#and i think in regards to kids some of the source is passed on but not all of it

[djarins-cyare]

Never Look Down

Part 2: Maia’s (Your) Morning

← Part 1 | Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Prompt: “I don’t know what’s happening but I love it.”

Summary: Din has been ignoring his crush on Grogu’s babysitter for a while now, with varying degrees of success. But after a misunderstanding leads to some revelations, there’s no denying things any longer. Sometimes you just need to look at things from a different perspective.

Rating: Mature (18+)

Pairing: Din Djarin x Original Female Character (for his POV scenes) / Din Djarin x Reader (for her POV scenes)

Word count: 7,830

Tags/warnings: POV switch, hangover hell, light angst, confessions, even more references to erections, some swearing, references to sex, kissing, reference to fellatio, a lot of fluff, Reader has a name (and a job and an inkling of a backstory). Regarding her prior bad relationship, I don’t want anyone to be triggered by an assumption, so please note she was NOT in an abusive situation. Her former partner was just a drug-dealing douche.

Author’s note: I finished something new! [*cries in disbelief*] 😭. Thank you so much for your interest and support! 💖

READ ON AO3 (author’s preference)

Tumblr version ahead if you prefer…

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

You wake up somewhere dark and soft. It takes you several seconds to realise where you are due to the throbbing ache in your head that’s screaming for focus.

You’re in Din’s bed.

Oh fuck.

Well… more like no fuck. A shameful absence thereof.

Slowly, memories of the previous night drift to the surface of your foggy brain, each one deepening your embarrassment until you’ve reached the pitiful depths of utter humiliation. It cuts deeper than your hangover, which includes a pounding headache and a bruised shoulder (how did that happen?), yet is almost trivial in comparison. Kark, you drank – and said and did – a lot more than you should’ve.

Babysitting Grogu is not your primary source of income. In fact, you have a contract with Karga for city planning and infrastructure upgrades. But that’s just building holos, presenting them to the High Magistrate, and then outsourcing the work upon approval. It’s sporadic and flexible, leaving you with plenty of hours to kill. You took this part-time job to keep yourself busy, but you’ve come to enjoy hanging out with the little guy and his bafflingly sexy father. Both are good fun, have always been friendly and welcoming, and you’re fond of their company. Who are you kidding – you’re profoundly attached to them both. Plus, Din has taught you to use a blaster, helping you feel safer and more self-reliant now you’re free of your ex’s ‘protection’. The extra credits are merely a bonus, and you’d do this for free if it came to it.

Well, not this. Not turn up drunk, pass out in your boss’s refresher, then misread a gesture of kindness as a sexual advance. And you just had to fucking let your thoughts spill out, didn’t you? Shit, you basically told him you think he’s a virgin! Sure, you’ve wondered, but you’ve never drawn any conclusions, so why did you have to vocalise those thoughts as if you had? You’ve been so careful to avoid suggesting his commitment to his creed might be impeding anything fun. So what if he can’t eat with you or sleep with you – that’s his choice. He probably thinks you’re judging him now. You shouldn’t have opened your mouth, damn it!

Of course he rejected you.

How could you ever have thought Din would want to be with you after everything you did last night? There are so many reasons for him to have walked away like he did. Not only did you fail to provide trustworthy childcare, but you also vomited in his toilet and were a drunken burden on him after he’d had to go out on a job. Then you assumed he wanted sex, implied he might not have the requisite skills, stripped naked, climbed under his sheets, and stole his fucking bed for the whole night.

You’re a disgrace. The regret burns in your chest, branding you from the inside out as the fool who pushed a former bounty hunter too far.

Plus, you work for the guy, so that’s surely a factor. Your role here is simply to take care of his kid. At least it was. And, of course, he’s never shown any interest in you. In fact, whenever you’ve wondered if the two of you are having ‘a moment’, he’s always run away.

Why did you have to make an already bad situation so much worse by revealing your desires? You were coping fine with your self-imposed celibacy. Sure, it was frustrating, but you were surviving. Repressing your libido around him was working for you.

As much as you want to hide beneath the blankets and avoid the fallout, you know you can’t stay in Din’s bed forever. Even though it’s soft and warm and smells like him – fresh yet with a hint of spicy musk. You really can’t.

Fumbling to activate the lamp, you drain the water on the nightstand, noting your clothes strewn across the floor. Thankfully, they don’t smell of alcohol or vomit (at least you’re a tidy drunk), so you get dressed and stumble to the refresher. More memories return at that crime scene, adding to your shame spiral and giving you a likely reason for your bruised shoulder.

Din has left his ultrasound cleaner out of the cabinet, which has to be a suggestion that you use it, and you can take a hint. You recall complaining that your mouth tasted like bantha balls, and accepting his pity is the lesser evil. Though it’s far more than you deserve, it’s also far better than this flavour.

You gladly let the vibrations clean your mouth and then rinse away the residue, feeling much better for it. It’s not enough to ease your thumping headache, but it’s a start.

You can’t hear any noise from upstairs or across the hall, so you wonder if your hosts are still asleep. It’s clearly past dawn since daylight is spilling down the staircase, but it could still be early. Maybe you can just slip out unnoticed? You debate checking on Grogu first. Din probably slept on the couch, though there’s a cushioned chair in the kid’s room that he could’ve used.

Guilt and concern make you check on your charge despite the risk of waking a metal sentinel. But you’re surprised to discover an empty room. That means they’re either both upstairs and being quiet, or they’ve gone out. You’re hoping for the latter. Zandi insisted you meet her for lunch, but part of you wants to run straight to your friend’s place and cry about what an idiot you’ve been. Hmm, no. You should go home for a shower first. Not that it could wash off the disgrace, but it might ease your aching head, at least.

You dart across the hall for your shoes, straightening out your boss’s sheets before you leave (a token apology, if anything). Catching sight of a comb on top of his dresser sends another type of guilt burning through you. Stealing his bed was already an invasion of privacy, but learning about what he hides beneath the beskar feels worse. You anxiously smooth down the blankets, flick off the lamp, and tiptoe up the stairs.

Thankfully, you find an empty living space, lit by sunshine so bright that you realise it’s already mid-morning. Din must have taken Grogu to school.

There’s no sign of your glowrod, but you don’t care. He can keep it. You shove on your boots with as much haste as you can manage and fly to the exit, darting through. Kriff, it’s so blinding outside that you have to turn your back to the sun or risk your hangover increasing tenfold.

Just as you’re gulping lungfuls of fresh air and keying in the lock code to secure the cabin, you hear him.

“Feeling better?”

The Mandalorian steps out from behind the cabin, and you wonder if he’s been waiting to ambush you. Damn it, you should’ve known. Bounty hunter.

You can’t look him in the eyes. Well, the visor, really. Either way, you fix your gaze on the porch. You’d normally come out with something playful and witty, but today, your brain gives you nothing except wry honesty.

“The hangover and torturous headache are nothing compared to my embarrassment,” you answer sheepishly. “I am so sorry about last night.”

You don’t specify which part because you mean all of it. Drinking to excess and throwing up in his home, as well as climbing into his bed, stripping off, and assuming he would fuck you, then commenting on how you thought he couldn’t fuck you. You’re sure you’ll never live down this shame.

Din doesn’t respond to your apology, but he steps forward, a wall of beskar and muscle blocking you from leaving the porch. He leans past you – so close he almost traps you against the door – and reverses the lock code you just entered.

When the door behind you swishes open again, he gestures inside with a nod. “We gotta talk.”

Oh, frotz, this is bad. This is so so so bad. He’s normally relaxed and happy around you, welcoming (or at least tolerating) your friendly jokes and nicknames. But right now, he’s all stiffness and silence, thumbs in his belt and elbows out wide, staring you down as if you were prey. He is not happy with you. You’ve fucked up bad.

You’re going to lose your job. It’s not a substantial source of income, but you’ll lose your bonding time with the kid and the friendly teasing thing you’ve developed with his dad. You won’t get to watch how strong and beautiful this warrior-turned-father is anymore, how soft he is with Grogu, despite his hard beskar shell. There’ll be no more shooting lessons. He’s going to tell you how offensive your remarks were last night… kark, what if he has a duty to punish anyone who disrespects his creed? Is it disrespectful to suggest he can’t have sex, though? Maybe the offensive thing was you throwing yourself at him. Or perhaps he thinks you’re hideous and finds the idea of having sex with you offensive. Whatever the case, he’s going to—

“Maia….”

Hearing your name growled through his modulator snaps you out of your spiralling thoughts, and you realise you’re just standing there gawking at him in the doorway.

Suddenly, you feel meek in his presence, which has never happened before. Even when you first met, he was careful to make you feel safe and welcome. This menacing demeanour is new.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “Can I just go home?”

Din looms closer like a rancor threatening its prey. “This won’t take long,” he insists.

With widened eyes, you shrink back toward the scene of your crimes, your near freedom now a fool’s delusion. He walks forward as you step backward across the cabin’s threshold, maintaining the proximity – a fateful dance that promises a morning even more tragic than the night before.

“Sit,” he commands, gesturing to the couch. He watches you perch yourself where you’re told to and then nods, appeased by your obedience.

A heavy silence clouds the room as your soon-to-be-ex boss flicks on the caf maker and heats the beverage while you quietly unravel on the couch. You’re not even sure what this is. It feels like he’s about to punish you (and not in a good way), but you have no idea how. Is he going to yell at you? Torture you with some kind of ritualistic Mandalorian justice? Or is he just going to describe how disappointed he is, fire you from this job, and threaten to roast you with his flamethrowers if he catches you anywhere near Grogu?

Whatever’s about to happen, you’re zealously ignoring the part of you that’s low-key turned on by how dominant he’s acting this morning. You can’t examine that right now.

After a minute or two, Din brings a cup to the couch and perches beside you, performing an awkward shuffle as he angles his body toward you. Still unsure how to act, you remain facing straight ahead, watching him in your peripheral.

He’s fully armoured this morning, his movements determined but stiff, and you recall how fluidly his body moved when he was just down to his flight suit. When he swept you into his arms, cradled you against his chest, and carried you to his bed…

No! Bad thoughts! Now is not the time for those because you’re about to receive the worst reprimand of your life (and you work for Karga!).

But your brain won’t stop replaying the memory, leading you to a distracting notion. He keeps his armour on the shelves in his bedroom – you saw it there last night. That means he must have come in to grab it this morning while you were sleeping. Damn, he’s stealthy! Though, to be fair, you were utterly passed out.

Wait. You woke up fully covered and tucked in. You don’t recall falling asleep, but you do remember arranging the blanket for optimum cleavage display. Kark, you really hope you snuggled down properly in your sleep. Because if not, there’s a chance that he opened his door to an inadvertent boob extravaganza, and he covered you up for the sake of your dignity. Fuck! How much shame can you suffer in a single morning?

He still hasn’t started talking, so before your thoughts ricochet in yet another distressing direction, you prompt, “You, uh, said we need to talk?” It’s probably best to confront your impending doom so you can run home and scream into a pillow.

Din huffs a little. “We do. Doesn’t mean I know how to start.”

Hmm, well, he doesn’t seem too angry, at least. Perhaps there won’t be any Mandalorian torture-based vengeance after all.

You don’t have the energy to play ‘guess the punishment’, but maybe you can stave it off if you beg for mercy. “Okay, then let me start. I said and did some monumentally stupid things last night, and I understand if you can’t forgive me and never want to see me again. But I just need you to know how truly sorry I am and that I really didn’t mean to offend you, and if I could—”

“Stop apologising,” he interrupts, shaking his helmet.

His order startles you into silence. It was insistent, but he didn’t sound angry at all. In fact, there was an undertone of something else. Almost the amused side of frustrated. What the kriff is happening?

Din sighs and tilts his visor toward his lap, then seems surprised to realise he’s still clutching the caf he made but clearly can’t drink in your presence. He silently offers you the steaming cup, and after a beat, you accept it, staring at it just as he did.

Never has a cup of caf received as much scrutiny as when two parties are unsure how to vocalise their thoughts.

“I made it for you,” he offers. “Thought… with the hangover….”

“Thanks,” you mumble, unsure what else to do or say. This isn’t going as expected at all, and your confusion is only growing. Is he doing some kind of bounty hunter ‘killing with kindness’ act?

This is absurd. You just need to get him talking, accept your punishment, and then you can escape.

“Um,” you begin, and his shadowed visor fixes on you again, unsettling you further. “If… if you don’t want to hear my apologies… what do you want to talk about?”

Your reluctant host forces out his response like it’s stuck inside his throat. “I want… I wanna ask you… some things. And I need you to answer honestly.”

Your stomach churns with nerves. He has questions? He must want you to explain what you said. He’s going to make you relive it – not by telling you how offensive you were, but by making you deconstruct your own comments and actions.

Kark. It’s a punishment, alright.

But if the penalty for your folly is the discomfort of explaining yourself, you can deal with that. This is a man you’re used to teasing, and he sounds just as unsure about what to say here as you are. So, you need to gather your confidence and endure whatever awkwardness this brings up.

You square your shoulders and lift your chin. “Okay… ask me.”

“You’ll answer? Honestly?” There’s an edge of desperation in Din’s voice from which you intuit his real meaning. You need to check any joking at the door.

Well, your current embarrassment level is sky-high, so whatever he wants you to respond to or admit surely can’t be much worse. You’ve already laid yourself (literally) bare for him. “I will. You got a slice of my inner dialogue last night, so I might as well continue the honesty.”

“Good… thank you.” He releases a profound sigh, a rush of static through the vocoder, and appears to gather himself for his first question. “Why do you think my creed means I can’t…?” He trails off, but you follow his meaning and match his heavy sigh.

“I don’t really think that,” you assure him. “Honestly, I’ve never known what to think, which means I’ve made no assumptions either way. But I guess… my drunken brain felt it was… safer to err on the side of caution when addressing it out loud.”

You’re not in the least bit surprised that he’s starting with this. If he is a virgin, you’ve mocked him, and if he isn’t, you’ve no doubt hurt his pride.

When he doesn’t respond, you suggest, “If that’s your first question, it sounds like you’re worried I’m judging you, so let me reinforce what I just said. ‘No assumptions’ means ‘no judgments’. But if you want to clarify things, I can promise you that whatever the truth is, I still won’t judge you.”

The importance Din is giving this topic is by far the biggest clue to the likely truth. No virgin would question you in the way that he just did. If they mentioned it at all, they’d probably just insist it’s not a topic for you to concern yourself with and never speak of it again. But inviting him to confirm his expertise gives him an easy way to lay the matter to rest. It’s also the kindest thing to do in the wake of your drunken foolishness.

He nods a fraction, accepting the premise, pausing while he chooses his words. “My creed doesn’t impose any rules relating to that, only that I cannot remove my helmet. And… some people kind of, uh… they get off on the mystery. So I do pretty well when I need to… blow off some steam.”

Huh. That was surprisingly direct (for him). You can’t help but smile, wondering if your delight stems from finally having proof that he isn’t without experience or that this discussion (so far) isn’t about how badly you fucked up.

Hoping to conceal your thoughts and keep the focus on him, you instantly slide back into teasing mode with a new nickname and a vague compliment of sorts. “Super Stud! You’re very discreet.”

“That’s the idea,” he confirms, ignoring his new moniker. “Although it’s by no means frequent, and since I got Grogu, I haven’t had….” He clears his throat. “Time and opportunity are rare.”

As much as you wish Din would choose to ‘blow off some steam’ with you, all you hear is a chance to atone for last night’s thoughtless actions. “I can take care of him while you go have some fun…?”

A massive scoff comes through the vocoder, and he shakes his helmet widely. “No, Maia, that’s… that’s not gonna work.”

But you persist, desperate to make amends. “Oh, come on, Metal Man, you deserve a break. Isn’t there anyone on Nevarro you can call for some fun?”

He sighs. “I have… options, yes.”

You furrow your brow at that. “So why did you say time and opportunity are rare? If you’ve got options, why don’t you just get your shiny ass laid while I do what you pay me for and take care of—”

A distinctly peeved huff crackles through the modulator, and you instantly fall silent. You forgot you’re not supposed to be teasing. Nor is it clear yet whether you still have a job. Foot, meet mouth.

