#am I trophy hunting? yes

[miceenscene]

Ah shit here we go again

[lis-likes-fics]

The Sound of His Voice

Pairings: Spencer Reid x agent!Reader Word Count: 3k words Warnings: Descriptions of crime scenes/vague gore, mentions of death and murder, standard Criminal Minds stuff, fluff otherwise... A/N: I started watching CM a while ago and now I can't stop so enjoy this. There will be more, I dunno when. (Should I be working on my months-in-progress-wips? Yes, I absolutely should. Am I? Mostly. I'm trying my best)

Morgan rubs his temple, digging his fingers into the side of his forehead as he shakes his head. Tapping his pen on the desk, he tosses down his file. “But here's what I don't get,” he says, drawing the attention of the rest of the team. “If the unsub thinks of his victims as prey, even going as far as to torture the victim, why go through all the trouble of tucking them into bed?”

Hotch looks back at the picture in his own hands, where he had been analyzing the scene for the hundredth time in search of something he missed the first hundred. He shrugs, “Tucking them in can usually indicate signs of remorse.”

JJ motions to the pictures. “Yeah, but look at this guy. Does this look remorseful to you?”

You lift a shoulder, leaning back in your seat and crossing your arms. “Could be a second unsub.”

You are a relatively new addition to the team. It was your fifth case with them, but they already treated you like part of the team, like family. It was easy to sink into the ebb and flow of everything, especially when they trust your skills and instincts and let you know when you're doing something wrong so you know not to do it again.

But this case was difficult. Your unsub had a strange profile: an organized, white male, with surgical experience and the MO reminiscent of a cat. He kills men and women alike, and the only connection between his victims have been their smaller statures.

The age range itself was too wide, though there was a slight reoccurrence of ages between 25 and 35. But it was still too wide, either way, not enough to work with.

He ties up and tortures them before finally ending their lives with strangulation. He uses his bare hands to get the job done, which makes him a sexual sadist. As if that wasn't enough, he carves out the victim’s heart after death and takes it as a trophy.

He shows plenty of psychopathic characteristics, but he also fits the profile of a sociopath, so it's hard to make anything stick. His MO suggests a lack of empathy and guilt, but the bed-tucking… You always lose him with the bed-tucking…

Morgan shakes his head a little, humming. “But we already ruled out multiple unsubs,” he says. You nod gently. “Besides, if this guy is mimicking the hunting habits of a cat, he would hunt alone, wouldn't he?”

Reid’s head perks up. He points a pen in Morgan's direction as he shakes his head. “Actually, no.” He licks his lips, and he's grabbed your attention like a siren to a sailor. “It's a very common misconception that cats are loners, but it's untrue. Cats prefer the companionship of others just as much as a human being would.”

You lean toward him a bit across the table, watching him as he speaks, his hands moving to illustrate his words as he does. “People often think, because of their aloof nature, that they like to be left alone or actually despise the presence of other people, including their owners or other cats—which is why people believe them to be low maintenance creatures. But they are just as social as, say, a dog. Actually, it's interesting, big cats like lions, or sometimes even cheetahs, hunt in packs to take down larger prey. Domestic cats–”

“Reid,” Morgan interrupts, making a cutting motion with his hand to his neck.

Your eyes turn back to Spencer, who seems to retreat in on himself a bit as he gives an apologetic smile and a small nod. “Sorry,��� he says, pulling his lips in a wide smile.

You set a hand on the table, shaking your head. “No, keep going. That was interesting.”

Spencer looks at you with these eyes that seem to shine. Your heart feels fonder, warmer, at the sight of him.

“We really don't have time to go through all of this,” Hotch says, his tone final.

“I mean,” you continue. Since joining the team, you've grown a certain affinity toward Spencer and his genius mind. Every time he's gone on his tangents, you've become enchanted by the words coming out of his mouth like he's put some sort of spell over you. You lift a shoulder, gesturing toward him. “If this guy is basing his MO off the hunting patterns of cats, we should…know everything we need to know about them, right?”

Hotch looks at you, his face hard and unreadable. You're unsure if he's considering your proposal or just trying to intimidate you. But then he sighs, his crossed arms loosening a little as he turns to Spencer.

“Reid?”

Spencer looks between you and Hotch, relenting hesitantly as he starts off slow. “Well…I was going to say domestic cats are solitary hunters but sociable creatures.” He picks up his normal speed once more, “They can be very affectionate, especially toward their owners and other cats within their households. They're also one of the only types of cats who play with their prey before killing them, which could be a reason this unsub tortures his victims so extensively in his murders.”

“Wait…” Prentiss says, catching all of your attentions. “You said ‘affectionate toward their owners’.”

“Yeah,” Spencer nods.

She waves her hands gently, “How do cats show affection for their owners?”

Spencer shrugs, “Um, bunting, purring, some scratch, sometimes they leave offerings, like dead rodents, around the house–”

“Right there!” Prentiss exclaims. “They leave offerings.”

You sit up, “The hearts.”

Hotch’s dark brows furrow. “You're saying this unsub is taking the hearts as an offering to someone else?”

Spencer thinks over that, nodding. “It's possible.”

JJ sighs. “But that still doesn't explain why we wouldn't have identified a second unsub earlier.”

Spencer holds out a hand, pointing with his pen. “Actually, it could. You see, cats also have the tendency to mimic the people they hold affection for. We might not have noticed a second MO because the submissive unsub may be mimicking the dominant one.”

“Or learning from him,” Morgan says.

“Learning?” Hotch asks.

Morgan glances around, “Well, if we're sticking so close to this cat thing, older cats often nurture the young and teach them to hunt.” He shrugs, “We could be looking at…brothers? Older and younger?”

“Or lovers,” JJ suggests. She points to a picture, the image of a chest carefully carved open to reveal a missing heart. “If the hearts are offerings, it could be a Valentine.”

“And the bed-tucking?” you ask.

Hotch picks up the picture of one of the victims, “safely” and securely tucked into bed…put to sleep. “Well, if the hearts are offerings for a lover, this unsub is sentimental. He could feel some type of sympathy or guilt for the victim and want to ‘put them to sleep’ after the torture.” He studies the image, a flash of unease behind his eyes that you know all too well. He sets it down.

“Okay, so how do we find them?” Prentiss asks, clicking her pen before setting it down to begin a definitive course of action.

Spencer points to yet another picture. “Look at these injuries. These incisions are surgical,” he clarifies. “So the dominant is a doctor or a—a veterinarian, which can be implied through his intimate knowledge of cats’ behaviors.”

“And the submissive might work under him as a nurse or an assistant,” you continue, adding on to his clever insight. He glances over at you, smiling almost giddily at your understanding.

Hotch turns to Morgan. “Do you think that's enough to work with?”

Morgan thinks for a moment, his shrug melding into a nod as he turns back to Hotch. “To fit in with the rest of the profile,” he hums, “I'd say so.”

“Okay.” Hotch nods firmly. “We'll present the profile ASAP. Morgan, get Garcia to search for any vets in the area with any records of assault charges.” He says this all while taking long strides toward the door, his red tie bouncing slightly with his movements.

Prentiss follows him with her gaze as he exits. “You think the unsub is aggressive?”

He turns briefly. “Look at the bruising on the neck. The torture alone is an indicator of anger and frustration, but the way the victim was strangled suggests force. Much more than necessary just to crush a windpipe. He's an organized killer with a lot of rage. If he moves more along the lines of a sociopath, our best guess is he's had some kind of trouble with the law at some point in his life,” he concludes. Glancing aside, he speaks again, a little more firmly. “Morgan.”

“On it,” he says, his phone already ready to contact Garcia on speed dial.

“And Reid,” Hotch says, focusing his hard stare on the younger agent.

He stiffens, straightening his back and awaiting his response. “Yes?”

There's a pause as Hotch examines him silently. With a single nod, he says, “Good work.”

He glances at you. A nod.

You nod back.

Hotch leaves in a hurry, and your gaze immediately and instinctively flicks to Spencer. He smiles at you, turning away as though he was shyly hiding that same smile.

~

There were two unsubs: a surgical veterinarian and his nurse. You caught them just in time, just as that knife was gleaming in the golden light of the lamps swinging above the three bodies down in the basement of the submissive unsub’s house.

And now you soared 40,000 feet above the ground with another killer put away for good.

Everyone's in their own spirit, placing you across the aisle from JJ and Spencer in their own booths, a crochet set in your lap as you continue one of your projects. Emily's eyes linger on JJ, watching the crease of her brow as she studies case files.

“What are you thinking about?” she asks, setting her book to the side to shift her attention. Derek darts his eyes up from his own book, lifting his brow as he does it.

JJ looks up, breathing in and lifting her shoulder in a half shrug. “I don't know about you,” she says, “but I know that if I got an actual human heart on Valentine's Day, me and my alleged partner would have some serious issues.”

Snorts and chuckles lift from multiple places among the seats, heads shaking and attentions shifting back to their own activities.

But as soon as you hear the first lilt of Spencer's voice, like clockwork, you're a fish on a hook.

“Actually,” he begins, “if we were set back thousands of years, that would not be a very unusual occurrence.” He licks his lips quickly, “You see, Valentine's Day’s origins actually go back to a festival called Lupercal, or Lupercalia. The festival was in itself a very violent and sexually charged affair that lasted roughly three days—from the 13th to the 15th—set in Rome. Its traditions were carried out in two separate locations, firstly–”

“Alright,” JJ rises to her feet, her eyes wide in annoyance as she closes her case file in a large announcement to Spencer. “I'm getting coffee. Do you want anything?”

Spencer purses his lips, that same wide, apologetic grin covering his face as he leans back in his seat and shakes his head. “Uh, no. All good here.”

She nods, turning to walk away, “Great.”

You watch JJ leave, your eyes fall back upon Spencer, who's pulling his book back into his palms to turn his focus back on the pages. His eyes flit over the words at lightning speed, absorbing the information and moving to the next.

Taking your crochet set in your hands, you stand and plop down in JJ’s old spot. Spencer's eyes darts up to you, glancing between you and his book as you set your stuff down and readjust your yarn.

Beginning again, you nod toward him. “You were saying?”

Spencer, his eyes wide and confused and his lips parted in wonder and his cheeks a little pink, stares at you. After remembering he had to respond, he sputters in an attempt to.

“Uh, it's-it's really not that…interesting,” he mumbles, trailing off at the end as he sets his book down, his fingertips pressing against the edge of the desk between the both of you.

“Well,” you look up at him, setting your elbow on the table and tucking your first underneath your chin, “I was very interested.”

His Adam's apple bobs when he swallows. His lips form the word before it comes out of his mouth. “You were?”

You nod, “Mhm.”

Looking at him for a moment—just looking at him for a moment—you take in the pretty sight of his bewildered expression, fascination and confusion and excitement crossing his face in a flurry of emotion.

You move your elbow from the table and pick up your hook, nodding toward him before training your eyes on your work again as you await his words. “Firstly?” you prompt.

Scrambling to organize his thoughts, Spencer nods. As the words form in his brain, he smiles as he thrusts himself into another rant, speaking a little softer so as not to aggravate the rest of the team.

“Well, firstly, the uh— The-the first location was in a cave called Lupercus—named after the Roman fertility god that the celebration was dedicated to—and the second is a public meeting place called the Comitium.”

You tilt your head toward him, smiling a little. “Like the word ‘committee’.”

“Exactly like the word ‘committee’,” he beams.

Your attention, as hard as you tried to split it, becomes entirely caught up in Spencer as you forget about your project and focus your gaze entirely on him. You set your arms on the table separating you and watch as he speaks, your smile definitely too love-sick to be a hint anymore. He seems to lean in closer.

“So how did Lupercalia become Valentine's Day?” you wonder aloud.

“Well,” he starts, prompting a larger grin from you, “in the late 5th century A.D., Pope Gelasius I eliminated it and declared February 14th a day to celebrate the martyrdom of Saint Valentine instead—although it's highly unlikely he intended the day to commemorate love and passion as it is celebrated now. In fact, some modern biblical scholars warn Christians not to celebrate Valentine's Day at all, due to its Pagan roots and rituals.”

You hum, your eyes taking glances at the stretch of his skin over his fingers and the way they move when he speaks.

“Do you celebrate Valentine's Day?” you ask gently, speaking slowly.

His hands fall back down to his lap, and he shakes his head as he straightens his posture a bit. “Well…I don't usually have anyone to celebrate it with, so… No, not really.”

Feeling the shyness slipping into your veins, you set your hands on the table and let your fingers slowly inch toward him, staring at them inside of his eyes. You don't want to see the rejection if it lives there, in his eyes.

You speak slowly, emphasizing every syllable. “Would you like to have someone to celebrate it with?”

He swallows thickly, letting one hand lift onto the table, still close to him but building up courage to maybe meet you in the middle. “Like…” he clears his throat quietly. “Like you?”

You offer a right smile, finally flicking your eyes up to meet his and feeling giddy at the light blush on his cheeks, the nervous wideness of his gaze. “I promise no actual hearts.”

You watch him, and again…his eyes, his Adam's apple, his cheeks, his lips. “Uh…yeah,” he stutters. “Yeah, sure. I'll be your…your Valentine.”

You smile, a wide smile that splits your face in two. Spencer's own grin follows suit. Looking past you, he catches the eyes of Derek, who smirks and offers a cheesy thumbs up, proud of him for securing you as he did.

His gaze falls back to you when you begin to speak, your voice just as song-ish to him as his is to you. You're both equally as infatuated as the other. “You know,” you trail off slowly, “supposedly, Saint Valentine might be so commonly associated with our day of love because there are rumors that he used to perform secret weddings against the wishes of the authorities in the third century.”

