#but then it ended up being one of the most emotionally devastating ones to me ^^;

[brainwormcity]

I've seen people remark on how awkward the 1967 scene is and that is so frustrating because, for me, it is one of the most emotionally resonant flashbacks in the entire series. It is so multifaceted and ripe with implication and that assertion is baffling. As though just because this conversation appears to be hard for them, it must mean that there has to be some sense of weirdness or awkwardness between them?

This scene feeds heavily into my theory that 1941 ended in some sort of aborted romantic moment between the two, most likely initiated by Crowley. Aziraphale can barely stand to look at Crowley because the very first moment he looks him in the face, he can't stop himself from giving him this hooded eyes, barely contained look of longing.

The next thing we see is Aziraphale immediately launching into a statement about his fear for Crowley's existence that is as brutally sincere as it is heartrending. His eyes are wide, his voice is heavy with emotion, and it's clear that he is terrified beyond belief to lose Crowley. Even as he acquiesces and gives him the holy water, you can see that he wants to take it back and deny him it all over again.

Then, of course, Crowley asks if he can give him a lift, which is definitely something that they both know is a totally different question than what lies on the surface, given that they're mere feet from the bookshop and at first Crowley frowns so deeply that it's almost cartoonish but a moment after Aziraphale turns him down you get this glimpse of very real sadness:

Aziraphale sees it for what it is and in an attempt to comfort him, without being able to do what currently seems impossible to him, shares a fanciful but resigned fantasy about spending time together unbothered and unrestrained, all to the tune of these tight little, loving smiles:

When he asks again, you can just see Crowley's desperation for Aziraphale not to go. It's hard to say how long they'd been apart, but it's safe to say that for them, that previous interaction likely is very fresh in their minds.

Aziraphale has always been more fearful than Crowley when it comes to their feelings for each other. You could even potentially look at the holy water as a metaphor for their relationship. In his expressions of concern about The Arrangement, Aziraphale has always been remarking on how Crowley could be destroyed, similarly to his words here. So when he's telling him, "You go too fast for me, Crowley," what he's really saying is, "I'm terribly afraid and I'm not ready to take that step if it means that I could lose you." And it's plain to see by the wistful look on his face that it pains him greatly to say it:

The scene so quickly cuts to Crowley looking intensely at the holy water after Aziraphale has left the car (as if trying to convince you that that was the real point of the scene) that it's easy to miss this devastated expression on Crowley's face:

There's no look of perceived rejection on his face. Just a somber look of resignation. There are so many barriers in front of them, and I think that Crowley was willing to risk it but understood that Aziraphale wasn't ready to.

This is the most honest and laid bare we ever see these two be when it comes to their emotions. There's so much being said without being said and even their actual words (i.e. Crowley remembering exactly the amount of time when the 'fraternizing' conversation happened) are so full of emotion that it might even be a bit hard for some people to watch.

It's not awkward. It's just that the scene is just so incredibly earnest and heavy with coded language that it's easy to be swept up by the fact that the two aren't engaged in their typical banter and bickering. What we truly have here is an incredibly difficult and loving conversation between two people who are stuck in a seemingly impossible situation.

[helen-with-an-a]

I Am An Adult pt 7

Hiiiii. I hope you enjoyed part 6. As I mentioned, this was originally one long-ass story, so please imagine you're reading it as a continuation if that makes sense. Once again, a massive shout out to @lyak12 for helping me out so much and hyping me up - forehead smooches for you. I think technically the final part of the official series, but I do have an epilogue idea that I want to write too, so it's not quite the end of the story (again inspired by @lyak12). This was tough to write emotionally, so just a little heads up.

I just want to say thank you so much for the love and support you guys have given me. It means a lot. Please let me know what you thought of it <3

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 3.5 : Part 4 : Part 5 : Part 6 : Part 7 : Epilogue

Barça Femeni x Reader / Lena Oberdorf x Reader

Description: R faces the consequences of her actions

TW: This was emotional to write, so it might be a little emotional to read.

Word Count: 6k

The next few days were … interesting. It was clear to everyone that you and Alexia had spoken in some capacity. You were still avoiding conversation with most people, but the hostility between you and the captain had eased somewhat. You still partnered with the trainers and remained silent during breaks, but the ice was clearly thawing. It made people approach you more. Not outright, but you weren’t blocked from conversations. The side eyes and cold shoulders were no longer a signature part of training. The olive branches were slowly being offered out; a small praising smile or a water bottle passed your way. No one was brave enough to be your partner just yet, but that was fine. The only ones that weren’t fine were Lucy … and, by extension, Ona. You longed to talk to your best friend … if you were still allowed to call her that. But she remained solidly by Lucy’s side. You couldn’t blame her, though. You had made your bed, and now you had to lie in it.