He curtly redirects you. “Next question.” You assent with a nod, but when he continues, his tone is suddenly guarded and awkward. “Last night, you said… you suggested… that you and I might… blow off some steam.”

Fuck, this is the part you were dreading, and your pulse picks up. He seems nervous. Is that good or bad? Well, it’s better than angry and scary. You try to freeze your movements to avoid either wincing or looking too eager, nervously awaiting his question.

“Was that… because of the alcohol? Or… something, uh… real?” All you detect in his voice is discomfort, so you can’t tell which option he hopes for.

You sigh and take a careful slurp of the scalding hot caf to buy yourself time. It’s hard to answer because there’s a lot at risk. If you’re too honest about your feelings and Din doesn’t feel the same way, your relationship might end – professional as well as personal.

But once again, the fact that he’s asking suggests your answer is important to him, so the odds are likely in your favour. If he wasn’t attracted to you, surely he’d play it down and give you a way to save face. Just say he knew your silly drunken advances were simply an extension of your usual urge to tease and meant nothing, and that he forgives you for them. Surely he wouldn’t ask if they were ‘real’.

The concept sparks a tiny flame of hope in a dark and dusty corner of your mind, a pinprick of light to chase away the fears you walked in here with.

However, you can’t be too hasty or draw conclusions without facts. Though this isn’t going as dreadfully as you feared it might, the sensible option is to avoid getting your hopes up. He asked you for honesty, so you’ll give him that, but you decide to err on the side of caution again. An assumption against any interest on his part shouldn’t be offensive.

“It wasn’t… totally the alcohol,” you confess cautiously, and you see his body instantly tense up. Is that a positive reaction? “I’ve been trying to remember exactly what I said to you. I told you it was a ‘dream’, right?” Din nods once. “Well… that’s true. I admit I’ve had some daydreams about the idea. But it felt… safer not to mention it. Last night, you made it clear you weren’t interested in me, and you’ve never given me any reason to think otherwise, so I—”

“I did no such thing.”

Shit. The anger you were afraid of is finally colouring the Mandalorian’s tone, and he leans forward with his vehement denial.

What did you say wrong? Did you tease too soon with the new nickname just now? Shock and confusion contort themselves across your face, and you shrink backward.

He almost growls at your retreat, and the creak of his leather gloves as he clenches his fists has you bracing yourself for trouble. You honestly can’t tell if you’re turned on or terrified.

Before you can decide, he declares, “Last night, I had to walk away from a beautiful naked woman in my bed because she’d been drinking, and I would never do anything without full consent. I did not make it clear I wasn’t interested in you. Fuck, Maia, I have dreams about you too. All the time.”

Your mouth hangs open in surprise. Even knowing it was vaguely possible, you weren’t ready for that response.

He has dreams about you too!

Now that he’s confessed what got him so worked up, you see him make a visible effort to calm down.

His next words are much softer, soothing your prior unease, though your heart continues to thump from his admission. “Time and opportunity are rare because you’re Grogu’s babysitter, and that kid loves you. When he’s not with me, he wants to be with you. He only goes to school twice a week. That’s not a lot of time or—”

“—or opportunity,” you finish. “Okay, I get it. Why didn’t you say anything before? We could’ve been blowing off steam on schooldays for months already, but I had no idea. I would’ve climbed naked into your bed way sooner if I’d known.”

Din groans, a low and sinful rumble, and you wonder if you shouldn’t have put those images in his mind.

A deep breath later, he answers, “My son is my priority; his needs come before mine. He needs a good babysitter more than I need a good… uh….” He trails off and clears his throat. “And last night was the first time you’d ever said anything. I had no idea either.”

“But, but…” you stammer. Okay, so you’ve been keeping it to yourself, but you’re surprised he didn’t pick up on your attraction at all. “I’m flirting and checking you out all the crinking time, Metal Man. I thought bounty hunters were observant?”

He hums as if he’s flattered by your admission. “Teasing me is not a sign of anything on its own. And I’ve never seen you look anywhere other than directly at my helmet. You would’ve noticed my interest otherwise.” You furrow your brow slightly, not following, and he shakes his head in frustration. “You never look down.”

You look down.

Holy mother of meteors…

That is one obscenely snug flight suit and one fucking impressive erection.

Granted, you’ve noticed he’s been wearing the loose flight suit pants more often. In fact, you’ve missed being able to check out his toned ass in the closer-fitting ones. But since you can’t see where he’s looking, you’ve always been careful to keep your roving eyes chaste whenever he’s facing you. And, kriff, you never figured the reason for his wardrobe change was to hide this glorious attribute.

“Wow,” you breathe, unsure of what else to say. Suddenly, the volume on your headache reduces, and your lust levels shoot up. It’s so….

Din fidgets slightly, perhaps on edge because of your sudden scrutiny. Oops.

You revert your gaze to his visor, chancing some levity to ease the tension. “If I wasn’t fighting a skull-splitting hangover, I’d have a whole host of new nicknames for you already. Something about being as hard as beskar or carrying a concealed weapon… ugh, gimme a day, I’ll come up with a winner.”

His chuckle suggests the ice between you is now well and truly broken. You knock back the rest of your caf in the relaxed pause. It’s still hotter than you prefer, but perhaps it’ll quell your desire.

He lets you finish before breaking the easy silence. “Another question before you go, if it’s okay. Maybe a couple more, depending on how you answer the first one. I’d rather not leave this topic hanging now that we’ve addressed it.”

“Sure.” Right now, you’re willing to give this man whatever he wants.

“Okay. There’s another reason I walked away last night – besides your drunken state. It’s why I haven’t mentioned this before.” He swallows and inhales shakily. “You told me that your last relationship was terrible. And the fact that you chose to celebrate its end tells me you value your freedom. On my side, my relationships are rarely meaningful or long-term. So it might seem easiest to keep things casual.”

He pauses, but it’s unclear whether he wants your input. You can’t tell where he’s going with this, so you give him a one-shouldered shrug.

He leans forward and rests his vambraces on his cuisses. “If Grogu wasn’t around, it might be. But casual never ends well, and I will not threaten the bond you two have just for something meaningless. For the child’s sake, we gotta be sure where we stand before we… act on any of this. I can’t do casual with you, Maia. So the first question is: are you interested enough to try something… meaningful? Because if you’re not, we gotta bury this.”

He’s right. You start to understand why he got so worked up at your admission that you’re attracted to him for real. It complicates things.

He’s asked a logical and vital question, and you take a moment to give it due attention. Whatever happens, this cannot threaten your employment. So where are the lines?

You’ve felt something for Din from the start, and your attraction has only grown. That line is already blurred, and it hasn’t threatened anything, but it helps you see what he’s getting at. Your attachment to him and Grogu has become far more profound than you expected, so you couldn’t do casual even if you tried. It could only harm your bond with the kid if you tried to repress that attachment and keep things casual with his father.

Simply put, your feelings are already meaningful, so whatever comes next must be too.

Strangely, that doesn’t scare you. Your prior experience was poor – both oppressive and neglectful – but you were a displaced teenager on a new planet looking for protection when you got into that. Din is nothing like your ex, and this couldn’t be more different. You have faith in this man and, thus, faith in your answer.

“I am,” you confirm with a smile. “Are you?” He’s already confirmed he won’t do casual, but you need his agreement to start something meaningful.

He swallows, then echoes, “I am.”

A thrilling but weighty moment passes as you both digest this, just staring at one another in the wake of your mutual confessions. The air feels charged with promise. You can almost taste it.

It’s hard to judge how long has passed when he speaks again. “Second question. Did you use my ultrasound cleaner?”

Well, that’s a non sequitur. You have no idea how this query relates to your previous answer, but you nod nonetheless.

“Great. Come with me.”

He stands and leads you downstairs, stepping into his room and tapping on the main lights. When he sees that you’ve made his bed, he hums happily.

You’re quiet but hopeful, the heady feeling of promise that consumed you last night slowly filling you up once more as he turns to face you and beckons you closer.

“We should take this slow,” he starts. “You’re hungover, and I want you to feel comfortable when we….” He nods at the bed, oddly still reticent to describe the act.

“When we fuck.”

Din releases the cutest whimper and tugs at his pants. “That is not helping me with this problem. If you keep talking like that, I might not be able to resist,” he warns.

You scoff. “Shiny, are you really trying to threaten me with sex? Kriff, please tell me you didn’t use this tactic on any bounties back in the day.”

“No, I did not. And I’m trying to save that until your head doesn’t hurt,” he sighs. “But… question three. Before you go home, can I… kiss you?”

Your eyebrows shoot up as surprise and desire collide and carve a messy path through your chest, sending your heart tumbling into a double-time beat.

“Are you…” You’re not quite sure how to phrase your query, still chagrined by last night’s verbal blunders. “Is that some kind of metaphor? Does ‘kissing’ mean something different for Mandalorians with the whole helmet thing? Because if we’re just gonna thumb wrestle or something, I’m still in, but it’s kind of weird to call it kissing.”

He chuckles, and it eases your worry. “We do have a kissing substitute, but no, in this case, I meant what I said. I just gotta turn the lights out so you can’t see me when I remove my helmet. If that’s okay.”

All of your fears and concerns melt away with his answer. Gone are your worries about your budding romance having awkward or difficult restrictions, replaced by a certainty that you can handle not making eye contact. If observing that single caveat allows you to be with this man, you don’t even consider it a sacrifice.

Well, if he brought you down here to ensure it’s dark enough, you can help with that. You saunter to the door and touch the control to slide it closed, blocking out the sunshine filtering down the stairs, and then you turn to him with a smile. “It’s very okay. I’m not leaving here without a kiss, Din.”

He sucks in a modulated breath and doesn’t move for a second. “You… used my name.”

You know you’re allowed to – he’s told you that many times – but you find the nicknames help to maintain a friendly distance. Treat him as a friend, not as a lover. Except now things are changing.

“I thought I’d practice,” you explain. “I’m guessing that when we do get in that bed together, you’d prefer I scream out your real name instead of ‘Shiny’ or ‘Beskar Boy’.”

He groans sinfully again and reaches for you, fixing a glove around your wrist and tugging you to stand beside the shelves he stores his armour on. “Don’t move,” he instructs. Then he releases your wrist and taps a button on his vambrace, and the lights very slowly fade out until the room is darker than the void between galaxies.

Suddenly, sensations are everything. You can detect the warmth of Din’s body so close to yours, though you’re not yet touching. You hear him breathing more audibly than usual, a gentle but slightly stuttered hiss through the vocoder. You feel the air swirl around you as he raises his hands to his helmet…

The rhythmic thump of your heartbeat quickens, and despite your lack of sight, it’s as if the events occur in flashes between the beats. The absence of sound as you hold your breath. The gentle rustle as he slides off the metal helmet. The muffled clang when it hits the shelf as he lines it up. The scrape of the edge as he pushes it home. The nervous breath he releases in the subsequent silence, reminding you to exhale too.

Then he’s reaching for you, and your mind goes blank as his hands find your hips, closing the distance further. It’s not close enough to feel his arousal against you, although that’s probably wise. But if you weren’t still harbouring a headache, you’d be unable to resist pressing forward and seeking the impressive bulge you admired upstairs. Instead, you lay your palms on his cuirass and slide upward, burying your fingers in his cloak. That’s as high as you’ll go until you know what’s allowed.

One of Din’s gloved hands engulfs the nape of your neck, and you love how he’s controlling this, moving you in the dark to where he wants you. You can tell he’s leaned in closer by the sound of his breathing – more audible without the beskar barrier. Then there’s a sense of warmth on your skin as he brings you close enough to nuzzle at your hairline, gently at first, until you register the distinct press of his nose against your temple.

You feel it just before he speaks, his breath tickling near your ear as he opens his mouth to husk smooth, unmodulated words. “Go easy on me; it’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

Fuck, his voice is gorgeous. It resonates through you like a rumbling storm, drenching you with wanton promise, unleashing a different wetness upon you. If there were any frequency that could subdue your headache, it would be his soft and smoky timbre.

“Oh?” It’s all you can manage; a single syllable of surprise at his admission. He seems so confident.

“Mm,” he confirms, brushing his lips softly near the corner of your eye, and you detect some stubble around them. “Before we swear the Creed, we spend a while doing the things we’re taught to avoid after. I’ve only used this loophole once since then. So….” He trails off and presses a gentle kiss to the crest of your cheekbone, warm lips on soft skin, and you melt in his arms.

You want to assure him that he’s nailing it, preparing you so perfectly that he seems like an expert kisser, no matter how little practice he’s had. You want to thank him for deeming you worthy enough to use this rare loophole and express your stunned gratitude at the privilege he’s allowing you. But the notion of speaking confounds you, and all you can do is lift your chin and indicate your willingness to do this.

Din gets the message.

You can sense his nerves in the way he cautiously presses his lips against yours. But in the millisecond it takes to register a connection, your body reacts before your brain and electricity shoots through your nerve endings. Instantly, thousands of perfect explosions stud your skin, making you shiver in bliss.

He’s sweet, gentle, respectful… and it’s good. But it’s a little chaste for your liking, and you can tell he’s holding himself back. He needs to let go, so you emit a low hum of pleasure, which spurs him on and increases his fervour. You gently part your lips, and he gets the hint and takes the lead, deepening the kiss until your tongues meet – a touch that halts the spin of the whole galaxy around you.

Then he lets go. It’s as if he’s suddenly remembered how to breathe after holding his breath for decades, and oh, how utterly starved of oxygen he’s been. This kiss is feeding him, keeping him alive. His tightened grip, the tremors of lust you detect running through him, the way he almost whimpers into your mouth… it’s assertive and adorable in equal measures.

You can feel his inexperience, but you let him lead anyway. He gets lost in the sensations a few times, his rhythm faltering, but he corrects himself and responds keenly to your subtle signals of what’s good. It’s not long before you’re locked in a perfect moment, sharing an exquisite kiss with your ideal man.

When you part, it’s by mere centimetres, and you’re so full of happy chemicals that your hangover is barely a niggle at the back of your brain.

“I think that fixed my headache,” you purr against his lips. “I bet I could even thumb wrestle you now….” You have no clue what you’re implying, but you’re low-key horny, and openly flirting with him for once is fun.

Din’s unmodulated chuckle is the cutest thing you’ve ever heard. “Well, I was aiming for ‘mindblowing’, but I’ll take ‘headache-fixing’,” he jests, bantering right back for once. You can’t help but close the tiny distance to steal another lingering yet closed-mouth kiss, eager to show him just how addictive his efforts were.

Once again, your lips barely separate, lingering close. “Oh, it’s blown alright – completely offline. Probably why it doesn’t hurt anymore.” A salacious idea comes to you then, and you voice it a hair’s breadth from his mouth, knowing he’ll refuse but wanting to show you’re willing. “Maybe now it’s my turn to blow something of yours….”

The sharp gasp he sucks in and raggedly exhales indicates he’s just pictured your suggestion and played the image to its fruition. In the pitch-black room, you can pick up on his obvious arousal through sound and touch – the almost-groan he swallows, the twitch of all the muscles in his body as he reins himself in.

There’s a pause as he considers your proposal, and you can tell he’s waging a war with himself to refuse. You’ve put him in a difficult position. But this new closeness allows you to upgrade friendly teasing into full-on flirting, and you can’t resist.

It takes longer than you expect, but Din finally releases a shuddering breath, swallows, and presses a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth. Then he rasps, “I would enjoy that very much, but it’s not why I brought you down here, mesh’la.”

Mesh’la? Who the fuck is that? You stiffen in his arms, unable to process the idea that he’s just said someone else’s name during an intimate moment. Even if it does sound similar enough to yours that you could maybe understand the slip, how could he—?

“Maia,” you correct pointedly as your thoughts spiral, pulling away slightly, your stomach suddenly in knots.

He tightens his hold and hurriedly assures you, “Hey, no, it’s not— mesh’la means ‘beautiful’ in Mando’a.”