He nods slowly, his brows furrowed slightly. “Yes, that's right…” Licking his bottom lip, he speaks again. “You already knew all that stuff about Lupercalia, didn't you?”

You smile, your face squished a bit as you raise your hands and close your thumb and forefinger close together. “Maybe a little,” you whisper. But then you shrug and just keep looking at him. “But I like listening to you talk.”

Spencer suddenly doesn't think you're real, but he isn't about to question it if you aren't. There's someone who enjoys his tangents. He isn't going to jeopardize that.

“Oh,” is all he says.

With your crocheting long forgotten, you lean forward on the table and give him every ounce of attention in your mind. With a fond smile on your lips and a twinkle in your eye, you rest your chin on your folded hands. “You should tell me about…” you pause, thinking, before you smile curls even more, “bees.”

His brows lift as he nods. “Okay, well,” he starts, “did you know the first civilization to practice widespread, organized beekeeping was the Ancient Egyptians, who began beekeeping around 2,500 BCE?”

Your brows lift in fascination. You shake your head, “No, I didn't.”

His smile grows. “Well…”

For the remainder of the flight, Spencer talks and talks and talks, his voice quiet and meant solely for you as he talks about whatever you want: bees and wine and marbles and Halloween. He keeps smiling at you, as you keep smiling at him. Somewhere along the way, he officially asks you on a date, and you both get off the jet together to get a cup of coffee.

You love the way he talks.

Criminal Minds taglist: ... Tag yourself here...

[toxycodone]

GOD modern Laios would make such a good little trophy/house husband 🥺 he LOVES cooking dinner for you when you come home after a long day of being the breadwinner. you get to spoil and dote on him and he gets to spend all day doing nerd shit and taking care of the house (he LOVES cooking you dinner and seeing the look of relief on your face coming home to a clean house & warm meal after a long day)

on your anniversary you come home and he's cooked a fucking 5 star meal- like the kinda shit you only get at some fancy ass overpriced restaurant . After dinner you suprise him with a huge intricate Lego set you know he's been wanting but wouldn't ask for because it's soooo expensive & he nearly cries.

He spends like 2 hours going down on you out of pure joy alone before letting you tie him to the bed and ride him until he DOES cry- whimpering "thank you" and "I love you"'s over and over before you've even let him cum. tears falling down his flushed cheeks and eyes rolling back in his head as he writhes against the restraints, so desperate and grateful for whatever you give him. such a good boy, your perfect little house husband 😌

GOOOOOOD YES

okay. Since we got minimum wage retail Laios confirmed by Kui. House husband Laios is so fucking real.

Laios who’s a total part timer since meeting you, he works for pocket change and like. Bare minimum benefits just to keep things comfy for the two of you while he basically puts everything in savings. (Until like one day he just quits tbh when yall are really settled in)

But like in my mind he works under the table at Senshi’s restaurant for cash + to learn about cooking! They go on fishing/hunting/hiking trips together and go to the farmers market to get fresh produce and Senshi teaches Laios everything he knows.

He cleans up your apartment every day. Like, he’s not the best or a maid or anything. He’s just a dude. But he does recognize that he’s immensely privileged and does his best to show you hey. He does care. And he wants you to not have to bust your ass after coming from a full time shift. He does basic things like dishes and stuff and on the weekends you guys maybe spend an hour or two maximum cleaning on the weekends together

LAIOS. PACKS YOUR LUNCH. He love love LOVES doing this and he has little sandwich shapers to make them into little dinosaurs or dolphins or something. And he does bentos with cute little pins and molds and he lovingly spends time on this. I think he genuinely enjoys doing this stuff and testing out new recipes.

And cooking in general!! Like that is how Laios shows he loves you forreal. He genuinely pays attention to your tastes and tries to “gourmet” your favorite foods. (I’ve been rereading the manga and when Marcille’s upset he offers to try his best to make whatever she wants to eat out of monsters and it’s so cute…). Like you want grilled cheese? How about grilled Brie on fresh made bread? Bagels? Oh yeah he tried a new recipe at Senshi’s at 4 am, here’s fresh out of the oven pastries. It’s so cute.

I think. He loves like those random ass kitchen gadgets too. He 100% has an ice cream maker and he makes custom flavors for you.

And he just loves watching you eat. It’s such an expression of love. He works so damn hard to make you smile and make you happy. And his food never sucks because 1. Senshi teaches him everything 2. He ALWAYS tests recipes before going way too hard with them. Like he pays attention to your palette so if he made something gross or something just. Not to your tastes you’d let him know in the trial stage.

And GOD. Laios is just a fucking sex toy I swear. He’s genuinely like. A subby service top. He wants you to absolutely use him however you want but he likes to be the one that’s doing most of the work because he likes to spoil you with his body…(also he cums super easily in my hc so if he tops he’s able to like. Pull out and give you head or switch positions when he’s getting too close)

But when you spoil him and ride him…tell him how handsome he is and how much you love him. yeah he’s crying and whimpering about how much he loves you and how you’re just so fucking perfect. It makes your head spin because Laios genuinely makes you feel like you’re the only person on earth for him.

[neteyamslovrr]

Hello! how are ya?? May I request a boyfriend Ao'nung with sully!reader? thank you so much <3

Boyfriend Ao'nung

summary: headcanons of ao'nung being a cutie patootie bf!!

fem!sullyreader

──── ⑅*❀*⑅ ────

Ao’nung being a boyfriend to his sully girlfriend! <3

At first he was mean to you just in a different way

He’d be almost intimidated by you and how he thought you were so beautiful

Ao’nung would just straight up refuse to acknowledge your existence rather than ridiculing it

You hated that. Immensely.

So, one day you forced him to face you.

“Ao’nung! Come ride an ilu with me!” You chirped skipping over to where he laid on the sand. He grimaced hearing your voice.

“No.”

“Oh c’mon, don’t be a wuss.” His head perked up. He was no wuss, he however was one easily persuaded man when he looked at the way you glimmered in the sunlight. He might’ve drooled at the sight of you.

“Hurry up then.”

After that day, he continued to use your ‘ilu races’ as a way to continuously talk to you.

He always won, and he always managed to keep a hand on you after the races

He thought it was subtle but really his touches felt like he was ravenous for you

Now Ao’nung as you boyfriend after months of ilu races and pining you let Ao’nung call yourself his

He’d be really protective, keeping you behind him in the small amounts of hunts he took you on, keep an eye on you whenever you swam in case your breathing failed. He wanted no harm to ever come your way

The ilu races would become a weekly tradition, like a date night where you raced and when you eventually got tired you would lay on the sand watching the stars

Ao’nung loves when you take his bun out and redo his braids. He feels so close to you and to have your work on him as a trophy and memory that he was in love with the best woman he’s ever met

He’d still be tough though

Refusing your teases and pleads for him to be softer.

In the earlier days on your relationship, he would’ve been quite reserved but you let him feel comfortable enough to open up and not be the chiefs son but Ao’nung in front of you

He would get jealous easily

Never at you though, if he saw a fellow Metkayina flirt with you he’d take matters into his own hands and have you never know

(You always knew)

Overall, Ao’nung would be a protective boyfriend and he would only ever show his soft side to you.

bonus!

“Y’know Ao’nung I know you keep starting fights with the guys who talk to me.” You said to him as you comb through his hair as he lays peacefully in your lap.

He stiffens his grip on your shins slightly tightening.

“I don’t start fights. I just finish them.” You scoffed at him rolling your eyes knowing he couldn’t see

“Sure, tough guy…”

“Hey! I am tough. Look at these.” He begins to flex his arms a smile spread across his face. Slapping his arm lightly you giggled with him.

“Yes of course, you’re my tough guy.”

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authors note: just a cute little short one! i'm also clearing my inbox so i am going through my requests! i'll be writing the ones I like soon!

taglist: @aonungmybf @melovehiddlestan @dngnmtr-blo

[makemefatterandfatter]

The primal urge to just get fat.

Something I fight against every day. Yes I'm "tubby" or "packin" a bit but the craving to just proper give in and swell up in thick layers is sooo strong. Like a weight hanging over me or a hunter stalking me from the shadows. My body is prey and fat wants to put me on its wall as a conquest trophy.

I'm not gonna lie, I might deliberately trip and fall over like they do in the movies and let it catch me. I know I want to be caught, that desire to get my old stretch marks back is aching within me. Not just those old marks, but fresh ones and to deepen them so much they never leave me. Marked for life by my gluttony. Why is that so hot? I want red deep lines all over my arms and belly so everyone can see what I am. A prized pig, hunted and caught, fattened up and put on the wall. Fuck my hands trembling writing this....

[huntthemouse]

Misshapen Mouse

47/365 #hunt the m̸̢̮͙͎̻̒̀̈́̿́͋͛̕͝ö̶̢̢͇͕̰̳́͑̍͂͂͒̈̔̌̃͊̈́̿̚͝ů̶̳̃̽̒͋́́̆̄͘̕̕̚s̶̞͇͈̘̘͉͙̗̟͈̖͆̒̓̑̔͗͂̀̂̈̒̀̀͊̚͜͝e̶̱̼̳͊͐̒̔̿̐̐̇́

figures id finally do a real horror one at some point.

I got my own feelings about public domain horror projects (namely that yes, theyre predictable and not that interesting beyond surface level most of the time but also that they make a lot of sense when you consider how cheap and fast horror is to produce with usually high return) but I did see this as a real challenge I wanted to tackle.

The ethos of this one had me consider what would be scary for a Mickey Mouse to be. As a cartoon, you can obviously play with the idea of ink, but I also incorporated elements of rat kings and this idea of consuming and using trophies from missing Mickies... I had too much fun with this one. I very well might do some more with this specific one.

I am making 365 new versions of Mickey Mouse for the public domain and releasing them under public domain all year long.

You can join the initiative to #hunt the mouse or suggest a theme yourself via my ask box.

[mist-touchedxiv]

Constantly updating

🦋 https://bsky.app/profile/mist-touchedxiv.bsky.social

Tags in progress: #lore-sen tyr (background/info); #a-musings (mun talk); #loksen tyr (general writing)

Rating: 18+: I'm not trying to ERP. I am OPEN to it, but it's all about C O N S E N T. Just looking to make friends and RP.

Name: Loksen Tyr

Race: Viera | Veena

Patron Deity: Oschon

Hometown: Skatay Range | Kópavogur

Age: 75+

Height: 6'1"

Weight: 198 lb

Hair: Black with unusual natural blue streaks

Eyes: Aether blue

Gender: Male (he/him)

Orientation: Heterosexual

Marital Status: Single

Occupation: Formerly Wood-warder, slave

Currently Adventurer

Job: SAM/ARC/GNB

Favorite Color: Blue

Smoking: Yes, occasionally. Prefers using a kiseru. Blends own tobacco, typically with vanilla. The smell of smoked tobacco can help dull his already potent Vieran sense of smell if he feels overwhelmed

Drinking: Yes. Loves Vieran aquavit and Mjød, but hasn't encountered either in years. Due to spending time in Hingashi enjoys sake and often carries a flask, which he has been known to use as a weapon

Diet: Omnivore

Hobbies: Whittling, archery, drinking and eating, traveling, fishing, mahjong, reading Vieran poetry, camping

Personality: Reserved, almost aloof. Intense. Helpful. Honorable. His noble heart and wanderlust belies a quiet guilt.

Distinguishing Features: Vieran male. Lotta blue. Speaks Eorzean with a noticeable but pleasant accent akin to Finnish. Faded scars across his back and torso. Brand on the back of neck to identify him as a Garlean prisoner, usually covered by hair.

Löksen was a typical Wood-warder many years ago, until the day the Garlean empire attacked Dalmasca. During a periodic visit to his home village, hearing disturbing rumors that Garlemald had set eyes on Dalmasca. Having proven to be a great archer, the leaders urged him and a small group of other Wood-warders to make a trip to Dalmasca to convince the Viera living in the city to come home.

Ultimately, they failed. Having scarcely arrived in the foreign city, it was overrun by Garlean forces and the other men were killed in the ensuing battles and Löksen taken prisoner for several years. During his imprisonment at a Garlean labor camp, Löksen was a target of fascination and sometimes ridicule as a rare male of an already elusive people. His Wood-warder background prepared him for the harsh conditions of the camp and helped him survive. His time in the camp also introduced him to a variety of people and cultures that he never would have encountered otherwise. Imprisoned Sharlayan scholars taught him the Eorzean language, an old Hingan woman taught him the way of the samurai, a pair of Lalafell smugglers regaled him with stories of Ul'dah, among others.

Eventually, the camp was inadvertently liberated by Bahamut's rampage and during the chaos, Löksen fought and killed the Garlean officer who had served as a tormentor and overseer and took their gunblade as a trophy that he carries with him.

Now he wanders Etheirys partly as an adventurer inspired by the stories of his fellow inmates about the diverse lands they came from, but also to try to escape a sense of guilt for failing his people in Dalmasca and trying to seek solace.

RP Hooks

Hey there, mun here. I'm pretty flexible on how to start interactions. I'm completely open to discussing things or just go with the flow, provided you start of course.

I designed Loksen to essentially be a support character. He's not a WoL, he's not blessed with Echo. Honestly, my goal with him is to bring texture and enhance YOUR story. I suppose I'm more focused on being a character than a protag, I guess.

He's got his own little stories, but I'm here to make friends and try my hand at a creative outlet that I haven't done in several years.

Anyways, here's some possibilities!

Yojimbo: A wandering warrior of no small skill. Something need doing? Body? Guarded. Bounties? Hunted. Monsters? Slain. Need a courier because you can't deliver through regular services? He's got legs.

Animal-lover: He will pet the animals.