It all came to a head during the final training session before you travelled to Zaragoza for the Cope de la Reina final. Jona had instructed everyone to work hard but to be aware of their own limits. Everyone had nodded solemnly; the last thing anyone wanted was an injury before a big match like that. Well … everyone, bar Lucy. It didn’t help that you played opposite positions; she was a right back and you a left winger. But so far, Jona had recognised the animosity between you, too, so you had been on the same team to avoid any confrontation … until now, anyway. To his defence, you seemed to both be over it. But, oh, how he was wrong.

Lucy’s anger had shifted from surface-level, emotional, visible rage to that deep, raw, pure wrath. She was aghast at how easily everyone was seemingly forgiving you. To her, you had disappeared on them, leaving chaos and devastation in your wake, returned and with a bat of your eyelids, everyone had forgotten the torment you had caused. Not her, though. Hell would freeze over before she could forget Ona’s heartbreak. Ona’s sobs were frequent in the reoccurring nightmare she had been having the past few days. She was getting little to no sleep, and with that, her ire towards you increased. You were the source of all her issues.

You had become accustomed to Lucy’s hard tackles and unnecessary shoves during training. It was inevitable, even with Jona and the other staff's interference, that you had faced Lucy a little. During rondos, she always managed to step on your feet a little or kick the back of your heel. If you were on the ground at some point during a training session, Lucy’s back was likely the first thing you saw when you looked up. It was starting to get to you a little. But what could you do? You had brought this upon yourself. Your heart sank when Jona called out the names. You were preparing to do a 15-minute 11 vs 11. Jona had pressed the notion that this was a chance to practice the skills and technical formations you had been practising all week. As you stood in your designated place, you inadvertently caught Lucy’s eye. She glowered at you, cracking her knuckles and rolling her shoulders. You were about to die. You knew it. The whistle went, and your team began your press forward. You could see your team's reluctance to pass you the ball; Lucy’s behaviour had not gone unnoticed. But eventually, you had to be included. It happened just outside the makeshift box. You had received a ball from Patri to make a cross for Mariona … or at least that was the plan.

Two sets of sharp studs crashed into your ankle, wiping your feet out from under you. The team watched in horror as you dropped. You landed heavily on your hip before your head hit the floor. You wanted to scream, but you wouldn’t give Lucy that satisfaction. You whacked the grass, biting back the pain. It wasn’t broken. You had snapped your collarbone once when you were still in youth age groups, and this wasn’t like that. But you had a feeling you wouldn’t play in the final. Everyone around you was frozen. Cata and Pina seemed locked in place, half wanting to help but the other, louder half telling them to stay exactly where they were. Marta and Caro looked shocked. Shocked that Lucy would do such a dangerous thing so close to two major finals. Alexia looked a mix of anger and sadness. Anger at Lucy for her behaviour; anger at you for not talking to her about it; sadness that once such good friends seemed to be enemies.

“Lucy. Ya terminaste por hoy. Vete a casa.” Jona’s voice was curt – sounding like the true manager he was. “Todos los demás, tomen un descanso para tomar agua.” No one moved. It was Ona who eventually stepped up.

“Amor, ir a ducharse,” she said softly, like you would to an angry child or wild animal.

“Why? So you can go check on her?” She said it with such contempt and disgust you reeled back, as much as you could, still on the ground anyway.

“I-” Ona began.

“No, I don’t want to hear it.” Lucy stuck her hand up, stopping Ona from talking. “I don’t understand how you can forgive her so easily. What she did was vile. And you’re letting her off the hook like that.” She was shouting now. You couldn’t let Lucy’s anger be misplaced. You couldn’t be the cause of a rift … or potential end … of their relationship. You clambered to your feet, hopping slightly on your uninjured ankle.

“Stop it, Lucy.” Your voice was surprisingly firm. She turned on you. “Don’t shout at Ona when you want to scream at me.”

“You want me to scream at you?” she asked rhetorically. You lifted your gaze to meet hers. “Fine, I’ll scream at you,” she took a deep breath. “What you did was inexcusable. Sure, you got some shitty news. But you don’t get to disappear like that. You are childish and immature. You hurt the people around you, people you are supposed to be your best friends. You can't just run away every time things get tough. Do you think you're the only one with problems? We all have our issues, but we talk to our friends. We don’t leave them behind like they are dirt. What if something had happened to you? Did you even consider how we would feel? No, you didn’t. You were too wrapped up in your own self-pity to think about anyone else. That’s not what friends do. I didn’t sit up every night watching Ona cry herself to sleep because you were missing for everyone to forgive you in an instant. I didn’t watch Cata and Bruna and Jana go crazy driving around Barcelona trying to find you to let everyone forget about what you did. I didn’t watch Alexia phone around hospitals in the area with a description of you to excuse your behaviours as soon as you return. You were selfish and reckless, and you showed us exactly how little we mean to you. We worried ourselves sick, we tore ourselves apart trying to find you, and you didn’t give a damn. Don’t think for a second that you can waltz back into my life and everything will be fine. Actions have consequences, and you need to face yours.” You could tell she had more to say.