There’s a tense pause, and then you murmur, “Ah,” embarrassed and glad you didn’t instantly flip out at your incorrect assumption, then suddenly flattered by the compliment. As you fall back into his embrace, your sluggish brain gives you nothing more, too confused by the pelting of emotions you just received in quick succession. Perhaps it’s best to adopt Din’s usual policy of silence.

But he saves you from your chagrin and redirects you to another topic. “Final question. Can I make you dinner one evening this week? We agreed we’re aiming for something… meaningful here. Getting physical right away is not the best way to achieve that.” He squeezes your waist with the hand that’s remained in place throughout. “As much as I’m looking forward to that part.”

A sweet smile is your reply, though you realise he can’t see it in the dark. Luckily, it’s followed up by the return of your vocabulary. “Dinner sounds good. Grogu too?” You love the little womp rat, but this sounds like a date, so you’d rather it wasn’t crashed by a decades-old toddler.

Din hums as he follows your thought process. “The kids at his school keep inviting him on playdates and sleepovers. The parents seem like good people, so I’m sure we could arrange something both he and I would be happy with.”

You nod. “Then I look forward to our first date.” You can’t imagine how a dinner date will work with a guy who can’t show his face, but at least now you know there are loopholes. Perhaps he has another for eating together.

“Me too… mesh’la Maia.” You hear his slightly cheeky but utterly earnest tone, and you can’t help grinning. How apt that he should give you a nickname just when you decide to start using his real name.

You want to kiss him again, but since you pulled away a little, you can’t judge where his face is anymore, and you’re not sure if you’re allowed to touch him to locate it. “Another kiss before I leave, gorgeous guy?” (Two can play the nickname game, and you started it).

“Always,” Din agrees through a chuckle, bringing you in close again with the hand on your neck, finding your lips and pressing something firmer, more resolute there. You open eagerly for him and revel in the thrust of his tongue against yours. He’s settling into it now, more confident in himself and his technique, while carefully heeding your responses.

You enjoy it while you can – the sensations, the taste, the warmth, the delicious calm energy that washes through you with his lips on yours, his tongue in your mouth, his hand on your neck. You commit the feelings to memory, unsure when you’ll get to do it again. You hope you won’t have to wait too long for your date.

It’s over too soon, but you accept that it has to be. As you separate, you attempt to lock in the memories of the features you’ve felt pressed against you – stubble, soft lips, a strong nose. It’s not much, but it’s more than you had before.

Din’s hand falls from your neck, and you bemoan the loss of heat and comfort, spiralling back toward your hangover from the heady heights of such an intimate moment. As you hear the scrape of his helmet on the shelf’s edge again, you panic a little and blurt out, “What’s your hair like?”

He freezes, and your panic swells for a different reason. Based on the comb you spotted on his dresser earlier, you’re confident you’re not asking a bald man to describe his hair, but perhaps it’s forbidden to ask.

“I-I mean, if I’m not allowed to know, then forget I asked. I just… now that I’ve felt your lips, it’s made me wonder about the rest. It’s fine if you can’t tell me, though.”

A few seconds later, the scrape of the helmet resumes, and he slides it into his grasp. But you don’t hear him put it on.

Din’s reply is a low whisper, and he sounds even more nervous than he was before you kissed. “You can’t see my face… but you can touch it. If you want.”

Oh. You wonder how many people have touched his face, which makes you hesitate. This feels more intimate than you should be getting right now. “Thank you. I think… just your hair today. I’ll explore the rest of you on our date, face included.” That promise wins you an eager hum.

Your hands remain buried in his cloak, so you slide one to the back of his neck and rake upward. A gasp escapes you as you feel soft strands, longer than you expected and curling slightly at the ends. You picture the cutest mess of unruly waves.

“Is it… what colour is it?” You’ve seen him without his gloves a few times – last night included – so you know his skin is a warm amber. But human genetics are so diverse that you can’t really assume anything about his hair based on that.

It takes a few seconds for him to answer, busy sighing in bliss and pressing his head into your palm like a tooka getting stroked. “Dark,” he replies simply. It’s unclear whether he’s hypnotised by your hand in his hair or he’s not used to disclosing details about himself. Both are fair excuses, and you have much more data than you did ten minutes ago either way. You’re convinced he’s gorgeous.

“Thank you, Din,” you offer as you force yourself to stop running your fingers through his silken waves and withdraw a step.

There’s a quiet rustle as he places his helmet back on and seals it. “You’re welcome.” It’s modulated again, but there’s something about hearing that metallic rasp that makes you smile. You just kissed the source of that sound.

With a muffled beep from his vambrace, the lights fade up again, revealing an impassive black T-visor. However, the armoured body below it somehow looks more relaxed and assured. Gone is the stiffness you felt in his limbs earlier, and though you wonder if a certain stiffness in his pants remains, you’re not about to start ogling him when you should be going home.

So you smile and suggest, “Walk me out?” and you’re rewarded with a nod.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a different person. Though your foggy head throbs and your bruised shoulder smarts, your very essence sparkles with an energy you’ve never felt before. It flares with each lingering touch the Mandalorian bestows upon you, with every prolonged stare of his visor, and with his soft instruction to get home safe.

He’ll call you, he promises, slipping a new comlink into your hand.

When you exit the cabin for the second time in one morning, you feel like a better person. The girl who disgraced herself last night has gone, leaving a happier and more fulfilled version in her place. Even so, you’re sure glad that idiot version of yourself ran her mouth and became the catalyst for your new path with Din.

And you can’t wait to look down again. Maybe next time you’ll get to go down too.

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Get ready for more loquacious end notes…

Maia’s job was inspired by this scene from s3e5. She’s not a civil engineer, but, like, she could be that girl with the datapad – doing all the planning and building the holos while the engineer gets all the glory (can you tell I work in a support role??).

I originally wrote details at the end of part one of everything Din decided – that she must be attracted to him based on how she worded things, and that he’d talk to her to verify that and determine whether it was something she’d like to act on or just ignore. But I realised it was better for the story to leave his intentions a mystery (is the thing he ‘doesn’t want to have to do’ ejecting her from his life, or simply having a grownup conversation?), which hopefully lets you feel more of Maia’s fear here.

I feel like there’s a lot of scope for misunderstandings, not just because of Din’s helmet, but also because he can be socially awkward. So there he is, massively attracted to this girl who threw herself at him the night before but he doesn’t know what to say, so he just sort of gravitates towards her, tries to get close. Is he sort of flirting? Maybe. The ‘get in their personal space’ thing might work for him when he’s casually picking someone up. So his actions here are him trying to say with body language “I like you too, I want to get closer,” but she misunderstands because of her embarrassment, sees it as intimidation, and shies away – a response which makes him even more clueless about how to vocalise things.

I hope the switch from third person (she/her) pronouns in part 1 Din’s POV to second person (you/your) pronouns in part 2 Maia’s POV wasn’t too clunky. I know it’s popular in this fandom to use second-person pronouns (you/your) even when writing from a third person’s POV (Din’s), but I just can’t make myself do it. If he’s the one whose head we’re in, when he’s thinking about the woman he’s attracted to, he wouldn’t be thinking “damn, you’re hot”, he’d be thinking “damn, she’s hot”. I was taught that we should hear internal dialogue exactly as it would sound to the person thinking it, thus we should use third-person pronouns when inside his head. You/your is only for when we’re inside the reader’s head (second-person POV so second-person pronouns). And of course, I/me pronouns are used if we’re ever inside the author’s head (first person POV). I hope that explains the switch here. I swear I can’t help my annoying adherence to grammar rules – it’s just been drilled into me. I wish I could be more flexible sometimes, but unfortunately the autism always wins 😔

GIF made by me again, slightly less blurry this time.

Definitions: An ultrasound cleaner is basically a sonic toothbrush from Legends. Both Boba Fett and Jabba the Hutt kept a rancor as a rather scary pet. Caf, as you probably know, is the SWU’s coffee. Din (and Maia here) often calls Grogu a womp rat, a pest on Tatooine (proving Din has spent long enough there to pick up the local lingo, and Maia has picked it up from him). A tooka is an SWU cat.

As always, comments/kudos (AO3) and likes/reblogs (Tumblr) will inspire me to produce more things. I don’t have a Kofi because I would rather have your help marketing my stories than take your cash, so if you enjoy my work, please support me with kudos and reblogs. Thanks!

Honestly, I’m not altogether thrilled with this fic. I struggle with shorter (ha!) pieces because, as those of you who have read Be-All And Endor will know, I’m much more comfortable playing the long game and writing things where I can focus on character development, foreshadow future events, reference and call back concepts, and do a heck of a lot of worldbuilding. So to me, this feels like it lacks depth because it’s a very simple and straightforward concept that lacks a full-on conflict/resolution arc, and as a character study it’s nothing that hasn’t been done before. I’ve also been struggling to write something I felt was good enough to publish in the wake of Be-All. I don’t think this passes muster, but in the end, I realised I had to just post something – anything – simply to get past that fear of doing it. So I hope this was interesting enough to at least hold your attention! I suppose I could write a part 3 where they have their date and the smut happens, but to be honest, I have several other smutty fics in the works that have much better setups, so I think I should focus on those. I might come back to this one day, though.

:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:･ﾟ✧:･.☽˚｡･ﾟ✧:･.:

Tags requested…

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@dindenimchicken @feekedbeat @foomoosworld @jude77 @penvisions

@pigeonmama @secretelephanttattoo @stagerightlauren @the-mandawhor1an @titlee78

I tagged those below in part 1 due to interest in my series masterlist and WIP snippets (comments/reblogs). Nobody told me off for my audacity, so I’m hoping you’ll enjoy part 2 also…

@604to647 @cheekychaos28 @djarinmuse @gingerlurk

@joelalorian @kyberblade @readingupsidedown @sunflowersunlight7-blog

@thefrogdalorian @whataenginerd @wrathkitty

[foundfamilyhq]

Welcome + Rules

Welcome to the Tumblr Found Family HQ! Here, we present your blorbos to the masses to have them vote upon whether they should be added to the collective tumblr found family or not. Submit your blorbos here:

See which blorbos have already joined the found family HERE! To avoid seeing the results posts, mute "ff results" The rules are: 1. Play nice; be respectful to others 2. Blorbos can be of any age, since a found family can be just that. So feel free to submit a one-day old infant or a ten thousand year old tree, if those are your blorbos 3. No Harry Potter (or other titles associated to this series or the author) 4. No real people (might make an exception if it's funny) 5. "No real people" includes no individual tumblr users, youtubers or streamers (this might seem obvious, but there were still a lot of them submitted) 6. No OCs. All your OCs are great and I'd feel sad if they got rejected from the found family F.A.Q. under readmore:

(No one has actually asked any questions, but these are the ones I'm anticipating) Some of these questions have been asked now lol Q. How does this work? A. A post featuring a blorbo shall be made, stating who they are and their source material. A poll will be attached set to one week, asking if the blorbo shoulf join the tumblr found family. At the end of the week, based on the result, I will announce if they blorbo has joined or not Q. What is a found family? A. A found family is a family you find for yourself. It is a term often used in fandom to describe a group of characters who aren't related by blood (although a few members might be) but have come to think of each other as a family through circumstance. Alternatively, they might not be officially recognised as a found family in canon, but wider fanon regards them as such Q. Is this a tournament bracket? A. Nope, blorbos aren't competing against each other, they're only here to be judged by you. We are here enternally submitting blorbos (at least until I run out of steam or pass away lol) Q. I'm not sure if my blorbo counts because of ___ reason? A. If it's not any of the reasons mentioned in the rules, then feel free to send an ask. Or just submit them anyway and I'll decide Q. I submitted a blorbo and they haven't been posted. Did you get them? A. Again, feel free to send an ask. I don't have a regular schedule for posting these. Somedays there'll be batches of polls, others there'll be one or none Q. My blorbos are a duo/trio/etc., who cannot be separated. Can I submit them as a group? A. While I would prefer to stick to individual characters, if you have some who absolutely cannot be separated, I might make exceptions. Most likely, I'll make a poll asking if they should be judged as a group or individually, since there's a lot of media I won't be familiar with Q. My blorbo got ditched on the roadside! Fuck you! A. Friend, as a fan of Theseus from Hades Game, I understand what it's like to have your fave hated by fandom. Anything decided on this blog can never affect your personal headcanons, so go in peace with your middle finger held high Q. What are your icon and header? A. The icon is of the Pokemon Bouffalant and Natu, based on a series of trading card art where Bouffalant finds two Natu and rescues them - the true spirit of found family. The header is a group of characters called the Black Ravens from the Professor Layton series - a group of ragtag working-class kids who make a black market together Q. I wrote some propaganda on the submission form, can you post it or send it back to me? A. Submissions are deleted as the polls are posted, so I can keep track of how many I have left to post, which means I can't do this. Please save your propaganda for the post and not the submissions form Q. Did you know you used fan art on ___ poll? A. Unless I'd mentioned getting permission from the artist, then please assume that I did not know and let me know. I hate art theft and wouldn't want to partake in that, but I'm just not familiar with a good 80% of the series submitted, so sometimes it might slip through the cracks Q. Can I submit a character who isn't my blorbo? A. Also fine! I enjoy it when people submit controversial characters to see how they'll do Q. What happens if there's a tie? A. The blorbo in question becomes an occassional family member who appears with our found family for some important cutscenes, but isn't officially considered part of the found family

Q. No, but seriously, my blorbo got ditched. Do they get another chance? A. At the beginning of each year we host a Redemption Event, where any past blorbos who were submitted get another chance. Because of the high volume of ditched characters, to be included in the event, your character will need to be submitted with propaganda via a form that will be released about a month before the event Q. I think the image used is a big reason why my blorbo got ditched. Why did you use that image? A. If an image hasn't been submitted, I will just grab one from an image search result in most cases. You know your blorbos best, so if you have a specific (non-fan art) image that you think shows them in their best light, please do submit it when you submit them Q. Did you mean the book version or movie version of that character? A. Whichever version of the blorbo that gets submitted, that'll be the one I use. If no specific version is mentioned, I'll just post that blorbo in general and use whatever image is most common when I look them up, unless an image has been submitted or a book cover has been requested to be used Q. My blorbo is a character played by a youtuber and/or streamer, not the youtuber or streamer themselves, is that okay? A. If it's a character, then it's fine. But please mention this on the submission. Because if I look them up and the result looks to be just some real person, that won't be included. I am largely unfamiliar with these kind of fandoms and will always err on the side of caution about their inclusion Q. What counts as a "sweep"? A. Any character who gets 90% or higher in either joining or not joining is counted as a sweep. This doesn't give them anything extra, it's just for bragging rights Q. What counts as a "close call"? A. Any character who's poll results are within the 49%-51% range for join/don't join is counted as a close call Q. How many characters can I submit at a time? A. There's no hard rule, since the form doesn't track emails, but please be considerate to others and try not to submit more than 10 characters per submission period. See next question for more details Q. How many characters from the same series can I submit at a time? A. Four (4) characters per series per submission period. I'll be lenient for if they've been submitted by multiple people, but from my experience running this blog, it's only the current Hot New Thing that'll be submitted by multiple people and anything else is usually one person submitting one character after another. I used to allow more, but people took this for granted and submitted 50+ from the same series, so now 4 is the cap Q. You missed a tag from that poll! Can it be added? A. Sure! Tags are either provided by the submitter or where left blank, I'll use my best guess. At minimum, you'll get the name of the character and series as they've been submitted. If you know more, let me know and I'll add them to the post during the voting period. Please note: The polls themselves cannot be edited after being posted, only the tags Q. Can fictional characters based on real people be submitted? A. Fictional characters that are inspired by real people (e.g. Steven Universe being inspired by Rebecca Sugar's brother) are generally fine. But characters that are basically just some real celebrity making a cameo somewhere (e.g. Simon Cowell appearing on the Simpsons), are a no. Q. I don't understand what this blog is A. Don't worry about it, friend. Just keep driving and whatever you do, don't wind down the window. We'll be safe soon :) Q. Didn't think blog used to be called the Found Family Adoption Agency? A. It was, but I were made aware that the language used on the blog could be seen as potentially harmful to real life adoptees, so I changed the name of the blog and made some edits to try to avoid using such language. Posts made prior to 5th May 2024 will still contain references to adopt/ditching, so tread with caution on older posts

[e-dubbc11]

Bloodstains in the Snow

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Violence, swear words (I think), little fluff.