Tarzan Boy: You can take the Wood-warder out of the woods, but you can't take the warder out... of... the... Well, Loksen prefers to be out in nature when he gets the chance and he can be a bit wild. Maybe you encounter him out in the Shroud climbing amongst the trees and foraging for food.

"Where'd You Get That?!": As a samurai, Loksen carries an extremely unusual blade: the gunblade of a Primus Ordinarius of exquisite craftsmanship. Sure to draw the attention of any Garleans affiliated character. It has been modified to be suited for fighting in the manner of the legendary Hingashi warrior tradition.

About the RPer

Cishet • M • 30+ • North America Central Time Zone • Weird, but well-meaning

[isa-ghost]

Could I mayhaps have some hc!philza headcanons? Could be him in his hardcore, or how his time in hardcorr affects him now maybe? :D

OUGH YES.

So these will be operating off the theory that qPhil is hcPhil with his memory fucked up by the Federation. I'm gonna aim for "pre island, this is how qPhil was" but we'll see what happens as I actually write these LOL

What if I call these Pre-Dilf Edition in the masterlist SKFJSKFJSKFHF

10/10 would read the hardcore deity set I did recently to go with these :D

qPhil headcanons masterlist

He either had a flawless sleep schedule (early to bed early to rise ass mf) or no sleep schedule at all (spending 3+ nights hyperfocused on smth). It made for a very loopy Phil sometimes, which his murder of crows very much enjoyed

This man can fit so much joy and whimsy in him. Everything is awesome, everything is a breathtaking work of art and everything is decades of rich history to uncover. He loves life, he loves the passage of time, he loves teaching the murder about what he finds & restores

That's his main hobby besides being a survivalist, restoration and an informal form of archiving. He sketches the builds, takes notes on the deities, adds his own little touches to each place to make it a little prettier

He could fly for hours. Sometimes he'd fly aimlessly into late into the night, too immersed in sight-seeing and chatting with the murder

He had little altars in Flowerfall, Nether Void & Greater Spawn Islands for OO, BE, and Rose respectively. He'd leave little shiny things, trinkets that made him think of them, offerings like cooked fish or blaze rods or flowers in little offering bowls. Just as a nice, more direct way of giving them thanks for creating something so beautiful and allowing him to restore it to its former glory

He fucking loves swimming and fishing and hanging out at Endlantis, he'd just very aggressively avoid the cave that is EK's tomb. It was extremely haunted, he never got good vibes down there

He sometimes considers making his own remarkable build as a sort of "I was here, I too am a mark upon this history" but looks at his house and is like "mmmmbetter not" (he's an idiot, he could 100% build something cool, just probably not on the scale of the builds the gods have created. He'd probably create it for Goddess of Death, not even himself 💀)

Obligatory gapple addiction mention. It didn't start because of the murder, but he definitely used them as an excuse to further indulge once he started devoting eating one to the crows who'd been in the murder for a year. He never really had a reason to quit, or worry about the addiction, so he never experienced negative effects from it. Gapples aren't exactly harmful, just.. tinged with just enough magic to infect the brain. (He never experienced withdrawal misery on QI bc the Feds wiped his memory so his body had no idea it should be having a bitch fit =) )

Semi-related, he loved the days where he and the murder lacked the motivation and focus to do restoration things so they'd just fuck off in a random direction for ages and go on loot sprees. Nothing more exciting than hunting for more god apples :D

He started out liking fishing. The murder got too obsessed and it became the bane of his existence. But he loves the murder, so he does it anyway. Besides, he wouldn't trade chill talks with them for the world. :')

Btw he doesn't know this but it was equal parts the Ender King & the Feds ripping rifts between the universes that got him caught and taken to QI. EK didn't plan for that to happen, he just wanted to escape to a new reality to find a vessel to come back to power. Which is why once Phil was on the island, EK went "Fuck it, I'll use that asshole since he's not only compatible, but from the same plane of existence"

Mobs never scared him much (except Enderman) despite the fact that they were very dangerous and he's a survivalist. He was practically a mob whisperer, it's how he trapped trophy ones, made certain farms and why he was 99% fearless when farming charged creepers. QI has so many mobs he's never seen in his life that his chill instincts are suddenly like AAAWTFWTF

He never felt truly alone despite being the only humanoid. He felt like Rose was always with him, very rarely OO, and the murder ofc. He could understand them and he'd talk to them all day every day. Not only that, he had pets like Pog and Champ and there were quite a few times he'd humanize inanimate objects, which scientifically helps keep you sane in isolation such as survival. He always felt like he had Something to socialize with

That said, he IS still a bit weird socially on the island. Socializing with humans is way different than crows, other animals, gods, and objects.

Btw Ian is God of Chaos (a lesser god like Goddess of Death) and other mods like Birder, D3 & Wolfy are notably larger or perhaps a different species of corvid that hang out among the murder :D

[katyspersonal]

So I literally just saw an interpretation of a Bloodborne boss on youtube, Mergo’s Wet Nurse specifically, and said interpretation is that of an empty mother fixating on an available baby. I don’t wholeheartedly believe that was the intention behind the damn thing, but what is your take on this Nazgul Crow Hybrid?

( @izunias-meme-hole )

Oh well! To be honest, this is not an unreasonable assumption, since Wet Nurse is herself a Great One, as proven by the trophy after defeating her, and we know how that goes :p

(Just heads up because you are probably not familiar with my style of Bloodborne lore posts, I always use raw text from retranslation guide by Last Protagonist ( x ) to not lose any nuance! If only we could have the same for other Soulsborne games... т.т)

I, on the other hand, think that her capturing Mergo had a different connotation! A wet nurse is a person that (breast)feeds an infant instead of their mother for one reason or another, and in this case we can't tell the specifics of how she is nurturing Mergo, only that she does! As description above states, the creation of Nightmare of Mensis is doing of Mergo, so, in this case, Wet Nurse is nurturing this pocket of the Nightmare itself! As for her motivation to do so? There is an easily missed dialogue in Fishing Hamlet:

Victims in there are praying to "bloodless ones" to curse the hunters on behalf of Kos and her baby, so, "bloodless ones" whoever they might be have the power over Nightmare Realm somehow! Perhaps, the Hunter's Nightmare was not the curse of Kos at all? But rather, answer to the curses:

And here is the thing:

Wet Nurse herself is the bloodless Great One! All of them bleed either 'paleblood', normal red blood, or both! Off the top of my head, another instance of spilling ash instead of blood are Keepers of the Old Lords. And there is more to it:

She has internal name 'Lesser Demon of Death and Darkness'! (Internal names from this ( x ) page) I am not quite sure whether this means that there is THE crow-like Great One of bigger importance and she is only one of the lesser ones, or it refers to the fact that she doesn't 'own' the Nightmare Realm but is only one of the inhabitants, like Amygdalae. Maybe it is both! 'Darkness' seems to refer to Nightmare Realm, after all!

Her being crow-like Great One is also an important detail, as there is superstition/belief in Old Hunters (and Yharnamites in general?) that crows have connection with another realm and can deliver the souls of the deceased in Hell or Heaven! So, I think that Wet Nurse is either one of the crow-like Great Ones doing this sort of judgement, or THE crow being of all crows x)

......and I had this idea long before I touched Dark Souls with ten yards stick, but now I am convinced that her crow theme has to do with themes of justice. xD She might be an Eldrich Velka, or at least someone close in importance!!

Wet Nurse is also an interesting Great One because she is weirdly Pthumerian with humanoid build, her weapons and style, sharing a duplication spell with Queen Yharnam and accessories! My idea on why it is is that she "descended" to Pthumerians once in an attempt to help them, and they taught her their culture and how to function closer to their plane. And what she did was sacrificing her fire to grant Pthumerians their pyromancy abilities, so they could survive the scourge of beasthood and other curses they inflicted:

She had no blood, but she had fire! I will link my other post about how it seems that Nightmare Realm was once set ablaze ( x ), but this is where I think Pthumerians gained their pyromancy, the fire within THEIR blood! Wet Nurse didn't believe that ALL humanity (Pthumerity? xD) deserved curses and death over sins of just a group (and these headcanons are for another day but yes I have the full map of what exactly happened in Loran and others).

So, now her attitude seems to have taken the turn to the worse, because Mensis Ritual guarantees that scourge of hunt and beasts (for most people) or insanity (for the 'insightful' ones) will never end no matter what is done:

It is an easily missed bit but yeah, as long as Mergo is active, "just stopping drinking that yeeyee ass blood" will NOT save Yharnam! I always compare it with the sort of sound-wave that cannot be heard (here because of Rom's concealment... until later) but yet still effects everyone in its range physically!

My current explanation as to why Wet Nurse now nurtures a curse for everyone is because of her wrath at humanoids (humans, still-living Pthumerians and mixed species like Vilebloods) not having learned from the history! It was one thing when humanoids made a huge mistake when they were still young, but all these Old Hunters and Tomb Prospectors and clerics and scholars had ALL information in the world to learn what happened and what to not mess with, and what did they do? RIGHT, they decided to repeat the EXACT SAME MISTAKES, hoping that THIS time it will turn out different and they "got it" fdsjfdhsfsdh

So, as a Great One, she thinks on a different plane that maybe involves expecting too much from humanoids. Or maybe she is right to give up all hope on us..? Funny enough, this unites her with Micolash who basically went "fuck you noobs I am out" on humanity as a concept XD

In short yeah, I think that this is her motivation to hold onto Mergo: to nurture them, and thus nurture the curse. I am considering the idea that sacrificing her fire as Hellish Crow ensured she could not have children now, so since she did that for Pthumerians and Pthumeru Ihyll was the center of it, Mergo was sort of a promised "compensation". Like, maybe they agreed that one day Queen Yharnam will offer her baby to her and since Wet Nurse is a 'demon' it of course would not be by pleasant means. It is fair price for survival of their species, no? :p I am just not sure whether I want to press the 'demon' part more or the 'crow-like god of justice and judgement' more. Just as always, it can be both!

________________________

Bonus: I like the idea for her name being Idola!

"Idola will be the judge!" is a strange line, considering there is otherwise no mention of anyone like that! But if we follow theme about the crows being connected with judgement, and Wet Nurse herself is 1) a crow-like Great One and 2) a "bloodless one" who CAN answer prayers for revenge/curse/justice/etc, why not her?

Again, maybe 'Eldrich Velka' as I call this is another being of much bigger importance who IS Idola, and Wet Nurse is just a lesser servant (?) of that being, but why not place the context on the character who IS here rather than someone never seen!

[trashworldblog]

WATCHERINAS!!!

VOTE SHANE MADEJ FOR ULTIMATE FUNNY MAN!!

HERE!!

creator of many memes

pretends to be a demon, just for the bit (or is it a joke?)

he's created an entire universe just from some png animations and some story he came up while he drove to work. and has made some BANGER SONGS!! but the music doesnt stop there...

AND THATS JUST HIS BUZZFEED DAYS

What is he doing now?

["served cunt" image made by the wonderfully hilarious @joyful-soul-collector thank you for the comedic art i love this photo so much /gen]

Crafting a puppet show that teaches history, has deep lore, and the main bit is that his best friend (ryan bergara) cannot win. ALSO!! THERE ARE SONGS!!! SANG BY PUPPETS

[s5 puppet history spoilers next paragraph]

he is SO committed to the bit that in the 5th season (yes, the 5th season, the show has only been ongoin for 3 years) he created a whole arc where the professor timetravels, has a dinosoar family, ryan meets the genie, and a hologram version of the professor has kidnapped ryan and been pretending to be the professor for the whole season!!

(ive hit max image number but I STILL HAVE MORE POINTS)

Hes also still ghost hunting with ryan on ghost files! he fought a ghost, had a nice chat with the babadook, and got called a nerd by a ghost (and also been being a little shit by hiding the walkie talkie from ryan, and has been playing with haunted dolls)

hes been exploring this weird and wonderful world!! and been falling on his ass and eating fun things! hes failing compitions! and dancing!

HE ALSO HAS A FUNNY LITTLE CAT NAMED OBI

(stands for orange boy, he's an orange little guy :D )

VOTE SHANE MADEJ FOR ULTIMATE FUNNY MAN!!

also if he wins i will send him a trophy that I am currently working on :D

[according2thelore]

would kill to see es and ls sam and dean sit around and talk about john winchester lmao

OOF

i mentioned this super briefly in one of the posts but i think this would be such a point of contention for all of them, lol.

if this were S1 sam&dean, sam would see this as such a betrayal from his older self, because LS!Sam&Dean have settled into a lightly critical, fond idea of john. yeah, he was kind of intense, but he protected us. he did the best he could, even if we grew up without certain things. they don't do anything to deconstruct their relationship/the ideals he instilled/his low points. he existed, and he was our father, so he was good.

it's easier to love john from afar.

and ES!Sam, who still carries so much fire and anger towards john for stanford and the childhood that was stolen from him, would see LS!Sam's passive--if not effusively loving, then content--remembrance of john to be a betrayal of the highest order. it's not that ES!Sam never thought they'd forgive john, but the fact that sam seems so beaten down in other aspects too makes him furious. who is this coward that rolls over for dean and dad and the hunt?

if this were S2-3 sam&dean, i think dean would have more to say to his older self. because in S2-3, we see a lot more resentment for john coming out. in the "i was there for sam, he never was, dad was a bastard." scene, the impala-destroying scene, and john telling dean to kill sam, we see ES!Dean has a lot of unresolved fury towards him. to my recall, LS!Dean is still a little more bitter (trying to let adam out of the life/"what did dad do for your birthday?", "he was a great dad" from mary and dean's face after, "i never was [a child]") but he's still very clearly pro-john. we even see ES!Sam soften towards dad in the wake of his death, where ES!Dean is all shards.

a LS!Dean that is complimentary of their father and so far removed from the betrayal of being asked to kill sam would terrify ES!Dean. this almost loving complacency to what--to ES!Dean--is the worst thing he's ever been asked to do, and in the lead-up to his deal coming due (bc dad, in some part, failed them), would be a betrayal of what dean stands for. he understand the kneejerk reaction to defend and love dad, but it still irks him.

they would view the phrase "he did his best" VERY DIFFERENTLY.

