed to enjoy that. You are allowed to find it alluring and, dare I say it, attractive. That’s the point. That’s Tolkien’s whole argument in the Silmarillion.

Nobody was immune to sexy Sauron propaganda because he was considered too hot to actually do anything other than watch his hair glitter in the sun. Everyone around him considered that man “no thoughts, head empty, just vibes”.

Halbrand | Sauron is, by definition, a lying liar who lies, and fans have known that from the get that Mairon was originally so beautiful that pretty much nobody noticed that he was getting into shady side-hustles, at least in the beginning. But this trend of reducing antagonistic or villainous characters to single traits and negating the other elements of their “identity”—I’m putting that in quotes because it’s fiction even though that tends to unfortunately also happen to real people—that indicate they have other thoughts besides corruption and murder and brooding in a tower they built to plot their world domination ignores the deliberate complexity of fiction. Good characters imitate life; they’re not like real people, but they’re a representation of qualities and archetypes rolled into a ball for narrative purpose that reflect ideologies, politics, social conventions, and cultural norms.

There was a millennia between when Sauron disappeared and when Halbrand showed up (allegedly), and a millennia in which he became someone who on the surface appeared totally content with working in a smithy in Númenor and living as a common man. Do I think that would have worked for him long-term? No, he absolutely would have tired of it eventually, and canonically at some point he has to go back to the Southlands in order for the forging of the rings and the story to proceed. He presents himself both as Halbrand and in his mind-manipulations as someone who wants to save Middle Earth. In his mind he’s the hero; he’s under the assumption that he’s the best person for the task of freeing the lands of men from themselves and healing the nation after Morgoth’s rule (he’s wrong, obviously, because he’s both traumatized himself and too ambitious for his own good). Yet every fic I see of him sounds so incredibly terrified of embracing any sort of darkness other than “he’s evil and murderous and wants to corrupt everyone”. I have no problem with dark themes in fiction; maybe it’s because I myself am an author working with darker themes right now, but the majority of, at the very least more vocal fic authors, wrestle with their attraction to it in a way that falls very far short of “he’s evil and I alone can fix it” because it’s too undercut with “he’s evil and I need to everyone to know I don’t excuse it” which doesn’t make for good character. It just means your fic is a mouthpiece for purity grandstanding and avoiding people coming at you for liking a problematic character.

There are obviously a plethora of other examples, not even getting into shipping and this apparent need to justify a ship—if you don’t agree with or like something, just… don’t read it—but my point is that you don’t have to excuse a character’s actions to enjoy the character. It’s fiction. Obviously you don’t condone mass murder and tyrannical dictatorships unless the guy doing it is hot. Obviously you don’t condone abusive relationships. But my god, if you’re going to write fic for the literal villain of a series that people have been arguing about for literal fucking decades, don’t try to excuse your enjoyment of it by saying in the writing that you don’t agree (unless it’s for wider characterization purposes). Saying what amounts to “[character A] is obviously so attractive but they’re evil so [character B] can’t love them even though they did up until this pivotal moment, but A is So Evil Nobody Could Love Them although lust is fine because I, the writer, am clearly not excusing their actions and am obviously morally in the clear and Better Than You” is disingenuous.

Anyway this sort of got off the rails but this is all to say that you can enjoy the bad guy. That’s… the whole point of a well-written villain. You can’t have one without the other; you can’t say “I like the bad guy but only when…” because then you don’t like the character. You like the idea of them. Good villains, even if they’re doing explicitly shitty things, often believe they’re justified. They possess “logic” that informs the decisions they made—decisions written by an author deliberately to add complexity. So liking the villain but only when they’re not doing villainous things means you don’t actually like the villain, and you need to stop pretending you do, because for some fans the general disdain is very obviously at war with some secret attraction they believe is itself morally bankrupt and frankly it’s gross.

#fiction #writing #fics #villains #writing villains #yes this is partly about RoP so I’m also tagging:#rings of power #rings of power spoilers #rop spoilers #lotr trop #fandom #fanfiction #anti purity culture #the silmarillion

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