Word Count: 1.5K-ish

Summary: After a late night job, Billy wanders through the snow, figuring out how he feels about you.

A/N: I wrote this pretty quick but I actually think it’s pretty good, maybe even one of the best things I’ve written. I love writing fluffy Billy but every once in awhile I really enjoy violent/unhinged/unapologetic Billy. But he’s still soft for the person he loves. I hope you like it and hope you all enjoy your holiday season! ♥️

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The late night city sounds were muffled by the heavy flakes of snow as they fluttered quickly to the ground. After the job was finished, he just wandered along the sidewalk looking down at what looked like a carpet of cotton beneath his feet.

His leather and black shearling coat collar pulled up to block the snow from touching the hot skin of his neck and his black beanie covered his ears to protect him from the savage wind that assaulted him from all directions.

He closed his eyes and remembered how much blood was spilled tonight.

He passed bar patrons that had ducked outside quickly for a few drags on their cigarettes before running back inside to get away from the bitter cold.

The scent of ash mixed with the fresh scent of the snow occupied his sense of smell even after he walked past that strip of bars. Stifled music coming from inside the bars was only clear when someone would open the door and muted again once the doors were closed.

Sometimes the desert overseas would get cold at night, but it would never get New York City winter cold. Blood looked brighter against the colorless shroud of snow than on top of the desert sands but spilled blood was spilled blood and it all came from the same source…evil.

Overseas, he spent some nights trying not to die and he flirted with death on more than one occasion. He had wondered if he would die never knowing what it’s like to be truly loved by someone and would he ever have what his best friend Frank had…a loving wife and kids.

“Only the dead have seen the end of war” and Billy Russo wouldn’t go down without fighting. He had done it his entire life…he was a survivor and a fighter. He fought for his life and for his country in wars at home and war overseas but he still didn’t know if he was worthy of love.

If he deserved love, then why did she leave him? Why did she abandon him? He was just a little boy. Did she love him at all? He didn’t know the answer to that and he would never know. Now, he wondered if anyone could love him for who he really is, even with all the things he has done.

Maybe you could be the one to love him.

The picturesque snow drifts were a perfect white under the glow of the city street lamps, his mind then flashed to ribbons of red running through the snow cradling the bodies of the would-be assassins. They had come for the state representative Billy and his team were protecting.

His last thoughts had been of you when he had the large arms of a mob boss wrapped tightly around his neck before Frank put a bullet in between his eyes.

Billy didn’t think twice about killing them all, no regard for any of their lives. He didn’t know if any of them had families or children and he didn’t care. All he knew was he had a job to do and he wanted to go home to you.

The goon had said something in Billy’s ear that caused his muscles to stiffen and his face to flush with rage. “You gotta real pretty girl, Russo. After we’re done with you, we’ll pay her a visit at your penthouse.”

They had threatened you.

It wouldn’t have bothered him if he wasn’t attached to you like he was. Billy was very much in love with you although he didn’t realize he was until your life was endangered.

What if they had taken you away from him? He couldn’t live with himself if that happened. Billy Russo didn’t lose fights and he would fight off the entire world just so he wouldn’t lose you.

The hollow cold stung his lungs as he inhaled the mid-winter air and let out a long exhale when he glanced down at the blood on his hands from the scum who’s throat he had just ripped out. Blood poured out quickly; it could not be contained. That man was now lying in the snow gasping for air he would never get. Billy saw nothing but red until they were all dead.

The rage burned like white hot fire in his veins as he sliced them all from groin to sternum, spilling their insides, disrupting the blanket of white underneath them and then it was over.

A devilish grin extended across Billy’s mouth, his doll-like eyes shined against the stark white snow as he watched their lives fade away forever into the cold; he enjoyed killing even though he knew he shouldn’t.

As he continued to walk against the powerful wind, his lips curled up into a slight smile. You were safe and warm back at his penthouse…probably sound asleep.

Billy didn’t want to think about it but he wondered what it would be like if he never got to sleep next to you again, or you reaching for his shirt collar in your sleep so you could nuzzle into the crook of his neck to keep your nose from getting cold.

When he had nightmares, you didn’t get scared. You were only scared for him and hoped you were doing enough to comfort him. It was more than anyone else had done for him and he welcomed it.

But what if he never got to hear you laugh or see your beautiful smile again? He was never going to give those up; he was never going to give YOU up. Billy started to walk faster into the large snowflakes falling quickly from the sky toward Anvil to get his car.

The walk to clear his head was done and he was ready to go home.

Finally, he was inside the car and out of the smothering cold, he looked at his hands as they grasped the steering wheel. Wind burned and blood stained, it was difficult to not look at them as he carefully drove home.

The snow-covered streets were nearly empty as the clock on the dashboard flashed 2 AM; he drove slowly, being extra careful not to slip and slide all over the road. Billy didn’t survive a night of mob bosses and thugs just to be taken out in a car accident.

When Billy arrived home, he inhaled sharply, unlocked the door and stepped inside. As he closed the door behind him, he exhaled forcefully and removed his boots.

The chill in his bones lingered until the hot water from the shower pelted against his skin, and the scent of your shampoo still hung inside the confines of the shower doors. It was silly but he loved to wash your hair and his mouth went tight with anger when he realized he didn’t get to do that for you tonight.

His tension eased however when he remembered that because you were safe, he would be able to do it the next time. It took a little effort but Billy removed the blood from his hands and from underneath his fingernails; they returned to their normal color and his long skilled fingers, along with the rest of his body, were no longer cold.

He could not wait to hold you.

The soft orange glow of the salt lamp illuminated your face just enough for Billy to see you were fast asleep. You stirred slightly when he pulled the blanket back and let a low whimper escape your lips as he carefully inched closer; he did not want to disturb your sleep.

You were wearing one of his old Marines t-shirts when he reached for you, his hands slipped under the blanket to touch your bare thigh, and your warm skin was soft from the lotion you applied earlier.

The tip of your nose touched the base of Billy’s neck and you wrapped your fingers around the collar of his shirt. The bristles of his beard brushed your shoulder as he pressed his lips against you.

He had never been more relieved to be home.

“I don’t deserve you, sweet girl. The things I’ve done…” He said in barely more than a whisper.

But he did. Billy did deserve to be loved, he was worthy of the love he craved and desired. He had to fight and kill to survive, to live; that didn’t make him a bad person. And now he had another reason to do what he does best…for love.

He did love you, he was sure of it now. “I love you.” Said Billy, softly against your ear.

And you loved him.

As long as there are men like that out there, Billy will always have a war to fight. He will make it his mission to destroy any evil that could take away the love he’s wanted his entire life.

As the snow continued to fall outside your window, the dreamlike picture below outshined the carnage shed outside on the streets tonight.

The tomb-like silence was music to his ears as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep while the blanket of white piled up high, cloaking the red stains left behind. “They won’t be missed.” He said to himself.

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.” -Plato

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialams @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[uwu-co-in]

What majors 'Attack on Titan'characters would have in college AU (part 2):

Source: My Majors

Word count: 1.1k

(part one)

11. Sasha: Crisis/Emergency/Disaster Management

• Sasha was first admitted to a college with the major Culinary Science, along with her boyfriend, Niccolo, but left the course after a month

• I want to eat food not study it was what she retorted to everyone, but in reality, she just felt she would not be contributing enough to the community

• As the major took out for a lot of field work, she signs up for all, and even joined internships from the first year itself, regarding the same

• A procrastinator; crams on the night of the exam, while Niccolo is cooking her assortment of dishes and gets super groggy on examination mornings :')

12. Connie: Graphic Design

• His mother was extremely proud of her son getting into the college; so much that she had told every other person passing on the streets how Connie will be a genius, in whatever tech stuff he is doing

• Opted for a college far away from home, because he wanted to experience life to the fullest by living alone, and learning to fend for himself

• Teaches basic computer science to two kids, and works as a freelancer digital artist, along with juggling his classes

• Loves his subject and puts effort behind it quite regularly, but call him for a party he'd be there with two extra beer bottles, ridiculously shimmery clothes and a party popper!

13. Jean: Architecture

• Look me in the eye and tell me that Jean doesn't look like a dreamy arch student, always carrying his sketchbook along with him and sitting down to draw the building or monument designs that seem to intrigue him

• Was in eighth grade, when Mikasa told him that the way he draws the buildings are very clean. Boom, and he wants to draw them for the rest of his life

• For some reason, his mother did not approve of his subject choice, until one day she found a few building designs doodled in placards sprawled over his desk and reconsidered her opinion

• Loves a good party once in a while, but really wants to work behind the subject so sometimes, calls a rain check

14. Erwin: Intelligence

• Ever since Erwin can remember, he wanted to be in the army, fighting for his motherland. That was what he had wanted all his life, and he had every quality to enlist himself for it until he sustained incurable injuries on his right arm trying to save an elderly couple from an accident

• Intelligence major was a piece of cake for Erwin, for he was a natural leader, acing all his classes with ease. He loves spending time in the library a lot, and his favourite book is rumoured to be 'Crime and Punishment' by Fyodor Dostoevsky

• He is equally loved and lusted by the women in his university, but apart from occasional casual flings, he does not want to engage in a relationship because it 'fuddles his mind'

• His room is speck clean and he likes working out regularly and eating healthy (cooks his own food and is distrustful of the canteen meals)

15. Zeke: Law

• In school, Zeke was reprimanded a lot because according to his teachers, he was 'always quipped with a brash follow-up question, with no regards to authority'. In college, he encashed it by enrolling himself in a law major programme

• He is a big believer in practical knowledge and quickly networked to find internship opportunities to practice and observe lawyers alongside his regular studies

• With an absentee father, he worked two side jobs as a cashier at Starbucks and a private tutor

• He participated a lot in debate competitions and moot courts to enhance his critical thinking and analytical skills

16. Marco: Film Studies

• Always a sweet and dreamy guy, Marco chose film studies because he passionately believes films influence people a lot

• Ask him, and he will name the most obscure movies just to seem like a film student with a mysterious air, while in reality, his favourite movie is Mean Girls

• Likes people watching and tries to do all his college work sitting in a cafe, with 'coffee, coffee, coffee!'

• Has tried making short films, and although the themes and plots have been pretty good, he is yet to get real recognition for them

17. Porco: Aviation

• Ever the cocky guy, Porco took aviation because it made him feel like he was on top of the world

• Scored average in theory but was very skilled in practical knowledge

• His professors have often recommended he enlist for the air force, but he doesn't want to; he wants a low-key life without stress (staning a king who knows the importance of mental health!)

• Flirts A LOT with his fellow classmates, and 10/10 uses his charm to get his homework and assignments done

18. Pieck: Inorganic Chemistry

• Pieck's main goal in life is to see more women in STEM, and thus, her major

• Has excellent mathematical and statistical skills and uses them efficiently to excel

• Straight A student, has the special lucky glasses that she wears while taking her exams

• Very humble and soft-spoken, she is often forced to help others even when she doesn't really want to

19. Gabi: Marketing Research

• Gabi originally wanted to become a footballer and had once run away from home because she felt her parents did not approve of her career choice

• While football is still her passion, she has a newfound love for marketing

• Immense persuasive skills and great essays make her one of the toppers of her batch

• Feels stressed trying to juggle studies and football, but she loves both and can't live life with one without the other

20. Falco: Art History Criticism and Conservation

• Falco loved visiting art museums as a kid, and this love of his followed well into adulthood

• His favourite artist is Monet, and his core memory of college is their field trip to the Sistine Chapel

• Loves art, any art in any form, and appreciates every art he sees; is passionate about learning more and has inculcated the skill of finding beauty in everything

• His dorm room is filled with paintings from roadside artisans that he fell in love with, and on Sundays, he tries painting himself (and fails miserably, but is the happiest)

[stillfrownyclownlol]

Aiden BPD headcanonsssss because my dad is being weird and I feel weird too

(Most of these are based on my experiences living with somebody who has bpd, and maybe myself but we won't talk about that haha)

Tw for all the things bpd tends to cover (self harm, abuse, substance abuse, and suicidal ideation, brief mention of cannabis in a medical context)

-definitely a big source of trauma is his parents basically abandoning him for long stretches of time

-Prone to splitting regarding them. When they're not around its so much easier to be like "Whatever, fuck them, I don't care." But when they *are* around, they're always so affectionate, a lot of "it's not their fault they're busy", "they don't mean it", kind of thoughts...it's okay Aiden, people can still love you even if they treat you badly :/

-y'all know he's self destructive. Yall KNOW. He's been in 7 different go-kart "accidents", once broke his hip trying to impersonate Tony Hawk, and he WILL be crashing his car into a tree after binge drinking.

-Self harms as a form of stimulation sometimes. He just gets SO bored. Usually will slam his head on the nearest hard object or cut himself with his compass.

-has been to a "wellness center" (mental hospital) after an episode where when his parents were on a trip, they returned and found him catatonic on his bed, he hadn't gotten up for almost 8 weeks and his mattress was stained with urine. Not to mention he'd gotten extremely sick after eating only Ramen. Called this a "blip" and hasn't done anything like this again, but only cuz he hated the hospital so much :/

-not really good at managing his anger. He gets pissed off easily (his jaw starts clenching), but has definitely eased off with the yelling and picking a fight with the person. May say some things he may or may not regret later :/ might like kick the wall or smth too-

-his feelings of emptiness and boredom get really exacerbated when he tries to sleep, so he just doesn't sleep until he passes out from exhaustion.

-extremely rare, but if he cries its almost never the appropriate time.

-his favorite person (and I mean this in the bpd way not just the usual way) was Ben, now it's Ashlyn. She asks Ben for advice sometimes on how to understand him better. Is trying to get better, but he just wants all of her attention all the time. He could make a soliloquy of all the things he loves about her. She's the one who pushed him to go back to therapy and told him "hey, I think you have somethinh"

-Weirdly protective but in a hands off way?? Even tho he really doesn't handle himself well? He knows his friends can take care of themselves but it doesn't stop him from running through the worst case scenario. Freaks out if people are late, especially if they're punctual. Also really defensive of them, they do no wrong in his eyes (except when they do :/)

-used to push people away to avoid disappointment or abandonment, especially because they needed to move so much. All his relationships were very superficial. Ghosted people a lot.

-Has chronic pain as an adult because of all the injuries he suffered through as a kid, not to mention his shitty posture. He takes painkillers, but they leave him zoned out and with even worse insomnia so he doesn't take them a lot. Sometimes uses medicinal weed if the pain is really bad. Ash tries to help by rubbing his back, though she says she's not that useful. He always feels better afterwards tho ❤️

-Smokes if he is really stressed, but he's ashamed about it and tries not to do it too much. Picked it up after stealing some of his mom's cigarettes when he was younger.

-his inner voice is extremely negative and he is generally under the impression that everybody hates him. Tries to act like this doesn't bother him and acts like a nuisance because if everybody hates him why even bother filtering his thoughts or actions?

-why were you even born? Who'd love a screw up like you? Your own parents didn't even want you.

-rejection sensitivity and gets really depressed if he's upset one of his friends. Will usually self harm to cope because he think lashing out will make things worse and he just doesn't know what else to do.

-he loves deeply and he's fiercely loyal. He's good with children. He's a wonderful artist. And he is so very incredibly kind. His bpd does not define him as a person.

I don't know if anybody needs to hear this, but, having BPD is not a death sentence. You're not doomed to be a bad person or an abuser, and I say this as somebody who was abused by someone with BPD (my own father). People with BPD are scared, they are struggling, and most of all, they're tired. If you or somebody you care about thinks they're have bpd, try to contact a doctor or specialist and seek professional help.

I'm gonna go cry in the shower now :)

[catsolas]

i can't take it anymore,

if you are not going to put any amount of effort into researching the experiences of actual mixed race people, please do not write about your white half-elf dnd/bg3 character as an oppressed minority

"not accepted by elves or humans" is such a vague statement, it's basically meaningless!!

even if you don't have a backstory fully formed in your head, your character does not live in a vacuum. "not accepted" by WHICH elves? WHICH humans? especially if they live in a sword coast city -- why would those elves and humans they pass on the street have any care in the world about their existence as a half elf??

is the character going in to elven grocery stores, speaking in elvish only for the proprietor to give them a weird look or a hard time about their accent? are random humans doing double takes before asking, well where are they really from?