ES!Sam/Dean would maybe even see it as a lie. dad could have done more. he could've talked to sam and dean about anything. he could've prepared them better, he could've been more transparent, less punitive, less angry, less goddamn drunk. "dad did his best," is wrong. he forced dean into a boy's home because he stole food. he died before he could apologize for any of it, and gave dean the biggest burden of his life.

LS!Sam&Dean would see it as the truth. dad wasn't perfect, and sometimes he wasn't good, but he really did his best. he wasn't capable of more. he was punitive, and occasionally cruel, and didn't do anything for their birthdays or christmas. but it was literally the best he was capable of. was john "a perfect father?" no. but they've grown the perspective to see that he was really trying. i mean, he kept sam's soccer trophies, and he loved them. but he was a man obsessed, and there's only so much he's capable of.

i think that conversation between LS!Sam&Dean and ES!Sam&Dean could go a lot of different ways. i think it would be tense and VERY defensive. and LS!Sam&Dean might've gotten protective over john's memory as the years have gone by, so this open hostility from their younger selves chafes. it's easier to love a dead man, after all.

YIKES this got away from me lol!

but you're so right, anon!!!! this ask makes me wild! this is just my perspective on how the boys see john as the seasons go on, you're totally valid in your own! but YES!!!! i think this is a topic they'd have to navigate very carefully, which is not ES!Sam's, LS!Sam's, ES!Dean's, or LS!Dean's speciality, lmao.

thank you for this lovely ask anon! i am kissin u on both cheeks!!!!!! <3

-lizzy

[cilil]

Day 4 ~ Friendship & Alliance

𓂃🖋 Characters/pairings: Celegorm x Aredhel 𓂃🖋 Synopsis: Aredhel has an idea for the next Feast of Horns. Celegorm is quite taken by it 𓂃🖋 Warnings: / 𓂃🖋 Oneshot (~550 words) | AO3

Tyelko, 

I have an idea for the next Feast of Horns. 

I assume I neither have to ask if you will be participating as well nor which role you are going to take — we will be hunters, of course — so: 

The best way to prove oneself as the best among the Hunters is to catch the greatest prey, and none could be greater than Lord Oromë himself. Yes, he will be among the Hunters as well most likely, and either of us may not be fast or strong enough, but together I bet we have a chance. 

Of course we could never overcome one of the Great Ones in battle, but thankfully Lord Manwë has decreed that no violence shall be used against one another. Why not take advantage of the Valar's own rules? 

It wouldn't be the first time a Hunter chose different game than the Hunted either, if I may remind you of certain incidents. 

Is the great Tyelkormo brave enough to join me on my quest? I would enlist the help of Artanis otherwise, though I would prefer to have a companion I am used to hunting with by my side. 

Let me know what you think. Írissë

Tyelkormo smirked to himself when he read the note Írissë had sent him, cleverly placed inside his quiver — hidden from unsuspecting eyes, yet a place he would undoubtedly check while readying his gear for the next hunt. 

Her suggestion was bold to say the least, but he had never been one to doubt or hesitate. In fact, the mere thought of hunting Oromë together with Írissë sent a rush of adrenaline through him — Tyelkormo could already imagine his surprise, likely followed by a graceful, benevolent acceptance of their challenge. The Huntsman of the Valar was not known to be overly formal, nor did he care much about rank and status; his hunters were his pack, his to protect and cherish, and they had taken advantage of his fondness for them before. 

Not to mention the admiration of their peers if they managed to take a trophy from him. Tyelkormo could already imagine making necklaces out of Oromë's antlers for himself and Írissë and how lovely they would look combined with the ones he had gifted them to wear for the hunt. 

Dropping his quiver and leaving his gear as it was, he pocketed the note and went back to his room to write a response. 

Írissë, 

I accept your challenge. You can count on me for both support and secrecy regarding your plan. 

Join me on a hunt before the Feast of Horns as soon as you can, so that we can talk in private and come up with a strategy. I shall postpone the one I had planned for that purpose. 

If you are thinking about possible strategies already — which I know you are, and I will be as well — do keep in mind that we may have to compete with Lady Vána too if she chooses to be part of the hunt, as she has done in past years. 

I am looking forward to hearing from you.  Tyelkormo 

Pleased with his response, Tyelkormo folded the paper. Today's trip would take him to his uncle's house instead, and he already knew where he was going to hide the note for Írissë to find. 

Thanks for reading! ♡

Note on names: While Celegorm is often known as Turko for short, due to his father-name Turcafinwë, I like to think that Aredhel at least prefers Tyelkormo and to shorten it instead (to Tyelko).

The Feast of Horns headcanons can be found here.

taglist: @elanna-elrondiel @i-did-not-mean-to @saintstars

[thismagicintheair]

I have feelings and they are currently all about #Chenford

I want to start by saying that I am so thankful and grateful for such an incredible Season 5.  I have to admit I was not here for it from the start.  I am one of those viewers who was scrolling through Tim Tok one day and for whatever reason my FYP ended up with quite a bit of Rookie and Chenford scenes mainly from 5x01 and the apartment scene got me instantly hooked.  I immediately closed the app, googled the show, found that the entire series was on Hulu and dived head first into the greatest binge watch of my life.  Yes I started the show mainly and specifically for #Chenford ( I thought I was going to get them from the start only to find out the romantic aspect of Tim & Lucy didn’t start until Season 5) but stayed because it quickly became such a comfort show.  I sat day after day enjoying and continuing my binge watch of the show to be quickly caught up all the way throughout season 5 so I can become a live viewer for when the show returned after the winter break in January!

Sometimes I wish I was a viewer from the very beginning so I could have been there from the start to watch the natural progression of Tim and Lucy throughout the 5 years/5 seasons instead of bingeing their entirety in 2 months.  I have to give props to all of the OG fans who did that- you knew that #Chenford were coming from miles away and to sit through one of the best slow burns of TV over the course of 5 years deserves all the trophies in the world!

With all of that being said, I am just a viewer like everyone else, so my opinion/ thoughts really hold nothing, but I do want to express them or else they will stay bottled in and I will literally explode.

I have absolutely loved the progression of #Chenford not only in Season 5, but of them throughout the whole series.  I could cover how they evolved season by season, but I mainly want to focus on the ending of Season 4 and all of Season 5.  Alexi/the writers were right in waiting so long to make #Chenford into a romantic relationship.  I truly don’t think it would have been as successful and meaningful if they dove head first into the romantic side of them after hearing thats what the fans wanted.  I think one of the main reasons they have been so successful in the romantic side of the relationship in season 5 is because of everything that they went through seasons 1-4 being friends.  They truly learned everything about each other, the good the bad and the ugly.  

4x21 and 4x22 are the episode that changed it all for them in terms of feelings.  The turning point for Lucy in 4x21 was watching Tim fake propose to Ashley; her reaction wouldn’t have been so visceral if Tim was only a friend.  I think it was evident at that point that he meant much, much more to her.  The turning point for Tim was in 4x22 after their practice kiss.  It was like a bolt of lighting crashing over him watching him realize just how much more Lucy means to him.

Which brings us to Season 5.  Not only did Season 5 give us some of the best storylines and writing but of course if gave us what we all have been waiting for, #Chenford. Season 5 started off with a bang; the writers knew exactly what they were doing coming back from a summer hiatus with 5x01. I think over the course of 5x01 to 5x07 they knew themselves that they had feelings for the other, but I don’t think either of them realized that their feelings were mutual.  Which leads us to one of the best episodes of the entire series, 5x08, “The Collar”. This episode changed the entire course of their relationship.  I am thankful the writers made Chris come on so strong to Lucy with pushing for house hunting because it made Lucy take a step back and made her actually sit and think on her feelings for not only Chris but Tim as well.  Does she feel for Chris what she knows she’s been feeling for Tim for quite some time? No, and the answer is evident throughout the entire episode.  She was dismissive and cold towards Chris where as she was open and honest with Tim and lets not forget to mention that it was all talked about in the shop which was a big no-no for Tim in the start of their friendship. After Tim’s, “Lucy, you deserve someone who is worth the effort” and Lucy’s, “He’s great, he’s just not…” I think it clicked for the both of them with their “Oh” moment.  In that shop after those words were spoken, they just knew.  When they sat down in the precinct parking lot and admitted their feelings to each other (which we all watched 536 times) was a long time coming. I also think the events of the day helped push them too that conversation, not truly living and being honest with themselves until they are honest with each other.  Who would’ve thought the Tim we watched in Season 1 would be the same Tim we just watched take a big, deep breathe and ask Lucy out to dinner.  It was all in, now or nothing.  Lucy’s quick ‘yes’ followed by immediate hesitation in no way reflects her feelings for Tim.  It’s literally her wanting to be a decent human and wanted to do things the right way and break things off with Chris so she can go into a proper relationship with Tim the right way. All I can think about is each of their smiles as I am typing this up!!!

Fast forward to after the break with the back half of Season 5 and we get all of #Chenford’s first: first date, first kisses, first time all within a 3 span episode and they were some of the best episodes we could have gotten.  But then the momentum shifts between them and it is noticeable it is a shift that was necessary.  Being an avid Twitter user, especially on #TheRookie Twitter, it was talked about; a lot.  “Why aren’t we getting more #Chenford kisses?”, “Why do Tim and Lucy barely hold hands?”, “Why aren’t they in every scene of every new episode?” only a few of hundreds of other tweets made about the progression of Tim & Lucy’s relationship. The main issue for a lot of fans being why we don’t get to see on screen between Tim & Lucy what we saw on screen between Lucy and Nolan.  The relationship between John and Lucy was never meant to last, so they did with that as they pleased.  Tim & Lucy are meant to last. As much as we LOVE having relationship #Chenford on our screen, I think a lot of the fans have forgotten that this isn’t the “Tim and Lucy show”.  To its core, it is about John Nolan, yes it did veer away from him being the main focus in later seasons but there are more characters to see and storylines to tell than that only of Tim and Lucy.  

What we saw of #Chenford in Season 5B was that of a real relationship.  We watched them at work, we watched them off- duty, we watched them with Tamara and with their co-workers.  We watched them be in a romantic relationship.  I personally couldn’t have asked for anything more.  I would take the conversations that they had between each other over a kiss any day.  We have never seen Tim be so open and vulnerable with anyone in this show, ever.  But here is is telling Lucy that if he looses her, his pain and everything that he went through (assuming with Isabel) will all be for nothing (screams internally)!!!!!!!!!!!  Give me the raw, the deep, the vulnerability, the openness!!! Just like in any relationship in the real world, it won’t work if there is no communication.  Why have #Chenford worked so well romantically, because every next big step they take, there is open communication continually between them.  At the end of the day, we have no control over what has happened with the story progression of Tim and Lucy and we still won’t have any control over it for Season 6.  The only thing that we can have is gratefulness.  We could still be in the pining era of #Chenford, as great as that was I will gladly take full blown relationship era of them every chance that I get.

With a brand new renewed Season 6, I can’t wait to see what S6 will have in store for not only every character but of course for #Chenford.  It will be the first season where we will start with Tim & Lucy being in an already established, loving relationship.  That’s not to say the entirety of S6 should only be rainbows and butterflies between them because that would be 100% unrealistic.  I fully expect for more ups and downs, or in better terms: angst, to come our way regarding our favorite on screen couple, but I don’t think anything will be the breaking point for them.  But I also do think that our expectations of what we want to see on our screens wont be high either as the newness of #Chenford won’t be the main focus anymore, nor should it be.  And I say that in the best way possible. Who knows how Season 6 will start, or even when it will start (Support Our Writers!!), but I will be seated happily waiting for it! In the meantime, a summer re-watch of #TheRookie will commence while also reading some of the best fan-fiction ever written!

The Rookie has easily become one of my favorite shows with Tim and Lucy being one of the best on screen relationships I have ever watched.  I truly am so thankful for Tik Tok which brought me into one of the best, most welcoming fandoms I have ever been a part of!

[scarletsaphire]

There wasn’t anything Valerie wanted to do less on a warm August day than listen to her dad talk business with the Fenton freaks, but since she didn’t have much of a choice, she might as well make the most of it. She can get some enjoyment out of messing with Danny, and he seems so nervous about the weird hole in the basement wall. It’s just harmless fun, right?

--

My second fic for @phicphight! This one is a prompt fill for @kinglazrus and @heartbeatslows. The prompts it fills will be at the bottom under the fic.

Valerie knew she was an important person. She was smart, and pretty, and more importantly, she was popular. All of those things meant that she had a dozen better things to do during one of her last weeks of summer vacation than follow her dad around. Unfortunately for her, sneaking out to a party at midnight got her grounded, and now he wouldn't let her out of his sight. So while all of her friends were at the mall or the park, she was here. At the Fenton's residence.

She definitely didn't see the point in her being here, but even her fathers goal was a mystery. The Fenton's were famous for being crazy and weird, with their stupid jumpsuits and van and house. Their kids were better, but not by much. She didn't know Jasmine all that well, other than being the name on every spelling bee championship trophy in the middle school, but Valerie did know Danny. They'd been in the same class for years, after all. It didn't mean that she liked him at all. He was weird, just like his parents were. That's why he hung out with the other weirdos, far away from Valerie and her friends.