(actual advice below (from a biracial person if that needs to be said))

half elves are really, really not that uncommon. even if they're a rarity in their individual community, that alone isn't a reason for them to be discriminated against. elves aren't a marginalized group in most generic dnd settings or Forgotten Realms! Not human =/= oppressed!

instead, think about what the character's upbringing would have been like and what cultures they were exposed to rather than shaping them on basis of race. a biracial character isn't just someone who doesn't "fit" within a binary system, there are a hundred other factors at play, too.

let's say their elf and human heritages are opposite sides of a riverbank. if they grew up on one side primarily (raised by the elf OR human parent), did they ever get a glimpse of the other side -- whether that was sun, moon, wood elf cultures, or any number of human cultures? what did it look like? did they care about it enough to learn more on their own, or were they content to turn their back to it and stay on the side they were at? maybe they never had an opportunity to learn more!

plenty of people irl have no connection to parts of their heritage. it's up to you to decide whether that is a source of grief, shame, anxiety, etc., for your character. there's no wrong answer, but it's important to explore.

if the character grew up separated from one "side," did they ever get a chance to cross that river? how? was it on a makeshift raft, undertaken at their own peril? did they have regularly scheduled ferry trips, wherein crossing that gulf was a pleasurable or hopeful experience? why did they seek to return or visit in the first place -- was it out of curiosity or filial duty?

if they're seeking a "home" to return to because they've felt out of place in other parts of the world, do they find that there? what about these cultures resonates with them, especially if they were not exposed to it as much from a young age?

can they even speak the language of their predecessors?

diaspora creates so many different environments for people irl -- some kids of immigrants never visit their parents' homeland, while others have the wealth and resources to return regularly. different amounts of grief and obligation are felt by everyone involved in both situations. many of those who leave the community are expected to send back money, clothes, supplies, etc., if they left for a "better life"; and despite their best efforts to maintain their ties to the community, they often end up estranged from their own culture and language over time as they assimilate into their new home. it's a devastating situation especially with the history of colonialism across the globe.

but with regards to fantasy cultures of elves and humans, the possible scenarios are just as endless! a half elf character could have easily been raised by a happy couple who made an effort to share their culture, languages, and histories with their child. conversely, they could have been raised by an elven parent who, still mired in grief at the loss of their short-lived lover, raises their child with resentment borne from that grief, or an overbearing, overprotective nature to keep this "living memory" of their love alive.

maybe the character was raised by a human parent who knows nothing about the elven culture their partner came from -- maybe they feel guilty they can't share it with their child, and maybe they don't. an inherent talent for magic from fae ancestry etc. could be at play here as well, which the parent might or might not be familiar with. something else to consider is that the human parent may only live for a fraction of their child's life even if they die of old age. (this is true in real life as well, obviously, but of slightly different significance here)

tl;dr you can play a half elf like they're a human but with darkvision, it's fine. but if you're wanting to explore how their mixed heritage would shape them, especially for backstory trauma reasons, consider in what ways they're an outsider -- and to whom.

[itsahotminuteinbetween]

Heey, back again with Chapter 6 :) Nothing too major goin on here, really. Nothing actually important happens until later. @itsberrydreemurstuff, @bibooby, and @laegume, I saved you all seats. (Also, @andyssilly, thought I might tag you in case you don't see this.)

Uh, before I start our little performance, I have a few lil things I'd like to say reaaal quick. The first is thaaaat... *brp bada brp brp brp boooo (that was a trumpet noise if you couldn't tell)* I have a tag for the fic now! I tagged all the chapters under the title "Where the Stars Don't Shine", so if you type it into my lil thing, it should come up! I'll probably pin a post with a the chapters linked eventually, I just keep forgetting to do it. And the second thing is slightly less important, but thought I might put it here anyways. Guys, I post polls sometimes that help me make decisions on things regarding the chapters. Nothing major, of course, just small tidbits and whatnot, but I'd really appreciate it if more people could vote on those. It's cool though, I don't mind.

Anyways, that's all for now, I guess! Soooo...

On with the show!

Word Count: 1,514

The day thankfully passes by without much issue, though truthfully you were in a daze for most of it. All you remember is the lights being unusually bright (you thought nothing of it) and a puppet show. Sun hadn’t spoken to you since your wake-up, which was a bit of a relief.

Cleaning had been a bit slower on your end. You think Sun had mentioned it at some point, though you could be mistaken. You know for a fact that he told you not to bring your pills to work on account of the kids getting access to them after you took one to ease the sharp throbbing in your head that had not let up after your nap. Strangely, you felt worse afterwards. You were sorely tempted to put in your earbuds, if only to block out that awful buzzing. You refrained, however; you really didn’t need Sun chastising you for the third time today.

You said good night, getting no response, and left. You don’t remember getting home, but you do remember trying to find something to eat in your nearly bare pantry. You found some eggs and semi-decent bread, made french toast, and passed out.

The pounding is not evaded today, either. Your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton, and it takes effort to keep your eyes open. You splash some water  on your face as a temporary fix, drink a bit of cough medicine to fight back your sore throat, and head to work.

You head straight for the desk, not bothering to say good morning to the animatronic in charge this time. Your bag hits the floor with a hard thunk, and you open it. You hope you thought to pack a lunch earlier, though you seriously doubt it with your frazzled state. 

Evidently, the source of the noise is actually a brick. You’re not even sure how you managed it, but it does explain why it felt so heavy to lug around. You assume it’s Moon’s work and think little else of it, placing it off to the side before Sun spots it and accuses you of vandalism or burglary or something. 

From the things you actually packed, most are your typical. Laptop, two books instead of one, earbuds, keys, your phone, and a second set of clothes. No lunch, though you weren’t expecting that one. You do find a granola bar instead, and tuck it in your pocket for safekeeping. Maybe you could eat it on the break you never used.

 You interest yourself in the books you brought. You’d already read (book) from cover to cover a dozen times over, but one more couldn’t hurt. The other was one of your additions for the children, and something you were hoping Moon would approve of as well. You hadn’t seen a copy of Brambly Hedge anywhere, but you’d love’d it when you were growing up. They’d liked the Peter Rabbit copy you’d put in, so with any luck, this one would garner a similar reaction.

You remind yourself to bring something for your coworker some other time. Moon may be a prick, but he seemed to get pretty bored when the children fell asleep. Perhaps something to keep him occupied would help, and maybe even get him off your back when the lights cut. What kind of books would he like, though? He’d stolen one of your Sherlock Holmes novels in your first month of work, and you’d caught him peeking over your shoulder on several different occasions when you’d brought your gothic horrors and dystopians, which also tended to mysteriously disappear. You couldn’t just walk up to him and ask, though. Asking either of them for something hardly ever went well.

You brush off the thought and remind yourself to actually request some funding for an idea you’d gotten some time back. The Daycare, action packed and entertaining as it was, didn’t really have much reading material outside of little kiddie books featuring corporate’s mascots, and while you weren’t opposed to donating your old children’s books, some newer ones would probably be more appealing. You’d noticed that Moon also seemed to enjoy the greater variety. He tended to gravitate towards classics and fables for naptime, though you made sure to only plant a few at a time do as not to arouse suspicion. You were pretty sure they thought it was the higher-ups’ doing, and you weren’t going to be the one to correct them. 

You whip around, scanning the Daycare for any sign of the animatronic before taking off with the book in hand, shelving it among the other books you’d brought. You walk back to the desk, feeling almost proud of yourself, until a voice pipes up behind you. “Friieeend, what are you dooing?” 

For the record, despite what the security cameras captured, you did not screech and trip over nothing. 

You flip over and jump back up onto your feet, hastily responding to fend off any conclusion he’d make about this. “Who’s doing something? Me? No, I’m not doing anything, nothing at all.”

Yeah, that didn’t sound suspicious at aaaall, nice going.

Sun’s faceplate turns, static grin growing wider with each click. “Reeeally now? Because it seems to me like you were trying to sneak something from the shelf.”

Great. Now he thinks you’re a thief.

You shake your head frantically, crossing your arms to further prove a point. “No, no I’m not, promise.” Yeah, that’ll help, Y/N, way to seem like a criminal.

His face reverts to its normal position, and you think you’re in the clear (until) he speaks up again. “Glad to be wrong then! Still, I think I’d rather be safe than sorry. You wouldn’t mind if I checked, would you?”

This smug little- You shoot him a strained smile and a thumbs-up that does not display your panic in any way. “Nnnnnnope, go right ahead!”

His own smile stretches. He stoops down to your height and surveys the shelf, default smile forming an unreadable expression that you’re not sure you want to uncover the meaning of. He speaks after a few moments. “This wasn’t here earlier.” He taps the spine of the newly added Brambly Hedge on the shelf for emphasis.

You swallow, arms locked at your sides. You question whether you’d prefer him accusing you of thievery or stupidity. 

He pulls it out and flips through the pages, gaze snapping back to you quizzically.

“How did it get here?” He muses out loud, putting you on the spot with a look that makes you freeze.

Your brain races to find an acceptable response other than the actual truth, and lying will only get you in more trouble. 

You pause. Moon can’t know. 

“Is Moon listening?” you probe.

He pauses, rays doing a half-spin before he responds, “Not at the moment.”

You seriously doubt that, but it’ll have to do. 

You’re so screwed. 

You fiddle with the hem of your shirt, rushing what you want to say at speeds that leave your lungs gasping as you stumble over your words. “I noticed the older kidsandsometimesMoon get bored so I thought I could bring some booksforthemfromhome but I haven’t asked management forper-permissionyetIwasgonnadothatintoday’sreportsorryandthekidsreallylikedperterrabbitsoithoughtmaybethey’dlikethisonetoopleasedon’ttellmoonormanagementIcan’tlosethisjob.” 

Your eyes are tightly screwed shut by the end of your tirade, hands clenched into fists. You peek an eye open to find Sun not in front of you, but on the other side of the room.

Yep, you are so dead when naptime rolls around.

—---------------------------------

Sun was at a sort of standstill with this new information. You were the one responsible for those books mysteriously piling up on their shelves, out of your own pocket, and you hadn’t thought to ask management? 

He hadn’t been lying when he told you Moon was absent: his brother was never active when Sun was out, preferring to stay offline unless called upon. 

He should tell Moon. This was probably something he’d want to know, something that could possibly get you fired. 

He paused. Would it get you fired? On one hand, you were required to report everything, including any changes you requested. On the other, you were the one paying for said changes, which meant the company didn’t have to do it themselves. If anything, they’d probably just issue you off with a warning and make you pay for everything.

Besides, while the Daycare was practically perfect in his humble opinion, he did have to admit he appreciated the new additions, and he wasn’t going to refuse the benefits, even if they were from you. 

Sun had a feeling his brother wouldn’t agree.

Another lightbulb flickered on in his head. You’d bought the books. He wondered what else you’d brought under the guise of management. 

He sighed, conflicted. You were right, the kids did like Peter Rabbit, along with every other book you’d brought in.

He supposed he could keep this little revelation to himself. Not for you, he reasoned, but for the kids. And speaking of the kids, a handful of them were already entering through the doors now, signaling the start of the day.

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

Aaaaand that's a wrap! Hope that was up to standard :) Y/N seems to be getting a little worse, hehehe...and I suuure hope Moon doesn't find out about all this, that would make for an interesting confrontation...But yeah, the Assistant's basically been funding most of the stuff for the Daycare at this point. They buy groceries when Management forgets to, restocks for emergency supplies and cleaning stuff, and buys new things for the kids sometimes.

[snifflesthemouse]

WHY DOESN’T HARRY WANT HIS CHILDREN TO PAY FEALTY TO HIS FATHER, THE KING? WHY ARE THEY ‘PRINCE’ AND ‘PRINCESS’, BUT THEY DO NOT HAVE TO SWEAR AN OATH TO THEIR MONARCH?

Hello to all You Lovely Readers!

Before we begin, I just wanted to thank all of you for your love, support, and comments! I may not get the chance to reply to all of them, but I cherish every single one. Time is the most valuable resource, and readers are the most valued asset to a writer! This author has by far the BEST READERS!

Now, let’s begin with something that has been on my mind lately.

Why wouldn’t Harry and Meghan want their children to pay fealty to their grandfather, the King? I understand Meghan not doing it, as she is an American citizen and never became a dual citizen. But her children are, from my understanding. They want the children to use those monetary – oops, I meant hereditary- titles… but they don’t want them there? This tells me everything about this whole fiasco regarding the invitations.

People like Harry and Meghan can’t help themselves. There is absolutely no situation where a narcissistic psychopath (or sociopath) would pass up an opportunity like this… UNLESS they got something more valuable in return for staying home. Especially since it’s their “first child’s birthday” the same day.

The media suggests that Harry will be in and out and home by dinner. Then why go? He went because there was a trade-off most likely. Neither would ever desire the time away from one another for fear of weakening the control links. She let him go over there to try and face-to-face pressure him a couple weeks ago when he showed up for a court case he didn’t need to be there for. Her kids on the balcony was worth more to her than him potentially cheating on her with an ex or getting de-programmed.

ANY TIME a narcissistic psychopath or sociopath risks the deprogramming of their mark from an outside source, they either will benefit more from the risk, or they are making moves to move on.

The CDAN blinds suggest he spent an hour talking to an ex on another person’s phone. Why? They also suggest a half-in-half-out scenario where Harry will work alone as a half-timer for the Royal Family… I don’t buy that, and it would shock me. I’m not bashing CDAN, as I read them often. I am questioning the intel sources.

Here’s what everyone forgets. A narcissistic psychopath will believe in himself regardless. I appreciate some media personalities saying Meghan has a fear of being irrelevant, but that is not how these minds work. They have no fears or shame. They believe they are above it and everyone else is beneath them. They won’t cave like you think.

Meghan most likely wasn’t ever invited to the Coronation. The media suggests she refused the invite, but she’s only pushing that via PR to save face with the Sussex Squaddies. Remember, she keeps the Squaddies in the divorce. They are already talking mad crap about Harry right now. Everyone says a divorce will take a while, and it may. BUT…

People like Harry and Meghan are irrational thinkers who are inherently impulsive. We saw this with Megxit. They could’ve probably had their cake and eaten it, too, had they been patient with Her Majesty. But Her Majesty wasn’t afforded the luxury of compromise, was she?

The Royal Family has been planning these upcoming changes for a while now, and Harry could’ve been the perfect guinea pig to see how people would accept a half-in scenario for other working royals one day who may be children now. He could’ve been an asset, but the impulsivity ruined his chances. Not his wife. She just exacerbated them.

With Meghan now in California, she has an absolute zero chance of changing minds or whittling away at anything. Robert Johnson tells us that the Queen was so concerned about leaking because of Meghan and Harry, that she had the Sandringham library swept for bugs. Meghan couldn’t attend via Zoom because they didn’t trust the line. Charles and William made a pact to never speak to Harry alone.

DO YOU REALLY THINK THESE PEOPLE WILL EVER BE ALLOWED BACK INTO ANY PALACE TOGETHER? WITHOUT the Palace taking an offensive approach to stop leaks? They aren’t trusted. They aren’t wanted. I bet Harry agreed to go and she stayed in exchange for saving face because she was never really invited anyway, that the invite only extended to him either way.

So if that is true, why wouldn’t the King want his grandchildren to come with Harry? It would suggest that they either had no choice, or they knew something that would make that decision less hard to make (i.e. why invite a stranger with no blood ties to a wedding?) Yeah, they are too young to be apart of the TV nonsense and behavior plays a roll and all that. But for them to not come at all? His birthday would be the best day to see his grandfather.

It makes the rumors regarding Meghan photographing Catherine and William’s home (and children) seem even more true. Which brings me to this thought…

What if the whole ordeal of Megxit was a culmination of several events, with the straw-breaking moment being the pregnancy announcement? Think about it. We all know the oddities surrounding the pregnancy. Meghan probably planned to do it that way so she could sow an excuse out of the clues. She planned to create strife to excuse their presence so she could hide the truth in America. Claim racism, run to the US, and nobody is reminded of the oddities. That’s definitely one theory…

Or, they found them out and told them that they would be phased out if they didn’t take full responsibility. When they refused, they decided to try to get ahead of it all by launching that now-worthless website, Sussex Royal. The Royal Family will NEVER allow them to look compliant if there were shenanigans regarding those children. They’d be just as responsible.

Meghan let Harry go alone so she could start the next phase of her own plan. He’s probably double-crossing planning, too. They are two sides of the same coin. Harry could easily go back to his family and say, “Let’s throw her under the bus. Let me expose her for who she is. People already believe that she’s to blame. Let her be.” The Firm could work with that, for a way back for Harry alone. But…

I don’t believe these excuses they paint that Harry was lovestruck and besotted to stupidity. Yes, it is possible. I know firsthand, everyone. FIRST HAND. At the same time, people miss things because they excuse them. If we stop excusing Harry’s actions and start looking at them, we see his MO.

He cares more about destroying the Monarchy because he feels wronged. Remember, psychopathic/sociopathic narcissists don’t find fault or fear in anything regarding themselves. They aren’t scared of not being loved or in power because they assume it is already theirs. They assume everyone else is just slow to come around, and they just need to be shown the way, the truth.

If it sounds cultish, it is because it is. These two deserve each other, and they will only self-implode. Deepak Chopra already revealed that Harry and Meghan are struggling. Meghan has aligned herself with people that could care less about right or wrong if they see a way to monetize the drama or interest. These people want Harry, not her. But if he is not willing to play the role or walk back some of the statements made… they will ensure he is part of the problem instead of part of the victim gang.

EVERYTHING Meghan leaks to the US press is used to stage her next moves and plans. Awards stroke the ego and keep her in the press. Conflict keeps her in the press. Anything to keep her name on the lips of all of us.

If we really really wanted to end them, we’d abandon them both and never mention their names again. We would pick up on other noteworthy Royals and talk about them instead. They need us. Remember, the majority of the Squad are paid influencers. They get no money, they have no reason to stick around. Only the fanatic die-hards will stay put.

If I were Meghan, I would turn this into a phoenix rising moment. She has to stick to her guns and lies about the racism and drama, or she loses what little credibility she has left. She could catapult into stardom by taking a “stand” if she really wanted to convince people.

Sorry this is long and a little uneditied, as I am packing a suitcase in between thoughts. Don’t buy into this narrative that she refused the invite. Those chances are slim. Cons always work best in person. It takes skills she is lacking to be successful virtually. They are both lacking those skills, best believe that.

ALL OF THIS IS MY OWN OPINIONS AND SPECULATIVE BASED ON MY OWN EXPERIENCES. I’M NOT A PROFESSIONAL, AND I DON’T MIND IF YOU THINK I’M FULL OF IT. DON’T TAKE WHAT I SAY FOR GOSPEL. DON’T TAKE WHAT ANYONE SAYS FOR GOSPEL.

I love you all, and I will be writing again soon!

[bassproblues]

Butch: The Good, The Meh, and The Ugly

A recent girlfriend of mine asked me about what it was like being butch. I flat out told her that, while I wouldn't have it any other way, it comes with so many problems the positives are nearly negated. I spent some more time thinking about it and feel just a tad differently. I think I spoke from a place of clouded judgement and wasn't really taking in the sum of my life. Below is my experience with butchness. And I fully own I am unique or unusual in some ways.

The Good:

* No line ever in the men's restroom.

* My body finally feels like home.

* I connect with men very well over things downstream from masculinity; hobbies, interests, traumas, and more.

* I pass as a man. People ignore me and leave me alone.

* I love it when a girl calls me handsome :)

* I am stone. My stone melts when I'm with a woman I can trust to not feminize me in the bedroom. It's a truly wonderful thing.

* I love the masculine preening that comes with butchness.

* I love being chivalrous -- spending a night on a girls couch to protect her from her ex who trashed the place, giving a woman my last $200 to pay for groceries for her and her kid.

* I love making women feel safe. I'm the one that walks them to their cars, tell their boyfriends to bug off when they get aggro, stay up late with them cause they're worried about an ex.

* I've maxed out my masculine personality (things like assertiveness, stoicism) in such a way that it perfectly contrasts my feminine traits (things like joy, gentleness). I feel like very complete and whole person.

The Meh:

* I don’t mind being called sir or ma’am, nor he or she. Neither one is offensive to me because I know that people are limited in their understanding of me unless they know me intimately.

* Gay men often hit on me. It's a very bizarre experience.

* I walk into queer spaces and feel like a goddamn space alien.

* Women expect me to be the pursuer in relationships.

* Women often regard me as some kind of exotic full-time crossdresser (see: The Ugly). As a result, they think I've got more sexual experience and am way more sexually active than I actually am.

* As a very masculine butch, I spend a lot of time defending that masculinity. It is a source of contention among LGBT and straight people alike.

* I am stone. Women often regard me in the bedroom as something they can "fix.

* AFAB Non-binary people often regard me as a gender therapist that has endless patience. I am not-- I am annoyed and want to be left alone.

* Forms and IDs with gender markers are the bane of my existence. I'm often the ridicule of police/security/ bouncers/bartenders/government pencil pushers when they realize my appearance does not resemble my sex unless I'm stripped down.

The Ugly:

* Women will 100% scream and call security and start crying when I use the women's bathroom. I have not used the women's restroom in 6 years.

* Many (ignorant) lesbians reject me outright because of my masculinity and question why they would not just date a man if they were going to date a butch.

* Lesbians and bisexuals sometimes treat me like a rare, exotic, crossdressing sex object. They can be quite predatory sometimes.

* Women and men often write me off as an inherently aggressive entity.

* Pop-feminism thinks I need to be enlightened and I don't know what's good for me. It often feels like modern day feminists admonish butches for not being more feminine in the streets and in the bedroom.

* Women sometimes think I'm butch because someone touched me as a kid and I'd grow up to hurt their kids. I was in 7th grade when a woman first expressed this fear to me.

* Men sometimes see me as a challenge to be overcome or as a threat to their identity. I can count on being jumped a few times a year.

* I pass as a man. People don't like feeling deceived.

* Women sometimes dip into 'masculinity is a lack of expression’ and forget that butches have feelings.

* Lesbians sometimes often write me off as an oppressor or a chauvinist. It often feels like I have no voice in those spaces.

[shutth3puckup]

babe get off ur high horse you don’t know the reason why anyone chooses to be in or out of a relationship because you run an anonymous hockey blog. maybe auston isn’t equipped for a real relationship or wasn’t treating her correctly? Or maybe Megan’s camp prefers to not say anything bad about him so that’s what’s being passed around? your tone has gotten negative regarding her recently and she’s legitimately done nothing to you or anyone who writes in im sure of it. Telling people not to be assholes over hair and then proceed to be one about another female whose hair you literally were an asshole about…. it’s giving hater

all I was trying to say is maybe they are keeping the real reason behind their on/off situation to themselves because the “focus on his career” doesn’t seem believable to me. If that was the reason, why did she hang around him during the playoffs last season? Why was she there during the regular season? That doesn’t add up.

I think there are likely some bigger, deeper issues and that’s caused them to be on/off throughout their time together but because they know of gossip blogs, twitter, Reddit, and so many other platforms that discuss them, they are trying to keep that aspect of their relationship private. It could be Auston isn’t ready for a serious relationship, he may not be in a place to think about his future (marriage, kids, etc), he cheated, she cheated, she doesn’t want to move to Toronto, there are so many reasons why their relationship is so hot and cold, but they may not want everyone to know the real issues within their relationship. It’s a lot easier to say “they are busy with their career” than to admit the truth.

and this is an anonymous gossip blog, meaning the people who send stuff on here are also anonymous. So many people claim to have “sources” and so many are wrong. I remember Megan’s birthday in 2022 an anon swore Auston wasn’t in napa with her, she was with a sponsor, they had a source - hours later he posted pics from Napa.

[aparticularbandit]

here's a fun question that i haven't thought through yet but could be fun

a giant mecha monokuma slammed through the ceiling right

mass destruction on people who were not suspecting it

of the three people who were there, one of them is still conscious (kyoko, the answer is kyoko, she's the pov character, i needed her conscious), one of them is dead (which was not intended but fits, i think, with the whole), and one is unconscious. definitely with a head wound, but probably no lasting head trauma.

here's the question.

should the character who is currently unconscious with a head wound, by nature of being closest to the epicenter of the landing monokuma, maybe also have some sort of spinal injury. re: paralysis.

like maybe they should be the one that isn't dead and the other person should be paralyzed (which actually would make sense, but there's a different sort of. impact. depending on who dies)....

you know what, spoiler talk under the cut, i actually want to crowd source this and talk this through and have thoughts.

right now hina is dead. done. gone. dead.

this currently leads to a potential conversation between kyoko and junko (or ryoko post-memory recovery - i'm not sure how much is still junko at that point, i'll get there) about whether junko knew hina would die and if she did, then why didn't she tell kyoko because hina was right next to kyoko and kyoko could have saved her.

i like this potential conversation in terms of 1) junko trauma (if i go with what i'm currently planning re: chiaki, the lasting impact of good people die saving people becomes its own theme - chiaki dying saving junko (when they were kids! so i guess more chiaki dying saving ryoko); makoto dying saving junko; junko choosing to die (sort of) because that's the proper ending (and also saves everyone else from her); kyoko doesn't get the option to die saving hina because kyoko would have died instead) and 2) the limits of junko's ability - she could predict that mikan would come save her, she could even predict how mikan came to save her, but she can't predict where all of the debris landed or where everyone was standing when the debris landed (she could guess at that, at least), and so couldn't have predicted who got hit where/how and so couldn't have known that hina would die to tell kyoko in the first place (not that she would have told kyoko anyway).

but.

byakuya could die instead.

he was at the epicenter of the monokuma landing by proxy of being right next to junko. the monokuma could literally have landed on him and crushed him.

...but i think actually being at the epicenter would protect him because they would need to make sure that junko wasn't hurt when they came to get her, so it's likely he shouldn't be hurt too terribly bad either.

and also byakuya dying would lead to a whole thing with toko/jack, which would lead to even more wanting to murder junko, but anything that hurts byakuya could do that, just not on necessarily the same scale. permanent lasting damage would have a similar effect. especially if he's paralyzed from the waist down.

(this would also lead to toko hovering around byakuya even more than before because she would be trying to help him with the wheelchair and etc. which he would hate. but she would absolutely try to play nurse with him. which would feel really gross but would also be very much in line with danganronpa and would also parallel mikan's treatment of ryoko. for all that we love mikan, there are definitely elements of yeah, but going on with her treatment of ryoko. particularly regarding yasuke. what she knows and says and keeps to herself. what she tries to control with regards to ryoko.

the idea of this injury also being worse because toko tried to move him. like - that's something you instinctively do, right, or maybe she would, seeing byakuya passed out and surrounded by sparking wires and potential more falling debris - it's pick him up, get him out - but like. there are very clear moments when that's a bad idea and you let the professionals do it (but they wouldn't know that professionals were on the way at all!) - and the effects of trying to move and help and save someone who's hurt who was better off not being moved because of things you did not know - how interfering can sometimes make things worse is also a good. parallel with mikan and junko in this situation.)

....

which means i've maybe talked myself into hina stays dead and yes, byakuya paralysis, but.

still taking thoughts if people have thoughts? would like thoughts.

[rogueshadeaux]

Chapter Thirty —  Infamous

“Well, sometimes if you have someone listen to something they haven’t heard before, they might notice something you didn’t.” Zeke patted the top of a sealed ammo case. “Gain a new perspective. I have a buncha dead drops I’m gonna have to listen to, and I need a conduit’s opinion.” 

5k words | 20 min read time | TRIGGER WARNINGS: more goddamn lore and links (i love you guys but it's messy work /s), references to death, disease, catastrophe.

Zeke eventually came back as we finished organizing the papers, taking a moment to crack his neck before looking down at us. “Y’all look about done,” he commented. 

Brent nodded. “Nearly, but I don’t think there’s anything here that’ll help.”

I couldn’t help but agree. There was a ton on Celia taking out less-than-desirable people, and while I wasn’t sure yet how to feel about the death of those guys, I knew it wasn’t enough to lead us anywhere. 

“Yeah, that’s how it goes sometimes,” Zeke sighed, moving back into the kitchen. “But keep an eye out and an open mind — sometimes things connect in ways you weren’t expecting. Now, your pops is making a call, trying to connect with someone that might have some old info we passed to her years ago. I’m sure when he comes back he’ll go over everything y’all found and see if something stands out.”

I stood, grabbing the little empty mug of coffee and moving to the kitchen with the intention of getting some water, letting the stream run over my hand for a few seconds to take in that peaceful feeling that always came with draining. I screwed my eyes shut and tried to let the calm wash over the anxiety in my chest — and nearly screamed as it jump started my heart and sent it soaring when I opened my eyes to see Zeke standing inches away on my side, arms crossed. 

“You good?” He asked me. 

Other than nearly having a heart attack because he snuck up on me? “I’m…okay.” I answered. “Just worried. What if all of this is useless, you know?”

“We’re just covering our bases, kid.” He said heartedly. Cheerfully. Way too happily for it still being nine in the morning. “We find nothing here, we’ll just go lookin’ somewhere else. Now,” he raised his voice a bit so it would flow over to Brent, turning so he could regard us both in his sight. “If y’all are done with those files, I could use some fresh ears on some things I have.” 

Brent cocked his head a bit, glancing between Zeke and I. “What do you mean?”

“Well, sometimes if you have someone listen to something they haven’t heard before, they might notice something you didn’t.” Zeke patted the top of a sealed ammo case. “Gain a new perspective. I have a buncha dead drops I’m gonna have to listen to, and I need a conduit’s opinion.” 

“You want…our help?” I asked. 

“Why not?” Zeke shrugged. “Figured it’s the best crash course for y’all — you’ve gotta learn what really happened with the Beast and First Sons and all that, anyways. Figure it’d be better to have sources.” 

So we started helping set up Zeke’s desk, moving piles of papers and magazines Zeke threw his hand over and insisted were nothing to make room for this weird little device he seemed to pull out of thin air. “What’s that for?” Brent asked, somehow managing to hold a printer like it was a weightless purse. 

“This? Just a little doohickey I made to listen to the dead drops. It’s either this, or I hunt down equipment that’s older than y’all two — and I’m not usually lucky in bidding wars on eBay.” 

“You made this?” Brent balked. Excitement quickly overtook his eyes, and I knew he was about to demand to know everything about the gadget as he soaked in the ingenuity. He’d be an inventor if he had the patience to fail.

I let the two ramble on about technical words that escaped me as I finished cleaning off Zeke’s desk, grabbing the ammo case he had brought over and opening it. There was a dank smell that wasn’t at all pleasant, the dozens of little chips in it settling with the same sound LEGOs in a bin did. When there was a lull in conversation, I looked to Zeke, asking, “Why haven’t you uploaded these to a cloud or something? It would make storing them easier.” And it would smell less like swamp, too. 

Zeke, though, scoffed. “What, put them online where anyone could claim them? Where the government probably has a backdoor and could delete ‘em for good? Absolutely not.”

He turned to hook the device up to the computer, giving Brent the chance to look at me and shrug. 

Dad came into the room just as Zeke finished hooking up the device, and looked between the three of us. “I’m gonna go talk to Eugene, and then I’ll be back down here to help.” He glanced at the papers on the ground. “You guys organize everything?”

We both nodded. “There’s one pile of random stuff I couldn’t really link together, but yeah,” Brent added.

Dad hummed. His eyes breezed over the room but didn’t really seem to settle on any one thing. “Alright, I’ll be right back,”

He disappeared from the room as quickly as he came. 

“He seems distracted,” Brent muttered to me. 

“Hopefully in a good way,” I added. 

“Hopefully in a way that gets us more food. I’m starving.”