Her dad didn't seem to understand any of that, because here she was, sitting on their weird, lumpy couch, pointedly not meeting Danny's eyes, while her dad talked technological nonsense with the jumpsuit clad freaks. Exactly what she wanted to do on a Thursday afternoon.

Jack wasn't currently showing off a pile of scrap he was referring to as the Fenton Thermos. "With this bad boy, any spook in sight will be sucked up and locked away, never to be seen or heard from again!" He exclaimed, pointing the cylinder in every direction as if it was some kind of weapon. "It's not functional yet, but when it is they'll be sorry!"

Valerie's dad nodded politely, just as he had done for the past thirty minutes. "That truly is fascinating, Mr. Fenton, but as I said before, I am here on business. You contacted Axion Labs about a new security scanner design?"

"Oh, yes!" Maddie said. "The Fenton Scanner! I had nearly forgotten we'd installed that in the OPs Center!"

"Just like you've forgotten the last six times he's mentioned it," Valerie muttered under her breath.

"Yes, well, I'm here to see it."

"Yes, of course! We are just so scatterbrained today, isn't that right dearest?"

Jack nodded. "It has been a rough few days, what with the portal not working and everything, but-"

"Well, that truly is tragic," Damon interrupted. "Hopefully, Axion can make your day with a new contract. For the Fenton Scanner, which I still need to see."

"Oh of course!" Maddie said, standing from the chair she'd been sitting in. "We can lead the way." She made her way to the stairs, pausing briefly behind the couch. "You two just hang out here while we give Mr. Damon the whole tour, okay?"

"A tour really isn't necessary, Mrs. Fenton," Damon replied hurriedly, but Jack cut him off with an arm around his shoulder.

"Nonsense! You are a guest in our home, and you should be treated to the famous Fenton Hospitality!" Jack said, steering Damon to the stairs.

Valerie looked up from her nails for the first time in ten minutes. "Daddy, please don't leave me here!"

Damon shot her an apologetic look over Jack's shoulder. "I'll be down in a few minutes, sweetheart. I know you can find something to talk about until I'm back." With that, he was led up the stairs, Maddie following close behind.

The silence sat thick and awkward for a few moments before Danny broke it. "So, how about-"

Valerie cut him off instantly with a raised hand mere inches from his face. "Don't talk to me. Freak."

"I am not a-"

"Oh you totally are, don't even try that. I mean, look at this place," Valerie gestured at the entire house. "Only freaks and nutjobs live in places like this. You're just lucky you didn't get the nutjob from your parents too."

"They aren't nutjobs!" Danny protested again, stronger than before.

Valerie leveled her gaze at him. "Really? They spend all that time building a glorified soup carrier that doesn't even work, and they aren't nutjobs?"

"Some of their inventions work..."

"Like what? The 'Fenton Scanner' my dad's contractually obligated to look at? The failure of a portal they mentioned?"

"That's not fair," Danny mumbled. "You haven't even seen the portal."

Valerie stood and put her hands on her hips in one fluid, practiced motion. "Then show me."

"I- But we're really not supposed to-"

"What, not supposed to show off wannabe inventions to people with common sense?"

Valerie could see the way Danny's jaw set as he stood up too. "Fine then."

Valerie smirked to herself as she followed Danny down the basement stairs. Sure, goading someone like this wasn't nice, but it was fun, and it wasn't like hurting Danny's feelings mattered any. It was just something to pass the time.

She did regret it once she reached the bottom of the stairs. Val had seen plenty of villain lairs in movies, and with the metal flooring and walls, piles of gears and gizmos piled haphazardly on desks, and the large, ominous hole in the wall on the opposite side, she felt like she'd walked directly onto a movie set.

Danny had only walked a few steps into the room before stopping and turning around, so Val stopped at the bottom of the stairs. "There, you've seen the portal. Are you happy now?"

Valerie peered over Danny's shoulder back at the hole in the wall. She assumed that's what he was talking about, but while it was definitely creepy as hell, it definitely wasn't a portal. "I mean, unless it's a portal to some dirt and rocks, I stand by what I said."

"It's not-" Danny took a deep breath, trying to stabilize his voice. "It doesn't just go into the ground. It has a back and everything."

"It sure doesn't look it," Valerie replied. "It just looks like a mess." She was right; now that her eyes had adjusted more to the dim light of the basement, she could see wires running along the ground of the portal, panels hanging by loose screws, and different colored scrap metal lining the walls. "I'm surprised your house hasn't burnt down yet."

"It's safe."

"Yeah?" Valerie said, raising her eyebrow.

"Yeah."

"Then prove it. Go inside."

Danny hesitated. "I don't really think I should."

"Yeah, because it's a fire hazard, just like the rest of this place. I'm getting out of this death trap."

Valerie had just enough time to make it one single step up before Danny replied. "Fine. Fine! I'll go in there." Valerie turned back around to meet his eyes. "Only on the condition that if I do, you'll stop badmouthing me and my family." Danny's hand was stretched out in front of him, clearly intended for her to shake on the deal.

Valerie took the hand, making as little contact as she could. "Deal." She didn't actually intend to honor that deal, but he didn't need to know that. Besides, if he tripped or something, it would be fun to tell the rest of the A-Listers about. Provided she was willing to admit she'd taken even one step into Fentonworks.

She'd just decided that she'd only tell them if it was really funny when Danny had pulled a jumpsuit on, matching his parents in all but color. It even had his dad's stupid face stuck on the front, and Valerie couldn't help but laugh at it. Danny pulled it off immediately, but the bright red flush on his cheeks didn't fade.

Valerie followed behind Danny at a distance, stopping a good few feet away from the mouth of the machine. It was larger than she thought it was, and with the wires hanging off the roof, she couldn't shake the image of a gaping mouth out of her head. Danny was clearly just as trepidatious as she was, but with one glance back at her, he crossed the threshold of the portal.

Danny's footsteps echoed off of the metal floor, ringing out far louder than they should have. One after the other, he walked further into the portal, until all at once they ceased and time seemed to slow down. He'd tripped, just like Valerie had been hoping for. He'd tripped, and his hand went back to catch himself, and the click of a button resounded far louder than the footsteps ever had. Time seemed to fall down to a standstill as Danny turned around to look at her, eyes wide with fear, and she felt her own opening to match.

The whirring of electricity grew louder, deafeningly loud, and Valerie opened her mouth to try and say something, even though she didn't know what. Whatever it was never came, because in the next instant, the portal flooded with green swirling energy and light, blinding in the near darkness, and Danny's echoing, piercing scream erased every thought Valerie might have had.

She didn't know how long she stood there. She didn't know how long she stared into the bright green, but it had to have been a while because every time she blinked the imprint of the portal was overlaid on her eyelids. She didn't know how long his screams echoed. She didn't know when the screaming finally stopped, only that it didn't stop bouncing around her brain over and over and over again.

She did know when a silhouette appeared in the green, if only because it was something different. Her heart jumped into her throat as whatever it was shuffled through the green, the outline becoming more defined as it came closer and closer to breaking free from the barrier of the portal. Valerie took one step back, but her feet wouldn't cooperate. She stumbled over her own ankle, falling back to the metal floor. She swallowed the yelp of pain; she didn't want to get the attention of whatever the thing in the portal was.

Valerie reached backwards, pulling herself further backwards. Her back hit metal with a soft thud, the contents of the desk falling to the ground with a crash. She needed to keep backing away, but her legs wouldn't move and the thing was getting closer. She wasn't going to be able to get up and run before the thing made it all the way out.

She grabbed one of the piles of junk that fell off the table, a hunk of something with exposed wires on one side. It didn't look like anything she recognized, but that didn't stop her from holding it back over her shoulder, poised to throw the moment she got a clear shot.

It emerged from the portal with the same shambling pace it had moved through the portal with. Valerie let the pile of junk fly, but the thing ducked, falling to the floor underneath it. She watched it in terror as she fumbled for whatever else she could get her hands on.

The thing was... oddly familiar. She recognized the style of the hair, and the pattern on the jumpsuit, and the shape of its face. If it wasn't for the weird colors if it wasn't for the fact that she had just heard him die she would've thought it was Danny.

He didn't get up.

Valerie grabbed the pile of junk her hand had landed on and climbed back to her feet on shaky legs. With the thing held over her shoulder (she could've sworn this was just a baseball bat, but considering that it was down here, she didn't trust that) she made her way cautiously towards the probably not Danny.

The closer she got, the less sure she was that it wasn't him. The similarities weren't just a trick of the distance; every single thing looked the same, just as if someone had given him a paint job. By the time she was standing directly over him, she was almost certain that it was, in fact, Danny Fenton.

Valerie did the only logical thing she could think of. "Are you alive?" she hissed, nudging his shoulder with the tip of her shoe. At least, she tried to nudge him. Her foot met no resistance, and her foot passed clean through his shoulder and into his neck before she drew it back with a start.

She dropped back down to her knees. Maybe this was just a hallucination of some kind. It made some sort of sense, probably, but when she reached out with her hand to check again, she met flesh. Cold, clammy flesh.

"Oh my god he's dead," she muttered.

As if to prove her wrong, Danny moved, curling further into himself. Valerie jumped back again, watching as he rubbed at his own eyes before opening them. Their glow matched the portal behind him.

"What happened?" he croaked out as soon as he looked at Valerie. 

"Damn if I know," she replied. She was surprised by how steady her voice came out. "But hopefully it never happens again."

"Are you okay?" Valerie didn't see him climb to his feet. One moment he was on the ground, and the next he was standing upright.

"You are definitely not the one who should be asking that," Valerie replied. "Have you seen yourself?"

Danny looked at her blankly for a moment, before going to some device on the side of the room. Valerie could tell the exact moment he saw his own reflection, as his hand went up to his face and hair. "What the fuck."

"Yeah," Valerie agreed. "What the fuck."

There was a flash of white light, and when Valerie could open her eyes again, Danny was still standing at the machine, this time with his normal black hair and blue eyes and the same white jumpsuit he'd walked into the portal with.

"Um." Danny turned back around to look at her. "I think we should keep this a secret."

Valerie nodded. "Yeah. I think we should." This time she fully intended to keep her promise.

--

Prompts:

kinglazarus - Roleswap. A significant character in the show is replaced with someone else. How does this change things? (ex., someone else is the Red Huntress instead of Valerie, or Tucker's dad is the English teacher instead of Lancer)

heartbeatslow - Valerie Gray finds herself.

[autumnwoodsdreamer]

Shadows Dancing on the Walls

Chapter Two: The Countess

Summary: Sabine’s morning, a kitchen incident, conversations, and much introspection

Rating: General

Words: 7520

Characters: Sabine Wren, Kanan Jarrus, Hera & Jacen Syndulla, Depa (OC), Chopper, Din & Grogu Djarin, Ezra Bridger

Relationships: Din & Ezra, Din & Grogu, Din/Sabine, Kanan/Hera

[Read on ao3]

I am a foreigner longing for a home that’s mine

But I don’t speak the language

And I can’t read the signs

No I can’t read the signs

. . . . .

The helmet on the floor gleamed in pure silver, every last trace of white and cadmium yellow abolished. The remains of the viewfinder stalk, the shards of the Y-visor, all the burnt-out and half-disintegrated innards—the electronics, wires, sensors, modulator, padding and lining—lay on a low table nearby, clustered close together as if rallying support from their bruised and battered kin.

The helmet stood alone, gutted and skinned.

Gone was the paint.

Gone was the carbon scoring.

Gone was every vestige of identity and history.

The only thing that could not be pulled out or washed off were the twin crests gently swooping up from the brow to adorn the crown.

Her mother told her the plumes were added to her helmet upon her coronation: a unique feature designed and bestowed upon her to announce her new station.

Sabine remembered the event; she had been just old enough to begin holding onto memories.

She remembered music. She remembered the beat of drums. She remembered unified voices. She remembered her mother’s dress: as silver as beskar, as sparkling and ethereal as Krownest’s first snow, as elegant as ever Sabine would see and never again.

She didn’t know if she remembered the ceremony so much or if the images scrolling through her mind were built from those fragments of memory and supplemented by secondhand descriptions from her elders. The facts were that someone respected in their clan returned her mother’s helmet to her, reforged and repainted, and the whole clan cheered.

The rest of her armour followed, though Ursa oversaw its forging personally and no great occasion accompanied the reception and addition of each piece. She melted down her cuisses and formed them into faulds. She softened the shape of her cuirass and reformatted her collar guards. And she stripped the mottled blue and grey scheme—the mark of her allegiance to Death Watch and the Nite Owls—and restored her Wren crest and colours.

Bright yellows, proud silvers and pure whites, molded into abstract feather designs.

She maintained those colours for the rest of her life, meticulously painting over every scratch and scuff of wear and tear.

She would have been mortified to see it as it had been when Hera presented it to Sabine, all scorched and scarred. For years, it had hung like a macabre trophy in Moff Gideon’s stateroom.

It’s good that it made its way back to you, Din had said and Sabine couldn’t argue with that because, yes, it was good; it wasn’t right for this beskar—for any beskar—to remain in the possession of those who hunted their people.

But it was so much more than just beskar.

It was a helmet.

It was the helmet of the Countess of Clan Wren.

It was her mother’s helmet.

For the last two or so hours, Sabine had been cleaning and stripping it bare and trying all the while to make peace with it, to accept it, grieve it, and let it be what it was.

An heirloom.

A crown.

A memory.

But her mind distracted her at every turn and she couldn’t entirely blame her haphazard, derailed thoughts on the fact she had decided to tackle this task in the dark pre-dawn hours.