“You just ate!”

“Yeah — eggs.” Brent complained in a whisper. “You think that’s enough?"

I shot him a glare just before Zeke turned back around. “Alright, I think the thing’s set up. Pass me a chip, Jean?”

I nodded, grabbing one randomly and laying it in Zeke’s outstretched hand. “You’re sure this will work?”

“Well,” he popped his mouth as he inserted the chip and opened something on his computer. “It either works or explodes.”

“Explodes?”

“Yeah. So you two might wanna step back for a moment till we know which is which,”

Brent and I listened without another word, moving into the living room. I couldn’t help but notice how Brent stood in front of me, arm twitching like it was ready to grow a shield as Zeke finished pressing some buttons and breathed deeply before switching the machine on, flinching as he did so. 

No big boom came, though; there was a shrill trill of static, a sort of vibrating tone like it was calibrating, and then the most shocking noise — a British voice. 

“Audio report. Final.” The British voice says on the recording in between bursts of loud bangs. “The door won't hold them. I've done what I could to reverse the damage I've unleashed on the world. After Bertrand took control of the First Sons, I chose to stay on and I committed further acts of horror up under his twisted leadership. His resources allowed me to finish the RFI. That is all that matters. My God, I hope it works.” There’s another loud bang, loud enough to make me jump in place. “I hope it exceeds my wildest expectations and put an end to the Plague—”

There was this huge screeching sound as metal itself was broken, clinking against the floor.

“Forgive me Kuo,”  the voice rushes to say, “I wish I could've warned you—” 

It cut off as the sound of a chair scraping against the floor raked through the static, and then there were punches. That same British voice huffed out in pain until the recording became muffled and then forcefully turned off.

We both stayed silent as Zeke seemed triumphant with the success of the device. “Who was that?” Brent eventually asked, the first to shake off the stupor of what we just heard. 

“Sebastian Wolfe,” Zeke explains, turning his chair slightly so we were in his eyesight. “He was one of the head First Sons scientists.”

“He was trying to end the plague?” I asked. 

Zeke leaned back in his chair, biting on his tongue for a moment. “He…he was. Or, did,” He began. “That’s what the RFI was for,”

“What’s an RFI?” Brent asked. 

Zeke didn’t get to answer; Dad was coming back down the stairs, standing at the foot of them and leaning against the frame of the stairwell. “It’s what stopped the Beast.”

I cocked my head to the side, looking between Dad and Zeke. “I thought…I thought Cole defeated the Beast?”

“He did,” Zeke rushed to say. “He did. But it wasn’t like in the stories where David knocks down Goliath and wins. He had to make a hard choice.”

“The RFI purged ray field energy.” Dad took over. “Cleared it, and that included what was in the magnetic field at the time. Taking it away killed the Beast, but it’s also why almost every conduit died. None of us can survive without it.”

“So that’s….that’s what the mass death was?” I asked. “People said it was because of the Beast dying—”

Dad scoffed, sounding rather annoyed at the idea. “We aren’t minions to something bigger,” He said. “It’s not like we can’t survive without the Beast. Obviously we can — he’s gone. But think about it for a second; if the truth was told, and everyone knew there was a device to kill Conduits — you think there wouldn’t be certain people trying to use it?”

Brent and I glanced at each other; no, it was very likely there would be someone trying to remake the device. And I didn’t like that idea at all. 

“I’ve been hiding the notes on the RFI for years so that no one would have that sorta power,” Zeke said. “It didn’t work the first time — it just caused pain. I don’t want it to cause any more.”

My brow knit, and I realized something; the Beast happened in 2011. But Dad…Dad was older than that. “Dad?” I asked. He looked at me, raising an eyebrow in a silent prod to continue. “How did…how did you survive?”

Dad rubs the scruff on his chin. “Don’t know. None of us do.”

“Everyone’s been wondering since they started comin’ back,” Zeke said. “Or, when some didn’t die. It was supposed to work.”

“It was supposed to kill Conduits.” Brent said flatly beside me. “That sounds more like genocide than saving.”

Zeke looked over at Brent with a surprising fire in his eyes. “It would have killed either way. You know how many people would have died if Cole didn’t use the RFI? The plague wasn’t just killing regular humans, kid—anyone with the plague was dying. Conduits included.”

“Inactivated Conduits,” Dad corrected. “Which means I would have died, too, if I caught it.”

Brent had the foresight to at least look remorseful at the fact. “So if you weren’t activated or had the gene, you were just fucked?”

“Brent—”

“C’mon, Dad—”

Zeke interrupted. “Yep. No powers…no survival.”

That silenced the room. No powers, no survival. Cole was literally stuck having to choose between the needs of the many, or the needs of the few—there were even less Conduits then than there were now. Imagine killing off the entire population just to save, like, 7% of it. 

I couldn’t imagine how he felt making that choice, no matter how right it was. 

Zeke eventually sighed, saying, “Hand me another chip, please.”

I nodded, looking down at the case in my hand and picking one at random. Zeke took it from my outstretched hand and wiped down its surface with the hem of his shirt. He takes a deliberate amount of time hooking it up to the device, long enough that Dad leaves to look at the files Brent and I organized and Brent moves to sit back on the couch. 

There was another harsh burst of static before the audio of the next file came through. “Audio surveillance file X76,” that same British guy, Wolfe, said. “Meeting with John White and Lucy Kuo.”

“I wanted to, eh,” a really deep and really grainy voice came on the speaker, “Advise you of a recent incident. Kessler’s plan is unclear to me, so I’ll just stick to the facts: Kessler kidnapped MacGrath’s girlfriend, Trish, and dangled her off of a rooftop.”

“Holy shit,” Brent murmured as my hand came over my mouth. 

“He said MacGrath had time to save her. But there was another rooftop with six doctors about to die. MacGrath had to choose.”

Dad shook his head from his place on the floor. Cole had to choose between six innocent people and his girlfriend? That had to be horrible!

A feminine voice, clean and disgusted, simply said, “Sick!” while Wolfe responded with “Madness!” in his best impression of an aghast 1800s European settler. 

That grainy deep voice came back on. “He…tried to save his girlfriend. I dunno, maybe he was selfish, but…” he inhaled deep enough for the recording to catch it, “I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same.” Then he scoffed. “Kessler killed them all anyway.”

“Of course,” the feminine voice muttered. 

“Evidently he wanted to toughen up MacGrath before the Beast arrives.” The deep voice said. “And who knows — maybe he succeeded. MacGrath definitely seems tougher than I’ve ever seen him.”

The dead drop beeped, signaling its end and leaving us all with so many questions. 

“Who was Kessler?” I asked first before anyone else could speak. 

Zeke sighed, rubbing a hand over his eye like it was too early for a conversation like this. Maybe it was. “He was the leader of the First Sons.” Zeke started. “Took over the position from some guy he overthrew, I forget his name. Robert? I dunno. I know his son’s name was Alden Tate,” Zeke paused, turning his chair to face all of us. “Kessler wanted Cole to be the one to fight the Beast.”

“So he killed his girlfriend to get him to do it?” Brent asked, incredulous.

“It was about the choice,” Dad realized from the side. “Be selfish, or worry about the greater good.”

Zeke nodded. “And he picked the wrong answer. They all died.”

“How is saving your girlfriend the wrong answer?” Brent demanded. 

I ran a finger along the texture of my cast. “It isn’t exactly caring about the greater good…” I murmured. “The doctors probably…they would have been a lot more helpful in Empire City, if it was as bad as Zeke says.”

Brent glared at me. “So you’d sacrifice someone for that? If it was me or Dad or—”

“I didn’t say I would!” I shot back, rolling my eyes. Brent could be so short-sighted, it was annoying.

“Guys,” Dad said off on the side, glaring at us both pointedly. His eyes flicked over to Zeke, who looked like he was going through the five stages of grief as fast as he possibly could. 

“He was going to propose to Trish, later that year,” Zeke said, more to himself than anyone. “He wasn’t…he didn’t want to lose that. It had broken him.”

I think it would have broken anyone. 

“Was that the idea?” Dad asked Zeke. “Make him get used to making those hard choices?”

Zeke nodded. “Yeah. That’s what Kessler told him, anyway. He needed someone that would be able to make the decision, in the end. That could fight the Beast and have nothing to lose.”

“That’s messed up,” Brent uttered. “He basically groomed MacGrath.”

“Messed up ain’t even the half of it, kid.” Zeke said. He sighed hard, and then motioned silently for me to give him another dead drop. 

Wolfe’s voice crackled on. “Audio surveillance of Agent John White, file D102.”

That same deep voice was back, but crystal clear this time. That must be the guy, John White. “I was carrying the Ray Sphere out of the lab when Kessler stopped me. It was...it was strange. He said that I had an important destiny, that I'd accomplish great things.”

Wolfe hummed. “I used to be a skeptic, but many of his predictions actually do come true.”

The guy, John, hesitated to answer. “I don’t know…the way he looked at me? Made me want him to be wrong.”

The dead drop ended there, the most useless one so far. 

At least, I thought so. Dad, however, felt otherwise. “Who was John White?” He asked Zeke. 

Zeke hesitated. “He, uh…he was an NSA agent. Him and Kuo, they were both supposed to infiltrate the First Sons and get more information on them.”

Dad’s brow furrowed. “I thought…I thought that the government funded the First Sons?” 

Zeke threw his head side to side as he tried to figure out how to explain this to Dad. “Well, yes, but they didn’t know they were. The woman in charge of DARPA at the time had a deal with Kessler on the side. You know, under the table, ‘you scratch my back I’ll scratch yours’ sorta stuff. She knew of the First Sons because of their investigations, and then she found out about the Ray Sphere.”

Dad scoffed. “Hear about some magic eight ball that can give you powers, and of course you’ll be interested.”

“Exactly.”

“But why would Kessler think that this White guy was important?” Brent asked from the side. “What, could he see into the future or something?”

Zeke didn't answer that immediately. His eyes sorta traveled off like Dad’s always did when talking about his past, when he was reliving memories that left bad tastes in his mouth, and he inhaled deeply. “John helped us in Empire City, during the quarantine. He tracked down the Ray Sphere and him and Cole destroyed it.”

After a breath, Zeke added. “It also killed him. At least, we thought it did.”

A shadow seemed to come over Zeke’s face, and from where I was, I could see the grip he had on the arm of his chair tighten. “What happened?” I asked softly. 

Zeke’s next breath was a bit shuddered. “It activated him. John was the Beast.”

“Oh, shit.” Dad murmured. Brent was too shocked to throw in his own curse words. "So Kessler made the Beast,” Dad scoffed. “Glad to know the First Sons have been the root of every problem.”

“None of this makes sense,” Brent murmured, head in his hands. 

I couldn’t help but agree with Brent; my mind was reeling. Not only was there some group with science advanced enough to activate Conduits, but they managed to make the Beast. They created the creature that killed millions and practically turned the east coast into a wasteland. 

Zeke had us listen to more dead drops, explaining things along the way; Kuo was another agent tasked with collecting intel at the New Marais First Sons’ base, and Dr. Wolfe was recording these dead drops behind both her and John White’s backs to send to the NSA so they could make sure there was no backstabbing going on. Other recordings featured Joseph Bertrand III, the guy I knew from our history books as the Alt. Right businessman-turned-politician that people contributed with starting the ‘small government’ movement that led to his easy fascist takeover in New Marais. Apparently racist rhetoric and anti…well, anything he deemed sinful wasn’t enough, because he was the head of the First Sons’ New Marais base as well, in search of power. He took the First Sons’ assets the moment Kessler died and used everything to fund his fascist army, the Militia, passing Dr. Wolfe human test subjects to play with along the way. 

Those test subjects are what caught Dad’s attention, especially as Dr. Wolfe recorded himself speaking to one. 

“I paid a visit to the First Sons' dorms where the Vermaak men were housed.” Dr. Wolfe said into the mic. “Subject 881 approached me and we took a walk. The recording follows.”

“You seem…” the accented voice hesitated. “Agitated, Doctor.”

“I figured out what Bertrand has in store for you. He's going to use the Transfer Device, isn't he?” Dr. Wolfe demanded. 

881 sighed. “Sorry, you know I can't say.”

Wolfe wasn’t going to take no for an answer. “Do you know who the Conduit is?” he demanded. 

“I just... can't comment on this.” 881 talked over him, and I could only imagine the head shake that came with it.

Dr. Wolfe switched to pleading, saying, “You need to know something. The transfer procedure was never designed to split abilities among multiple recipients. I don't know what it will do.”

“You…” 881 drew off, “Just got my attention.”

Dr. Wolfe continued, “Theoretically you'll all be ‘over-clocked,’ so to speak. You'll receive a portion of the true Conduit's power but your body will wear itself out trying to sustain it! You may go insane.”

There was a pause, and then the Vermaak soldier asked, “Why are you telling me this, Doctor? Bertrand, he wouldn't like it.”

Dr. Wolfe sighs hard. “I'm not a brave man, but if I'm right and you and your men lose control, then I'll have far more to fear from you than Bertrand.”

“Did he…” Dad asked the moment the dead drop beeped, signaling its end. “Did he say the Vermaak?” 

“Yep.” Zeke swiveled in his chair to face Dad. “Bertrand took out a contract with this private military group and used those guys to make Conduit soldiers. He planned to sell ‘em overseas.”

“I know that name.” Dad hums. “Vermaak 88. They were like some version of green berets from Africa, I think. Reggie worked with them on his tour in Iraq. They were…pretty ruthless, from what he told me when he came back.” 

“Yeah, that’s why Bertrand hired them originally — for protection,” Zeke hummed, already digging in the ammo crate for another chip he deemed worthy enough to listen to. “At least, that’s what everyone thought. Turns out, he was being paid under the table to make superhuman soldiers for a buncha war lords.”

“So he was hired, not the other way around?” I asked, Zeke nodding in response.

“Yep. Only guy in the world that had a power transfer device before Brookie and her government funding walked into the picture.” Zeke held up a chip, examining it close. “One on one, the transfer worked damn near flawlessly. Cole only was out for about four minutes when he did it—”

“Woah, wait,” Brent hummed, holding out a hand to pause Zeke’s tangent. “Cole was a forced Conduit?” 

Zeke let the hand holding up the chip fall, chuckling a bit. “No, no — well, if you don’t count the Ray Sphere as forced. Jury’s still out on that one. But Cole had gotten another power from someone. Kuo, actually.”

Dad’s head tilted slightly. “You mean…he had more than one power?” he asked, eyes betraying how much the statement confused him. I couldn’t blame him; there wasn’t any other Conduit I knew that had more than one power. Anyone but him.

Zeke seemed to realize this as well, saying, “Yeah — he wasn’t as strong in the other power as his electricity, but he could use both on a whim. Sometimes even combined the two, that was always cool to see.”

Dad’s confusion grew, and something else played in his eyes: betrayal, maybe? “He could use both at the same time?” Dad asked, almost disbelieving. 

Zeke nodded. “Yep. Sorta together, more than anything. Like he needed some of his electricity to work the power.”

Brent’s brow furrowed. “That’s nothing like how you do it,” he muttered, looking at the floor before glancing up at Dad.

Dad’s eyes were now off of Zeke and facing the wall, boring a hole into the wood as he chewed on his cheek. “It’s not.” He agreed, seeming to hate the fact that he did. He glared at the grain a bit longer, like the patterns would shift and give him the answers to his unasked questions, before slightly shaking his head, refocusing on Zeke. “He used a power transfer device for that? Like the one Augustine had?”

Zeke nodded. “Well, similar. Couldn’t tell you what the old one was like, considering it blew up before anyone else got a chance to play with it. I wasn’t even there when Cole hooked himself up to it.”

“So he was the only one to use it?” I asked before Dad could. 

“Well, him and the Vermaak.” Zeke replied, bringing up the corner of his shirt to try and polish the dead drop chip in his hand. “You heard Dr. Wolfe — Bertrand had him use the device on multiple people at once. Dunno how, and they all escaped before we could find out more. So we were stuck not only fighting the Militia, but a bunch of half-sane ice soldiers while trying to prepare for the Beast—”

Everyone’s heads snapped around to look at Zeke so fast that he nearly dropped the ammo crate in surprise. “Ice soldiers?” we managed to chorus, only half a beat off from each other. 