She sat with her back to her unkempt bed and her knees tucked under her chin. Her back was tired of all this, of hunching and sitting on the tiled floor without support; her arms were cold where she had pushed her sleeves up to keep them out the way while working with the paint-stripper, and her head was stuck in that strange silent well of noise.

For months, she had avoided this task, even going so far as to purposely leave the helmet behind in the tower when they left for the Wild Space expedition. Now, carried by an insomniac whim, it was done.

It was done.

And she didn’t know what to do with the shell.

She could restore it—that was her first inclination.

She could melt it down into new armour—a noble rebirth.

She could leave it as it was.

Restoring it was the right thing to do but she couldn’t see much of a point in it—she had no intention of donning it; it would just end up adorning another wall.

Melting it down and reforging it would give it a new life, and it was within her rights to choose a transformed fate for it. But neither she nor Din needed any new armour, and while Grogu was a foundling, he hadn’t begun training yet—traditionally, a Mandalorian only received beskar upon commencement of their training and that didn’t start until they were well past infancy.

It seemed the helmet was destined to remain as it was, most likely headed for another noncommittal burial back in the tower

Sabine sighed.

She heard Kanan and Hera’s snores coming muffled down the hall and through her closed door. They were perfectly in sync, even in sleep.

She heard seabirds wake down on the shore and call out, only then noticing the sunrise pouring young, timid light between the slats of her blinds, tossing faint, growing embers on the helmet’s bare face.

She heard Depa’s little trills and babbles begin. It had been her wailing and screaming three hours earlier which woke Sabine in the first place but, as was custom, the terrors that plagued the little one at night had vanished with the sun and she was now, as she would be for most of the day, the world’s happiest, most agreeable baby.

That was it; the day began.

As Jacen’s door whooshed open and his light but unnecessarily rushed steps bolted down the hall, Sabine rose. She returned the helmet to its box for safekeeping while the refresher door opened and closed and the pipes clanged as water rushed through them.

After a beat, another door whooshed open and softer, more measured steps entered the hall, the weight and gait identifying Kanan. Depa’s bubbly but unintelligible chattering grew then faded, Kanan’s low, idle replies braiding with her little voice as the pair journeyed downstairs.

Sabine waited until she heard the pipes close and the drain settle before gathering her things and making to take her turn in the refresher.

Jacen raced past her in the hallway: still in pyjamas, green hair sticking up wild, eyes bright and alive. “Morning, Bean!” he chirped, but didn’t stop.

“Mornin’, Squishy,” Sabine returned, finding it impossible not to smile as he flew like a torpedo down the stairs, just a blur of bright colours.

She showered, dressed, and pinned her hair up in no great affair.

She emptied the bursting laundry hamper into a mesh bag, pulled the strings taut, hauled it out the refresher and sent it tumbling down the stairs ahead of her. It rolled, heavy and misshapen, and came to land wonkily on the tiles of the entrance hall, rolling to a drunken stop near the front door. She followed after it at a much more demure pace.

The downstairs hall held entrances to a study, a dining room, a smaller refresher, and then the conjoined kitchen and living room. The laundry was more or less a converted closet glued to the kitchen.

It wasn’t a big house but neither was it small; it was just the right size that the five of them (plus Chopper) strained but didn’t tear the seams. Sabine liked it that way—the Wren Stronghold on Krownest was a marvel of Mandalorian architecture but her small family got lost in the rooms and hallways, vast and copious as they were; and then, at the Imperial Academy, she and her classmates fit too perfectly, too precisely in the dorms and classrooms, filling space in the most hollow, perfunctory manner.

(Neither of those places existed today; not in anything but ruins and memories.)

Life in this house, though stationary and void of battle, was, in spirit, like life aboard the Ghost.

Jacen’s mile-a-minute chattering collided with the sound of cereal rattling in a bowl. Kanan’s contributions to the conversation—one word for every forty Jacen crammed in—carried softer and deeper, his tone still addled with sleep but warm and engaged, nonetheless. As Sabine retrieved the laundry bag and hefted it up, Jacen said something that brought out a rumble of a chuckle from his father.

She came through, the unmistakable smell of fish greeting her far too enthusiastically (it hadn’t yet become an aroma so familiar as to evade attention, even after two months’ worth of smelling the stuff daily).

Kanan stood at the counter, one arm employed holding Depa, his free hand busy stirring a bowl of heated fish paste, tendrils of steam flowing upwards and catching the sunrise flooding in through the windows dominating the wall facing the sea.

Jacen sat at the counter, filling (overfilling) his bowl with cereal, pouring in milk then struggling to stir the mass, little blue and brown ball-bearings escaping with every turn of the spoon.

Chopper was present, too, but still “asleep”—i.e. in standby mode, still docked in his charging station like a lazy Loth-cat.

“Hera sleeping in today?” Sabine asked.

“Rough night with the little one,” Kanan answered, his voice soft and somber as he hiked Depa up a notch on his hip.

“I’ll take her from you once I get this load started.”

Before Sabine slipped into the laundry room, she caught Kanan’s head shake. “Don’t worry; she’s fine.”

And she was.

She had a comfortable perch there in Kanan’s hold, her head resting on his shoulder, no doubt enjoying the lull of his heartbeat and the sound and feel of his voice. Sabine had memories of something similar: a much younger, much smaller version of herself held in her own father’s embrace, listening to once upon a time’s about their people and their traditions and their kings and soldiers and poets, all as lost as that embrace would one day be to her.

Depa twisted around as Sabine passed by, big black eyes locking on the bright pink mesh bag she carried.

“Nothing fun in here for you, Depa,” she told her.

“It’s just stinky clothes,” Jacen pitched in, scrunching his nose and putting silly emphasis on “stinky” to prompt a laugh from his little sister. When she offered one timid giggle, he repeated the word, exaggerating tone and expression until she was in a chuckling fit.

Sabine made quick work of starting the wash load, the routine mindless but satisfactory in its own way. As the water rushed to fill the machine and the smell of laundry soap permeated the air, she returned to the kitchen.

Like most houses dwelling along the water’s edge, this one touted an ample spread of glass along the side of the house facing the sea. Sunrise streamed in through the windows and sliding door, partially diffused through the curtains. Kanan hadn’t bothered to open them all; he didn’t need the light, so whatever had been opened had most likely been Jacen’s doing.

Sabine went to open the rest of the curtains, passing Chopper. He came online as she passed him, grumbling when she pulled back the curtains and brought the full golden rush of daylight into the space.

“It’s too early for this,” he moaned, unfurling his spindly arms and rubbing at his optics the way an organic being would rub the sleep out of their eyes—an absolutely unnecessary action for a droid. “Someone turn the sun off.”

“You don’t have to get up,” Sabine reminded him.

Chopper forced out a heavy, weary sigh that dragged his stout mechanical body down. “Too late for that.”

Sabine shook her head but let the droid be in his token misery.

“Air’s getting cold,” Kanan remarked, unseeing eyes flitting and blinking, face aimed towards the windows, painted in the mellow, warm sunlight while his one free hand scooped a spoonful of fish paste and brought it near Depa, leaving her to latch onto his hand and guide the spoon the rest of the way to her mouth.

Sabine hummed an idle agreement as she gazed out at the water, the surface changing colour to keep up with the sky. Subconsciously, she had her arms wrapped around her though the chill wasn’t all that unpleasant to her.

From their house, they had a panoramic view of the estuary, the eastern hills, and, to the north, the open sea and a bridge for speeders and pedestrians to cross from one shore to the other without having to go the long way through the city itself. Stepping outside and looking to the south, one would see the skyscraper skyline, but from inside the house, the city didn’t exist, just the water, the bridge, and the houses scattered over the hills.

Having lived on Lothal for over a decade—sporadically at times but still more often present than absent—the components that made up the view held no novelty to Sabine, but the angle, the perspective, and, to some degree, the situation had breathed rejuvenation into it.

There were also some new, unexplored things out there…

“Any visitors?” Kanan prompted, and Sabine didn’t have to turn around to see the crack of a smirk—she could hear it.

She breathed out a note of a laugh. “None today.”

“Good. They always tramp sand in and I just swept yesterday,” he grouched without any true bitterness.

Sabine’s gaze drifted and landed on the little dock bobbing in the middle of the estuary, seemingly unattached but securely, reliably anchored in place.

Din and Ezra’s little early morning ritual of jogging and swimming out to the dock together was endearing. Sabine was glad they had instituted it, even more glad that they had stuck to it.

The brothers long unknown to one another had struck their bond in a flash and a part of her had feared that something which started so easily, so quickly would not last—her strongest bonds with others had had tenuous beginnings, a fact she had misconstrued as a pattern to follow. But, as it had turned out, she needn’t have worried: as dissimilar as Din and Ezra were, they understood each other well, sometimes on a level that confounded everyone else.

Some mornings, she had woken early enough to spot them on the opposite shoreline; a good handful of times, they had covered the rest of the distance and come over.

Sabine couldn’t see them now, though she did scour the sea and the shore. There was no formality to the visits, no guarantee for their regularity, but still a part of her sank when she realized they wouldn’t be coming over today.

But like Kanan said, it was getting cold—they may have decided to let their routine hibernate.

“Uh, Dad?” Jacen piped up, a note of concern in his voice.

Sabine whipped around, musing banished and worry shooting high in the split second before she registered the situation.

Kanan had paused feeding Depa to fill the caf machine. He filled the tank with water and scooped spoonfuls of grounds into the machine.

Unfortunately, it was not only caf grounds going into the machine.

Three small bottles of spices floated in the air, wobbling as if held by an invisible, weak, unskilled hand. They tipped over and more spilled than sprinkled their vibrant contents into the tub of grounds.

Sabine’s gaze snapped to Depa.

She had her concentration trained on the spice bottles, one chubby little hand out to guide them like the conductor in an orchestra. She cooed, softly, contently, innocently, fascination and engagement bright in her glossy eyes.

“Depa, sweetie, can I have those?” Sabine asked, pitching her tone gentle and high, the way one just did with babies, and creeping closer with careful steps. Her first instinct was to gasp, her second was to tell her to stop, her third was to run over, but Sabine had lived long enough with Force-sensitives—one of which she had already gone through the tumultuous baby and toddler stage with—to know that startling them was just a plain bad idea.

She didn’t startle Depa.

But she did distract her.

And that was just as bad.

The moment Depa switched her gaze to Sabine, her control on the bottles fractured. In the same instant, Kanan clued in that something he couldn’t see was happening; just as he got the first syllable of a question out, the spice bottles dropped.

But they didn’t hit the floor or the counter.

They fell but then caught themselves, resuming their hovering just mere inches off the countertop. They hung there a moment, not wobbling at all, then they righted themselves and set down in a neat cluster.

Sabine breathed out in a rush and clapped a hand on Jacen’s shoulder. “Nice save,” she praised, her heart beating too fast.

“What’s going on?” Kanan asked, frowning deeply.

“Depa picked the spices up and was pouring them into the caf,” Jacen explained. “Didn’t you sense it, Dad?”

“No. I didn’t.” Kanan shook his head and then the frown melted away and he chuffed. “She’s sneaky,” he said, sounding impressed and proud.

Depa, for her part, just looked around and blinked, hairless brow pinched, not upset but not sure what was going on either.

Sabine came around the counter and surveyed the damage. Grainy powder of three different, distinct colours littered the area of the counter around the tub of caf grounds but the majority of the spices had made it to the grounds themselves, mixed in by Kanan’s oblivious scooping.

“I think this is my fault, actually,” she admitted as she inspected the spice bottles.

“How come?” Jacen asked.

“I made the caf yesterday. And, after I made everyone else’s, I made mine.”

“And you added spices,” Kanan concluded.

“I had Depa with me. And I showed her the different ones and let her try a pinch of ground sweet bark mixed with sugar.” Sabine held the pale brown spice bottle up and jiggled it to corroborate her story; Depa, being the shameless criminal that she apparently was, leaned over and reached for it, making a grabbing hand motion.

Kanan sighed. “How bad is it?” he asked, a bracing wince in his voice.

“Well… I won’t mind it, but you and Hera may not like it so much.”

“And we don’t have a new one?”

“That was the new one.”

Kanan shook his head again. “Depa, darling, I’m proud of you,” he said, kissing her forehead. “Your abilities and control are developing beautifully. But,” he held up a finger which would have come across more stern had she not squealed and grabbed it with her chubby hands, “messing with your dad’s caf—especially the first cup of the morning—is a capital offence.

“And Jacen?” He lifted his head to address the boy, his smile warming, his tone turning a little more serious. “Thank you. That really was a good save.”

The trip to the Azadis’ house was neither long nor complicated.

The most direct route was to cross the channel, but if one had no desire to get wet, they could carve a path along the lane to the main road, follow over the bridge, veer right down the first fork in the road and continue until they reached the house in the middle of the slanted street.

It was a quick drive; it was a much nicer walk.

Sabine set out at that point in the morning when the sun had climbed high enough to erase all shadow. It had found its energy at last and now shed so much warmth, the wintery warnings from the dawn hour were but an unbelievable memory.

Speeders whipped past in a truncated stream. It was the time of day when most people were already where they needed to be; the majority of the vehicles coming and going belonged to travelling professions: plumbers, repairmen, builders, cleaners, couriers—all those things that kept houses running, neighbourhoods spinning, and the world working like clockwork.

But there were others, too.

A powder pink speeder ambled along, fifteen notches slower than everyone else, a gaggle of chattering old ladies piled into the cab.

A bulky people-mover marched on down the road, a petite young woman at the wheel, two babies in padded seats in the row behind her.

A vehicle comprised of rust and flaking paint rattled along, a laid-back Xexto singing loudly with the radio, two arms casually resting out the window, one arm folded behind his head, one hand on the jury-rigged yoke.

It was nice to think she herself was one of them: just another citizen of Lothal—a long story, a lived life, but no greater and no lesser than her neighbour.

On the bridge, in the dips of the sounds of the passing speeders, the water below breathed and lapped. Seabirds nattered amongst themselves, their activity at a lull in this period between breakfast and lunch. As Sabine reached the street, a quiet embroidered with little scraps of ordinary noise from the houses fell over the scene.

Someone had a radio on.

Someone had friends over.

Someone had a very vocal Loth-cat.

And someone was talking.

She heard the deep but soft voice from a house over. Too far for words, it was like a mellow bass beat with calm strums on strings.

She came closer. At the point where she could hear him but not see him, she paused.

“It’s a retrofit. See? It wasn’t originally made with this part, and it can continue working without it, but it will work much better with it. So we’re adding it on. Retrofitting.”

A spluttering chitter replied, trying to mimic the polysyllabic word.

“Close enough,” Din said, a note of praise in the tossed out phrase, a shift in the volume of the tailend of the words painting him turning and walking a short way away.

Sabine continued her approach, not bothering to quieten the sound of her boots on the stone driveway.

Two green ears flicked up as a little head whipped around, so fast it seemed the little body clad in dungarees would go tumbling. But he remained where he was: sitting in the middle of a table coated in machine bits and pieces.

“Mah-ya!” he exclaimed, bright as the sun.

“Su’cuygar, ad’ika,” Sabine greeted him, a laugh threading through her voice.

Stationed in front of a bench set against the garage wall, Din raised and turned his head when Grogu spoke, the lines at the corner of his eyes drawing deeper when his gaze fell on her.

There was a smile but not a word, not immediately. His gaze shifted and something crossed his expression for a split second, there then gone in the same heartbeat, too subtle, too quick to be read.

Sabine came and set her satchel on a clear-ish spot on the table by Grogu. He glanced at it with an intrigued twitch of his ears but he didn’t touch it.

Though he and Depa seemed to be in the same life stage, they were parsecs apart when it came to maturity. Sabine had laughed the first time Din told her Grogu’s true age; while the idea of him being so much older than them both was a difficult concept to grasp, it was impossible to deny: there was a deep understanding in the little one’s gaze, a thoughtful measure to all his actions that only time and experience could install.

You couldn’t leave Depa sitting alone on a table—especially not one littered with nuts and bolts. The worst Grogu might do was play with things (if bored enough), but he knew better than to stick inedible items in his mouth and he was perfectly capable of climbing down himself.

And that was the thing: he could be somewhere else. He could leave, could wander back inside the house, find a toy, find a game, find someone unoccupied to entertain him. But he didn’t.

Where he was was where he wanted to be: by his father.

“Does he have you fetching spanners and holding lights for him again?” Sabine asked the kid, theatrically leaning down and cupping her hand around her mouth as if to keep the words between them.

Grogu giggled, picking up on her teasing tone. He pointed to Din, then he pinched his fingers together and tapped his temples as if something were coming out of his mind, then he pat his chest and motioned to something on the table near him, concerted chittering accompanying his signing.

“Oh, he’s teaching you, huh?” Sabine translated, scanning the table until she deciphered what looked like the guts of a very old speederbike engine strewn all over. (“Strewn” was a crude and ill-fitting adjective: Din’s set-up was achingly meticulous and neat, understandable and logical… but, much like the rest of his life, there was just so much going on that it looked, at first glance, like utter chaos).

“He’s a good student,” Din said, sounding just a tad defensive, as if she had somehow insinuated that his kid wasn’t smart enough to grasp the finer points of mechanical engineering.

“Yeah, but he weighs about as much as a meiloorun.” Sabine held her open hands out to Grogu; when he lifted his arms, she scooped him up and brought him in close so she could nuzzle him, forehead to forehead. “And he’s only fifty years old! Have a heart, buir.”

“Fifty-one.”

Sabine jerked her head up. “Pardon?”

Din shrugged, his attention aimed down as he rifled through a tray of bolts to find a match for the one already in his hand. He didn’t say anything right away but a little tick of his jaw assured he would, once he got the words together in his own mind.

“It’s… been about a year. Since I found him.” Another shrug and a tip of his head to his shoulder. “He was fifty then, so he should be fifty-one now.”

He said it in that soft but unadorned way of his, so easy to dismiss, so easy to read as indifferent and casual. But Sabine knew his true indifference and she knew when something meant so much more to him than he could put into words.

“Well, how about that,” Sabine said to Grogu. “A whole year of adventures together. I should’ve brought a cake.”

“What did you bring?” Ezra asked, appearing in the doorway linking the garage to the house.

“A gift.” Sabine nodded to her satchel in direction and permission.

“Ooh!” Ezra crooned, rubbing his hands together. “Sabine brought us a gift. Bet it’s gonna be so cool,” he mumble-sang and bobbed his head, his smile cracking into a grin when Grogu trilled along with the impromptu tune.

Din continued trying to find the bolt but his focus was not on the task. He twisted around, his hand searching the tray on autopilot while he watched Ezra open the satchel and pull out an item stowed without festivity in a plain brown flimsi bag.

He turfed the bag over and caught the contents, his curiosity and intrigue evaporating as a tub of caf grounds fell into his waiting hand.

“It’s caf,” he said, flatly.

“Yup.”

His eyes flicked up and locked on her with the most unimpressed expression. “This isn’t a gift, Sabine. This is groceries.”

“Ezra!” Din chided.

“It’s not even a full tub.” Ezra shook the caf, producing a fine rattling sound. “You gave us a half-finished tub?”

“Technically, it’s not half-finished. I have the rest at home.”

Ezra frowned. His blatant disappointment, she knew, was a joke, but his confusion was not. It was exactly the response she had hoped for, and she had had her fun, so she decided to let up and put him out of his puzzlement.

“Depa poured some spices into the caf this morning without Kanan noticing,” she explained. “It was either painstakingly try to remove the spices and salvage the caf, or just accept it, even out the ratios, and enjoy some interesting caf. It’s actually pretty good.”

“Thank you,” Din said, rushing to get it in before Ezra opened his mouth. He bowed his head in a nod. “That’s very kind of you to share.”

“Yeah. Thanks for giving us half of your spiked caf.”

“You don’t even drink caf,” Din reminded him.

“I do!”

“Three drops of caf under a cup of milk and honey doesn’t count.”

Ezra gasped dramatically and splayed a hand over his chest. “Oh, I’m sorry, I was not informed you had joined the ranks of the caf police. Do you make arrests as well, Officer Djarin?”

Din shook his head in a long-suffering manner and turned back to the tray as if to return to the task he had been distracted from, but Sabine caught his small smile.

“Alright, well, the kid and I will go put the groceries away,” Ezra declared, coming over to take Grogu from Sabine. “And you two can, I don’t know, discuss the weather or whatever it is you do when we’re out of earshot,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. He retreated into the house, his voice fading as he chattered on: “Change in season makes for fascinating subject matter, though. You can talk about how cold it is for at least eight minutes if you get creative.”

Quiet ebbed in, the suggested conversation topic mutually ignored.

Din continued his work. He had finally found the bolts he had been searching for but he abandoned them on a spare patch of the counter, moving over to what looked like a toaster, upturned and half dismantled, parked on a stretch of counter deeper in the garage.

To the untrained eye, it looked like avoidance, but Sabine had learned the basic shades of him; he just needed a break, a bridge between one phase and another, a moment to shift gears. She had seen him stand in the thick of some of the most intense situations a man could face and not waver, she had seen him fight and fall and get up for the next round immediately, but when it came to these things—to conversation, to close, quiet, vulnerable moments with another person—uncertainty tainted everything he said and did.

“Your hair is up,” he remarked in a way not unlike how he said it had been a year since he found Grogu.

Self-consciously, Sabine touched the simple twisted bun as if confirming it was still there. “Yeah. It’s long enough for it now,” she said, her gaze flitting over the table, her mind cataloguing and naming nothing.

“It’s nice,” he said. “I like the, um…” he motioned to the back of his own head, roughly miming the action of fixing a bun in place with the accuracy of one who had never done any such thing.

“Clip,” Sabine supplied and added, without premeditation: “it was my mother’s.”

“Oh.” It was just a small word but his tone shifted drastically, from awkwardly trying to formulate a compliment to deeply sympathetic.

She reached back and undid the simple clasp, letting her hair escape. It only just reached her shoulders but it was the longest she had let it grow since she was a teenager—it was also the longest she had let it go without recolouring, her natural brown bleeding down through the violet in a way she didn’t dislike. She turned the clip over in her palm and when she held it out to show him, he left what he was doing without hesitation and came over.

“It’s beskar,” she told him as she gave it to him to look at more closely. He held it gingerly, as if it weren’t made of the most indestructible element known to the galaxy, tilting it delicately to let the light trace its feather design, outlined in yellow and grey. “My great-grandmother crafted it and it’s floated around since. My mother gave it to me before I left.”

She remembered the moment, clear and sharp.

The collected clans were gathering around Kryze, talk of better days filling the air. Sabine slipped away, quietly—with her duty fulfilled and her contribution complete, it was time to leave the picture and return to the family that still needed her.

But her silent, unseen exit was not to be.

Her family noticed and followed.

The preceding months hadn’t been the easiest, but they had finally laid their grievances to rest and rebuilt their bonds; their farewell this time carried far more emotion than her previous departure for the academy.

Her brother gave a bow of his head, told her she had done a great service to their people, but he glanced over her shoulder at the Kom’rk, the tilt of his chin and the hard flint in his eyes betraying his disagreement with her choice to leave.

(Ezra and Zeb would’ve teased her, then turned somber and sincere, finding something simple but profound and sweet to say before hugging her tight; even when they didn’t agree with her, they still believed in her.)

Her father embraced her, encouraged her to keep improving her art, and said he was proud of her without quite committing to saying it.

(Kanan did and said all that, too, but it was… different, coming from him. Warm, unreserved, humble—his praise came clumsily at times but never with the fear it would somehow depreciate his own works and accomplishments.)

And her mother. She had much to say; Sabine saw it all on her face. They understood each other then better than they ever had before; they knew they were mirror and reflection, thunder roar and echo, paint and painting, but still they stood on opposite sides of a great divide. She said little, but she made what she gave count when she slipped the clip out of her hair and handed it to Sabine.

(Hera would’ve said more, would’ve made it clear what she meant the gift to symbolize, not left Sabine to wonder eternally whether it was just a token, an heirloom, a mea culpa, or if it stood in the place of a more profound statement.)

“It’s the Wren crest,” she explained, presently.

Din frowned. “I thought the… the bird was your crest,” he said, gesturing vaguely to his chest where, on her cuirass, the starbird resided.

“The feather is the original. I would’ve inherited it but, when I left, I forfeited my claim to it and made my own.”

(If her mother just wanted to give her a parting gift, she could have given her anything. Why this? Why specifically this? Sabine’s hair at the time was chopped above her chin; she had no use for a hair clip. But it was beskar, it carried the Wren colours and their ancient crest, and it had belonged to so many in their family already. Did it mark her as accepted? Was it her mother’s way of reinstating her firstborn status?)

Din followed the curve of the barbs with the calloused pad of his thumb and gave a small nod, letting her know he heard her. “Are you going to keep it?” he asked as he handed it back to her. “The crest, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” she admitted, gathering and twisting her hair back up, holding it with one hand while she retrieved the clip and then fixed it back in place. “There’s no one else to carry it now, so I probably should.”

(Somewhere in the middle of her answer, she realized it wasn’t merely the clip or the crest she was referring to. Had he asked about her mother’s helmet, she would’ve given the same answer.)

(But was it right? Was it fitting for her to carry these things on—the name and the crest of her family, the helmet of her mother, the remains of the entire Wren clan—when they had not been explicitly bequeathed to her?)

(Was it right to refuse when she was the last one they belonged to?)

She cut her answer there and left it before it split open and spilled things a bright day hour like this couldn’t accommodate.

The topic burned out, they fell silent.

But Din didn’t move away. He drifted back a small step, just enough to half-sit on the edge of the table, his posture open, his expression still engaged.

Sabine tensed up.

She had a crystal clear notion of what was coming.

They had talked about it��directly and indirectly—a handful of times. She had sparked the very first conversation, igniting it brazenly, motivated by the part of her that was serious and forthright, but fuelled and fanned by the other part of her that just liked playing with matches.

But once she knew what they were in, she needed to know what they were in for, she just hadn’t expected…

She hadn’t expected him to be so sure, so ready to vow.

He was more ready than she was.

The irony made her laugh (privately, silently; she would never wound him by laughing in his face about something that meant so much). All the time she had known him, she had had him coloured as the cautious one, the reserved one, the one who wouldn’t take a shot he didn’t believe would hit true, the one who wouldn’t make uncertain deals, the one who tiptoed into the water and clung to the shallows until diving further became absolutely necessary. But his caution was not indecisiveness—once he was sure of a target, he shot; once he understood the mutual cost of a deal, he sealed it; once he trusted the water, he dove in.

Cara had once intimated to Sabine that she suspected Din was, once upon a time, a reckless sort, but he had long outgrown it by the time either of them met him. Sometimes, in the stories of his past, Sabine glimpsed that reckless version of him, but anyone could see he had taken his lessons and left the idiot far behind, keeping just the change, the memories and the scars.

Right there, in their first talk about the shift that had occurred between them, Sabine could tell he was certain.

And maybe she was, too; maybe she wasn’t—right in that moment, she couldn’t tell, couldn’t figure it out, couldn’t decide because all she could think of was the last time she had been there.