“Y–yeah?” Zeke stuttered, looking between the three of us. “They were transferred ice powers from Kuo, after she was activated. Cole too.”

Brent and I both glanced at each other before looking at Dad, who was staring at Zeke with a blank face before it cracked. His hands came up to press into his eyes. “Fuck,” he said, beginning to pace, “Fuck!”

Zeke was absolutely bewildered. “What, uh…why does that matter?”

I sighed hard on the side. “I was frozen by ice soldiers, in the fight with Augustine.”

“Oh, shit,”

“You know,” Brent deadpanned, leaning back on the loveseat. “Seems like everything comes back to the First Sons,”

“Always does,” Zeke huffs. 

Dad was still pacing, arms crossed now. “Bertrand was in charge here,” he muttered, a hand coming up to rub his face. He lifted his head, raising his voice slightly. “The ice soldiers were here. We’ve got to find their old base, maybe there’s something we could find that connects them to Archangel—”

“Delsin, this was some twenty-odd years ago,” Zeke said. “There’s a very small chance there’ll be anything left, between the military and any sorta urban explorers.”

“And they didn’t know what we do now,” Dad snipped. “There’s got to be something that can help us” He stopped, spinning in place to face Zeke. “Do you know where it is?”

Zeke hesitated. “I…I don’t. At least, I don’t remember. But one of these dead drops gotta have something that’ll help us,”

So we were stuck listening to more: of John White, telling the others how six blocks in Empire City were blown to bits when it was activated; of Bertrand, convinced he was doing something to honor God by gathering prisoners to test his own Ray Sphere on. 

There was a crackle, and then that same British voice again, far less panicked this time. “Audio surveillance of Agent Kuo, file G27,” he said.

 “I got my hands on an Echelon phone transcript the day Kessler detonated the Ray Sphere. He requested a very specific bike courier for the job.” She began. 

“Do you mean Cole MacGrath?” Dr. Wolfe asked. Brent’s head snapped around to look towards Zeke and his speakers now.

“There’s more,” The woman, Kuo, says. “I–I may have found some important new insight on Kessler, but I can't make it out. Kessler knew Cole MacGrath had the conduit gene, that's pretty clear, but I can't find his name in the First Sons database.”

“So…” Wolfe hesitated, “How did Kessler know Cole MacGrath had the gene?”

“Exactly.”

“Do you think they’re related?” Wolfe almost immediately asks after.

Kuo hesitates on the tape. “Huh…you know, I can try to find that out.”

The tape immediately goes dead, as if it was edited to the end of that exact statement. Dad was looking up from a file in his hand to where Zeke was, asking. “So who exactly was Kuo in all of this?”

“NSA Agent Lucy Kuo,” Zeke said, spinning his chair to face Dad. “She found us in Empire City and told Cole she had a way to make him powerful enough to fight the Beast.”

“And she was the ice conduit?”

“Yep.”

Brent was up himself now, having too much pent up energy. He was matching Dad’s steps earlier, pacing around the room. “How did he get more powerful to fight the Beast?”

“Blast cores,” Zeke says simply.

“Did the NSA know she was a conduit?” Dad interrupted before Brent could ask what the hell a Blast core was.

Zeke shakes his head. “Just that she had the gene. Bertrand’s the one that activated her, actually.”

I raised a hand like I was in class; this conversation was cool and all, but none of it was related to the very big piece of information in the dead drop we just heard. “Wait,” I started. “So — Kessler; he was in charge of the First Sons, right?” Zeke nods. “Okay, but then…how did he know Cole was a Conduit?”

Zeke had put on his glasses at some point, trying to mark each chip with a little code to signify what was on it. Now, though, he took them off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “If I told ya, you wouldn’t believe me.” He said. 

What kind of an answer was that? 

Dad seemed just as perplexed. “What do you mean? We need to know everything we can if we’re going to figure this out—”

The stairs creaked, and Dr. Sims came down into the room, sighing hard. “Decoding that journal is gonna be harder than I thought,” he started, looking at Dad. “But I did get the emails,”

He said that last bit with that tone of voice Dad would use when he told us he got a message from our teacher when we were bad at school: We need to talk about it. 

“Kessler was a piece of shit, who knew too much for his own good,” Zeke responded, completely ignoring Dr. Sims’ intrusion. “It would be easier if we just left it at that.”

“But why choose Cole?” Brent asked, bewildered. “I mean — no offense to, you know, your old friend — but he was just an electricity Conduit. Why not pick someone stronger to fight against the Beast? Like Dad?” 

Dad ignored Brent’s praise to glare disapprovingly at Zeke. “You can’t hide something valuable like this,” he protested. “It could be exactly what we need to figure out what the hell is going on.” 

Zeke opened his mouth to respond when Dr. Sims interrupted. “Zeke,” he called gently. “They need to know.”

The argument in Zeke’s chest died on the tip of his tongue, and he made a weird noise as he deflated. He leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair as he chewed on his tongue, seemingly debating how to start this. Whatever he was going to say looked like it stressed him out to even think of. 

And I definitely wasn’t prepared for what came out of his mouth next. 

“Kessler was Cole. He traveled back in time after the Beast destroyed the world to try and stop it from happening.”

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

I didn’t want to be a hater of the new Peter Pan remake before it even started, and I’m not hating, but as someone who cherishes the original book and various adaptations of the story, I do have some things I need to say regarding the Disney remake.

Firstly, I’ve seen people complain about the diversity - namely Peter and Tinkerbell. I don’t have a problem with non-white actors playing any parts - I think Yara is beautiful as Tinkerbell and I’m intrigued to see what Alexander Molony brings since the trailer didn’t really showcase much of him as Peter. The Lost Boys especially being a diverse group makes sense to me as they’re “lost” - they should all look different; I welcome the casting of non-white, disabled etc boys in the gang. Anyone complaining about “wokeness” just because they’re not all pasty white kids is just racist; I’ve even seen people complaining Tiger Lily isn’t white, which…? Hello??? She has NEVER been white, she and her tribe have always been Native Americans.

Having said that, the Lost Boys should all still be boys - “girls are much too clever to fall out of their prams”, and the fact that Wendy is the first girl they meet and they see her as a motherly figure because the only girls/women they’ve ever known have presumably been fairies, Tiger Lily (who is a princess in her tribe) or the distant memories they hold of their own mothers. Supposedly you could argue that “Lost Boys” is just the name of their gang, regardless of whether it’s boys or girls in the group, but still… I don’t know. Maybe I’m just old-fashioned, but I don’t particularly agree with this change. But honestly, it’s not the end of the world, I can get over it.

“Wahhh they’ve made Wendy the main character and not Peter Pan!!!” — my guys… the original novel was LITERALLY called Peter and Wendy. The book literally opens with this paragraph:

“All children, except one, grow up. They soon know that they will grow up, and the way Wendy knew was this. One day when she was two years old she was playing in a garden, and she plucked another flower and ran with it to her mother. I suppose she must have looked rather de- lightful, for Mrs. Darling put her hand to her heart and cried, “Oh, why can’t you remain like this for ever!” This was all that passed between them on the subject, but henceforth Wendy knew that she must grow up. You always know after you are two. Two is the beginning of the end.”

This is literally Wendy’s story that ends with her deciding to go home and grow up; we meet Peter through her eyes, not the other way around. If you’re that mad that Wendy is being given a big part, you clearly haven’t bothered to read the source material and you’re just mad because you don’t like the idea of the female character being the protagonist.

If you want to take an issue with casting/characters, look at Hook/Mr Darling: how they’ve made Hook look aside (although… mmm, yikes), Disney has decided not to have the same actor play Hook and Mr Darling - Hook is Jude Law and Mr Darling is Alan Tudyk. I have nothing to comment on either of them as actors: my issue is that it’s a tradition for the same actor to play both of them that originates back to when the story was a stage play and has carried over to other media adaptations of the story. Having the same actor play both parts adds extra layers to the story (the relationship with the father vs fighting Captain Hook, parallels between the two characters, the subtext between Wendy and Hook as she’s on the cusp of adulthood etc).

My main issue though? The colour palette of this film - and all the Disney remakes, in fact.

I think the current colour palette of dull greys and muted greens could have worked for the London scenes because then the contrast between it and Neverland would have been even more striking; Neverland is a magical place where the children don’t want to grow up. Barrie wrote in his book that the Neverlands are found in the minds of children; although each is "always more or less an island" as well as having a family resemblance, they are not the same from one child to the next. For example, John’s Neverland had "a lagoon with flamingos flying over it," while Michael's had "a flamingo with lagoons flying over it." Neverland should be magical and colourful to reflect this, because a child’s imagination is limitless.

This just looks… dull. Like they’ve put a filter over it to make it look gritty.

In comparison, this is how the original animated film looked:

“But it’s live action, of course it’ll look less colourful” - wrong. The 2003 live action managed to make Neverland look twice as colourful as this new film, and that was released two entire decades before:

It’s not just this remake: it’s most remakes quite frankly - The Lion King, Little Mermaid, etc.

I don’t want to hate on the film when it’s not actually out yet, and I’m going to reserve full judgement until it does release, but I feel like people are claiming anyone with criticism is just being racist when there are genuine critiques and concerns. As I said, I don’t have any issue with the casting or in diversifying the cast, my issue comes from the colour palette of the film, the changes from the source material where there don’t need to be changes, and also the fact that Disney (and most other companies for that matter) should waste less money on pointless remakes and spend more resources producing original content.

[maaarine]

I listened to this Dutch podcast where they ask why the reading skills of children in The Netherlands are so poor according to international testing (waarom lezen Nederlandse kinderen zo slecht?)

it's a question that's often posed in Belgium as well, where kids also suck at reading, both in the Dutch-speaking north and French-speaking south, so it's not a question of Dutch being inherently hard to wrap your head around

there are very practical factors that can explain differences in performance between countries

for instance, the UK scores high in those tests, in part because children simply start learning how to read earlier (4-5 years old vs 6-7 elsewhere)

but beyond that, an argument that I've heard from various sources is that the method being used to teach pupils is at fault

one thing that happens is that there's a total disconnect between what research on cognition says is a good teaching method, and which methods schools actually implement

you'll have older teachers that keep using the method from the good old days even though it's been shown to be ineffective

and you'll have plenty of teachers who are terrible at their job and should never have picked that profession, which is a big problem given how crucial the competence of teachers is to the process (more important than the size of classrooms)

in the podcast, they also point to the fact that reading in a school context, where you're constantly interrogated about what you're reading, encourages a superficial "scanning" for information instead of a deep meaningful immersion in the text

so because the teacher is likely to ask some dumb shit like "what color is the cat in the story?", kids develop a habit of picking out the factual details to answer such questions, instead of aiming for a more holistic overview of the meaning of what they're reading

and the fact that there's a strict reading technique being taught at all, that they're told to think mechanistically of the structure of sentences, and to break them down into components, actually sucks the fun out of reading, and leads to an aversion in children, who end up never reading at home, thus never improving

I love how exemplary this reading problem is of the way schooling turns pleasurable activities into chores, how it walls in curiosity by imposing a one-size-fits-all technique, and how it teaches kids to just... pass the test, with little regard to a greater purpose

[moff-times]

I've recently been gaining this theory. Severus Snape is commonly regarded as the one who flounces in the HP fandom despite being serious and a bit scary, yet is also a drama queen. Which leads me to my question for you:

Is Director Krennic the one who flounces in the Star Wars Universe?

An answer would be appreciated, but not required!

Hello! Thanks for the ask! ^^

I must say that I don't know anything about the HP fandom, although I was under the impression that Snape was well-liked (I might be wrong). From what I remember from the first movies that came out when I was a kid, he was supposed to be more laconic and sarcastic than going around flouncing buuut again that was again my impression.

As for Krennic, another disclaimer, I have yet to read Catalyst (it's been sitting on my bookshelves gathering dust for a few years now but no time, no energy) and what I'm about to say about him is just my awfully personal view.

In Rogue One we are firstly introduced to an Orson Krennic that has a manner of cool and sarcasm about him. In when he recaptures Galen Erso, he commands the scene with a sense of self-reassurance. He dictates the pace and the events. The future is bright, and there is a long road ahead. I see little flouncing in that scene tbh. As for dramatic, well... I guess some would point that his cape is overly dramatic but I'd say that capes have not been something unheard of in certain real life military corps so... I personally don't see anything dramatic there xD

Then we skip quite a few years and once again we meet him. This time, he's a Director, and everything has changed. Krennic is under an incredible amount of stress, more than ever before. As more and more time passes, the greater his certainty that, despite his position, despite the Death Star being a successful project (ESPECIALLY after that), he is replaceable. He knows that his life is on the line unless he makes himself indispensable. He has all the cards, skills and authority to make it out alive, if he plays them well. But he slips more and more, to a boiling point, a couple of times (notably in three moments: 1s, when yells for the officers to fire the Death Star; 2nd "this is my achievement" line; 3rd, when he yells at the officers to deploy their troops in Scarif). Despite being terrified through the entirety of the film, I'd say he keeps his cool rather well except for some outbursts here and there, considering the extreme circumstances surrounding his whole arc. Take the way he keeps it together when he first meets Tarkin, his brooding mien in his shuttle, the sheer coldness about him when he deals with the traitor situation in Eadu. Oh, and his reaction when they test the Death Star in Jedha for the first time. Rather refined, I'd say, despite Tarkin's constant goading. He simply smiles and walks out, letting actions speak for themselves (probably thinking "suck that and come back for another"). It's only when it's taken from him when he explodes.

Soooooo after all this rant that I didn't know I had to get off my chest, is Director Krennic the once who flounces in Star Wars?

The short answer is that fandom works in mysterious ways. Sometimes it's fun to focus on certain aspects of a character, for the sake of crack or lighthearted content, and that sort of stuff is most times quite self-conscious. Just people that are aware of what they are doing: having a good time, and that's what fandom, imho, should be about. Sometimes though, this goes a bit out of hand and the anecdote is turned into the norm, if you know what I mean. Taking a character and putting them in a box with a label, reducing their overall personality to said label against all evidence found in canon sources (in this fandom I use the term canon in an expansive way to both new and legends/eu stuff btw) . And it would seem that Krennic is sometimes indeed reduced to flouncing drama queen in settings beyond "just having my silly good time with my silly little meow meow".

I hope this answer was satisfactory, or at least congruent!

[houseofbrat]

I have guessed that Lady C was laying some serious breadcrumbs in her videos lately. She basically implied Parliament/Government being involved re: Sussexes legalities. I figured it had something to do with the kids, it involved constitutional parameters/scope of parental rights perhaps. So divorce watch is definitely on, and as Lady C said Meghan wants a lot but she won’t get as much as she demands or what she thinks she deserves re:the children.

I don't listen/watch Lady C's youtube channel. According to a reddit user, she said the following in her video today:

Well My Dears I have some interesting news. The King has been taking soundings in Parliament. I will not specify which house because I must protect my sources, so I will be mysterious. The King has been taking soundings about the custody of the children in the event of a divorce. I was told that the relationship between Meghan and Harry is dire. It is “inevitable” the relationship will collapse. Evidently, Harry began to see past the mask when Meghan insisted Harry delay the release “Spare” to two weeks before the Coronation. Harry, to his credit, said absolutely not. He refused. I am not asking for a free pass for Harry for all that he is done, but in the interest of fairness, Harry is not the same as Meghan. I think Harry will begin to experience regret and perhaps already is.

[...]

It would appear these stories of Harry calling in the lawyers and the marriage being in trouble were not pie in the sky. It sounds like it is only a matter of “when, not “if.” And the mere fact that the King is taking soundings from Parliament is telling. You see, there are all matters of state regarding the custody of the children. There are political reasons also. The King cannot be seen to be taking two children from their mother, especially when she is American born. No matter how crass and ghastly a person is, once they marry into your family, you will do everything possible to cover up their dreadfulness. The Royal Family will do everything possible to maintain dignity. There is more to come.

I still have my hopes that the divorce will be announced by the end of Venus' retrograde period.