Just once before, she had looked into the eyes of a man who was sure he loved her.

Just once before, she had been asked to stay and change her name.

And she had panicked.

She said no… along with some other things she later regretted, things she didn’t even realize she thought, things she couldn’t believe she felt, things she was surprised he didn’t, to this day, hold against her because, had roles been reversed, she wouldn’t have forgiven him so easily.

So this time she did what she hadn’t the first time: she asked him to wait.

Not in so many words, not directly.

Cowardly, she reminded him they had only really just got back from Wild Space, and everything was in a state of flux; they shouldn’t go around changing more things, not when the others needed to settle.

And he agreed, just like she knew he would, and it took her weeks to get over the guilt of using his sense of duty and his care for his family so manipulatively. But get over it she did and every day since had been wonderful.

It was nice being quietly in love.

Not silent, not secretive, not clandestine; neither of them were the kind of people to be overtly affectionate, but neither were they staid.

Still, she knew this routine—this day-in, day-out rhythm they kept stealing and wearing like delusional thieves—had become a disguise for procastination and they couldn’t keep it up. They couldn’t stand in the middle of the road forever; they had to pick a path eventually.

But she didn’t think she could do it this morning.

Thankfully, he didn’t hurry to speak.

He stayed there, gathering courage, connecting words, purposely trying not to occupy himself with something else though he had no shortage of options.

Sabine looked around at the variety of projects in various stages of repair, refurbishment or repurposing decorating the Azadis’ modest garage, the space utilized in the most efficient, economical manner possible but only just managing not to burst (as it was, Ryder’s speeder had already been evicted to buy more floor space).

“You should start your own business,” she commented, idly. Though she said it to regain control, she wasn’t joking: she had seen so many broken things come through here, had helped with a fair few, and she had seen him resurrect more than a few things she would have written off as scrap.

He had a gift.

In the corner of her eye, she saw Din follow her gaze, his expression pinching. “I suppose,” he said in an airy, perfunctory way—responding just for the sake of responding.

“But that’s… not what you want to do.”

For a long beat, he gave no reply, no confirmation or contradiction, leaving the sounds of the get-together down the street and the radio blaring in a neighbour’s kitchen to pad his silence. He ducked his head, his gaze realigning with the table’s edge as he smoothed his thumb over a random nick in the surface.

“I don’t know what I want to do,” he admitted at last. “I’ve been… working on it for the past two months but I can’t…” His mouth pulled and he shook his head. “I can’t go back to what I was. I can’t—I don’t want to go back to bounty hunting. But it’s all I’ve ever done… for the Tribe,” he added, his voice growing small and trailing off.

Sabine came beside him, half-sitting on the table, their gazes watching the quiet street together. She leaned to the side and nudged his arm with hers, prompting and assuring.

“Cara called, an hour ago,” he divulged. As much as it seemed like a diversion, Sabine got the sense she just had to wait for the connection. He drew a measured breath and tried, subtly, to ease his shoulders out of the rigidity they had locked into. “They’ve got the go-ahead for the Morak mission.”

“Okay,” Sabine said. “That’s… we knew that was coming.”

Mayfeld had offered up a bounty of Imperial secrets but with an interesting price: that the New Republic green-light a strike on the rhydonium factory on Morak and that he be a part of the team sent in to do it, along with Cara, Din, and Sabine.

In her own correspondence with the marshal, Sabine had learned that the request was going through—sluggishly, but steadily. The New Republic wanted all Imperial remnant bases cleared out but an indiscriminate air strike without an investigation and confirmation was dangerous; they wanted to do it, but they also wanted to do it smart.

Sabine knew what Morak meant to Din, she knew that returning there wouldn’t be easy for him, but she didn’t think it was quite that that was bothering him.

As if in response to something, he tipped his head to the side and turned with the gesture, redirecting his attention to the engine parts he had been busy with when she first arrived.

Half-heartedly, he fiddled with what looked like a modified fuel-injector, turning it over and over as if searching for the piece he needed to work on next. When he couldn’t find it (or he conceded his mind wasn’t on the task enough to handle it), he sighed, deep and gruff, and put it down.

“She… also said Greef has some ships lined up for me. She said—she said they’re good; they could help us when we go searching for the Tribe.”

Sabine leaned forward to get past his covert attempt to hide his face. “That’s what you had planned to do.”

“Yeah. I know,” he said, making every effort not to look at her.

They lapsed into silence and it wasn’t nearly as comfortable as the previous bouts—this wasn’t what he had wanted to talk about and she knew it.

For a while, they stayed as they were: beside each other, the world continuing on, daylight and day noise all around.

She drifted closer and let her head fall on his shoulder. When it landed, he turned his hand open and closed it softly over hers—different shapes, different shades, but it was hard to say who had more callouses and scars.

“Can we fly? Tonight?” Din asked, voice quiet but close, gentle and seeking but not timid, not afraid.

Sabine breathed out, relief lifting something in her chest. “The fields?”

“‘Course. Where else?”

“Could fly over the water.”

“You don’t like the water.”

“But you do. And I don’t like to go in the water, but it’s still beautiful.”

“The fields,” Din said, turning his head and pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

. . . . .

Author’s Note

In my research, I learned that Nautolans start out as tadpoles. Apparently. And they hatch from eggs. But they do grow quickly to match human babies in proportions with arms and legs. However, they tend to spend their infancy mostly in water as their arms and legs are much weaker than a human’s at that stage—hence why I put a pool in Kanan and Hera’s yard. (I only checked this all out *after* I created Depa but, thankfully, it doesn’t contradict anything already written… I just now have to continue living my life as if I don’t know Jedi Master Kit Fisto started out as a tadpole, likely not much different than the Frog couple’s babies…)

Recently rewatched Spiderverse and… yeah… Kanan and Depa are Peter and baby Mayday. (Also, the whole Jarrus-Syndulla family really makes me think of the Parker family in the Spider-Girl comics. Disabled dad… big age-gap between the kids… baby using their powers for baby shenanigans… you see the vision)

Regarding Sabine’s previous proposal, I actually did slip a (very, very obscure) hint of it way back in Anchors. I’m happy to spill (and I will) but I am also slightly evil and I want to see if anyone caught onto my scheming 🧡

. . . . .

🎶 chapter playlist 🎶

Yellow — Coldplay

Stones Inside Your Shoes — Paper Aeroplanes

Give Up the Ghost — LPX

Wonderland — CHVRCHES

you’d never know — BLÜ EYES

Twenty-Eight — Taylor Acorn

Gray — Taylor Acorn

White Houses — Vanessa Carlton

Built This House — Cassadee Pope

Early Morning Coffee Cups — Jaimi Faulkner

Coffee How You Like It — Kezia Gill

As If — Sara Evans

Fire Works — Jordana Bryant

I’m Asking Her to Stay — Sherwood

Lady Gray — Ingram Hill

Paper Cups — Watershed

One Foot Down — Peter Bradley Adams

. . . . .

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[heartbreakblda]

 Random Only FriendsThoughts After Ep 7

Gosh, how much I love this show? It’s so fucked up and so wrong and so human… It really gives me goosebumps every time I am watching it. And for once I am really into reading proper character breakdowns about our heroes and I thought, maybe I should do the same. Just so see how my opinion is gonna change at the end. So here we are with what I think and feel about each main character after seven episodes. Let’s see if it changes with three or five more episodes to go.

Boston: Let’s start with the obvious one. Gosh, what a hedonistic boy. And yes, I say boy with a purpose as I feel that this BOY definitely still needs some growing up to do. He is just concerned about his own pleasure and his own needs and doesn’t see anyone around him at all. He is so afraid of any feelings that he just pretends he doesn’t have any. He lives a hedonistic lifestyle where everything is just about whatever is good for him. I honestly don’t think he has any feelings for Nick at all at this moment. I don’t even think he even respects Nick at all. It’s just pure manipulation and lust for him. He knows about Nick’s feelings and he uses them for his advantage. Does he have a chance to come back from this? Of course. Plenty of people have done shitty things. You always can come back from this.

Nick: Boston’s little toy. That’s how I see him mainly. Boston has shown him something he definitely has missed in his life beforehand. And I think Nick also is a bit gullible believing Boston’s sugar coated words where everyone and their uncle already know he is just saying it to get what he wants from Nick. Nick is not stupid, he is totally aware of Nick’s true colours and he still fell in love with him. And now… Well, once you have feelings it’s so hard to find the right way out again. And if nothing really big happens to Boston… I don’t think he ever will be what Nick needs him to be. Nick will always end with a broken heart here.

Mew: His character is interesting. He is an honour student, shooting straight from the hip. He was a virgin, but this doesn’t make him a naive push over. I honestly think he thought he could control Top. He has been doing this with Ray pretty much for years now. Mew says jump and Ray asks how high. So I honestly believe that Mew just really thought his love could change someone like Top. He thought he could make Top as perfect as Mew is himself. Because on the surface Top is actually pretty perfect. It’s just when you look at the nitty gritty when you see the cracks. But instead he finds out Top betrayed him and goes berserk. I have read now so often from people that say Mew and Top don’t love each other. Bullshit. They were pretty much in love with each other and that’s why it hit Mew so hard to find out he was betrayed. He saved himself for someone special. He thought Top was special. But Mew thinks now he was wrong. Which I am not sure he was. He is just always hunting for this perfect love story his mums had. But he doesn’t understand that this doesn’t exist?

I am not sure. Mew is a very interesting character and he is changing a lot right now. But I honestly think he loves Top, or at the very least loved the idea of Top.

Top: The character that gets the most shit undeservingly in my opinion. I really have taken to him because even though he is definitely a fuckhead… Well, they all are and that’s kind of the point of the show. That there is always shadow where there is light. Even the knight in shining armour can fuck his boyfriends best friend… And I don’t want to make light of Top’s cheating. But still. I think Top really fell for Mew. It might have been a bit of trophy hunting in the beginning as scoring a virgin is always a goal for someone like him. But I really think he liked that Mew wanted more from him than just his body. Because look at Boston. He has no interest in Top other than what he can do in the bedroom. This must be very hard for someone when people are just always interested in your body and your outsides but not really in anything else. So yeah, I think for Top the entire situation with Mew is completely new and he is very surprised himself about this. When Boston then starts to poke him about Ray and Mew Top has no idea how to react and with Boston pretty much almost forcing him… But I always found it interesting that Top froze the first time in the shower with Boston and even when they had sex, Top didn’t look like he was really into it until a bit later. We also have this confession about the fire, the fact that Top is extremely lonely and always has been and his issues with drugs. If this doesn’t sound like a man with a ton of mental health issues I don’t know. So yeah, again. Top is really interesting to me. I am curious how he is gonna deal with the break up in the next episode. Because here in episode 7 he almost went insane. Here, I bought some books for you. Like what? He is so lost, the poor lamb. I really believe his tears.

Sand: Gosh, how much I love this character. He is so caring and sweet and his taste in clothes and music is impeccable. So yeah, I am a bit biased with him, so please excuse this fact. Buuuuuut he is definitely also part of the fuckhead brigade even though his dark sides might not be as dark as the ones from other characters. But he definitely has a lot to deal with. His upbringing couldn’t have been easy with him having a mum like this and no dad. He is still struggling financially, has to take care of his mother pretty much and is just trying to make ends meet somehow. But he is definitely the one at fault with the recording. He used this to hurt Top and karma came back and bit him massively into the backside. I am sure he is so in love with Ray already. I think he can’t resist Ray’s smile and the puppy dog eyes and I think the biggest draw is that Ray desperately needs saving and if someone is good at this then it’s Ray. He is always the one helping out. It’s in his DNA.So when he sees a stray and hurt dog on the side of the road… Of course he is gonna take care of him, no matter how often he gets bitten. But I am interested to see what happens when Boing comes into the picture. Because I think then we're gonna see another side to Sand. His hate for Top really runs deep. So I am guessing there is gonna be more to come.

Ray: The stray puppy that needs rescuing at all costs. Gosh, what a sad existence this boy has. His mother blamed him for her downfall. I am sure his father blames him as well for the way things went with his mum after the birth. He must feel like he is just a burden to the entire world and it would be so much better if he just disappeared. He really is hurting just so, so badly. And I think that’s why he doesn’t even understand what Sand is offering right now. I don’t think Ray understands that Sand really loves and cares for him. I don’t think he feels he is ever worthy of any love. His feelings for Mew seem to be more grateful for helping him in the past. He was there when Ray was at his darkest point and I think that’s what Ray wants to repay him. I don’t think what Ray feels is love is actually still love. It has changed over time but I don’t think Ray has noticed that yet. And just on a side note… I have read that a lot of people think that Ray and Mew are now a couple. I don’t necessarily believe that. The words were not clearly said, Mew never said he liked Ray, he never accepted a kiss or anything. I can see them maybe hanging out and partying. But I am not so sure if Mew would really go this low and use his best friend like this. I just can’t see it. But we shall see.

So these are my opinions on all our six heroes after watching seven episodes. I really have to say I love everything about this show so far. There is literally nothing I can fault here. It’s just such gripping writing and it reminds me so much of how I was when I was still clubbing with my friends. The draaaaaama every evening. This one kissed this guy, but they had been together with a friend of theirs before and somehow they crossed over timewise and so on. Ah, the wondrous life of university students.

So yeah, let’s see how much my views are gonna change over the next few episodes. I still think we will get Mew and Top happy and I also think we will get Ray and Sand somehow together. I am not so sure about Nick and Boston. But that’s just because I wouldn’t be surprised if Boston just lights one last atomic bomb and than fucks off to america to live with his mother and to leave all the others to deal with the fall out. But again we shall see..