You blinked. You felt like you wanted to cry, but no tears were forthcoming. Each accusation struck like a hammer blow, chipping away at your defences. Your heart pounded in your chest, and your stomach churned with a sickening blend of regret and fear. You tried to hold her gaze, but the intensity of her anger made it feel like your very soul was being seared. Her words echoed in your mind, each one a painful reminder of the hurt you had caused. The mention of Ona crying herself to sleep, the frantic search efforts by Cata, Bruna, and Jana, and Alexia's desperate calls to hospitals—all painted a vivid picture of the chaos and suffering you had unleashed. If you hadn’t felt horrific before, you certainly did now. Your throat tightened, and your eyes stung with the threat of tears. You wanted to speak, apologise, and somehow make things right, but you just ... couldn’t. You felt small and insignificant, dwarfed by the level of your mistakes. The raw pain and disappointment in her voice cut through you, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

“Got nothing to say?” She asked, chuckling slightly. “You know what … I’m glad Barça isn’t offering you a renewal. You don’t deserve it.” The words cut like a knife, burnt like fire and stung like a thousand wasp stings.

“Enough, Lucia.” Alexia’s loud voice cut across.

“Whatever” Lucy scoffed turning on her heels and walking back towards the building.

No one moved, no one blinked, no one dared breathe.

“Did anyone else see that vein in her forehead? It was massive!” Vicky asked jovially, the tension breaking in an instant.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Lucy that angry,” Mariona commented during the enforced water break. She had watched as you hobbled off to the medical room. You had refused help from anyone, and it was painful to watch you slowly trudge inside.

“I remember when we were at City and the doctors were telling her how truly fucked her knee was …” Keira reminisced sadly. “I had thought that was the angriest I would ever see her. She punched a wall in the gym; she was lucky she didn’t break her hand.” She shook her head at the memory. “But this … when Lucy sees the people she loves in pain … she’d burn the world down for them.”

“This is her burning the world down?” Patri asked.

“She’s definitely got the lighter ready, that’s for sure.”

“What happened after Lucy punched the wall?” Salma asked carefully. Keira chuckled, laughing at the memory.

“Gee put a frame around it and added a little label like they do in art galleries.” The whole group let out a tense laugh. Of course, Georgia would do that. “Alex says it’s still there too.”

Your initial assessment was right; you were ruled out from playing in the Copa final. You sighed but accepted the physio’s words with little fuss. You winced a little as they strapped it, grimacing at the movements. Lucy’s words echoed around your head, bouncing across your awareness as they played like a video in your mind’s eye. She had looked so angry … her eyes were filled with so much hurt. Hurt that you had caused. Of course, she thought you didn’t deserve a renewal. You didn’t deserve one. That was a fact of which you were sure.

“Tómatelo con calma durante unos días. Lo reevaluaremos después del partido.," the physio advised, giving your shoulder a final pat before standing up. You nodded absentmindedly, your thoughts far from the clinical room. You weren’t too upset about missing out on the final, to be honest. With all the extra … drama, issues, problems … everything, you didn’t think you should be playing anyway. You rolled your shoulders, hoping to ease some of the tension. Everything ached … not physically, although you were sure the extra time you had spent being sent to the floor was helping, but in a soul-weary, deep, painful way. A way that you weren’t quite sure how to fix. A way that you didn’t know if it could be fixed. You are childish and immature. You were childish. You were immature. God, you had spent so long wishing, wanting, demanding the team look at you like an adult, and this is what you do in return. This is how you repay them? Maybe they are better off without you next season. Your mind drifted back to that conversation with Lucy. Her voice, usually so warm and encouraging, had been cold and harsh. You felt a knot tightening in your chest, the weight of the past weeks pressing down hard. You knew she had every right to feel betrayed, to doubt you. The anger in Lucy’s green eyes haunted you. It was a mirror reflecting your own failures, not just as a player but as a person. You replayed every moment in your head, wishing you could go back and change things and make different choices. But you couldn’t. All you could do now was face the consequences.

And Ona, what about her? Your best friend. You tried not to imagine her face. Her warm brown eyes and wide smile were replaced by devastated, tear-filled expressions and anxious looks. God, what had you done? The guilt gnawed at you, a relentless ache that seemed to have no end. You could almost hear Ona’s voice; her playful teasing turned into something sharper, something pained. You had let her down. She had always been there for you, through the highs and lows, and now… now you had pushed her away too. The one time you truly, desperately, urgently needed her to help navigate this … you had disappeared. Like a ghost.

You weren’t sure how long you sat on the edge of the physio bed. Long enough for the team to have cleared out of the changing rooms, you think. You really should go shower. But you couldn’t move. Everything felt heavy. You were too tired to push yourself off the padded table, too weary to make the short walk back to the changing room, too fatigued to get into the car and drive home. A knock on the door pulled you from your spiral.

“Can I come in?” Ona. You looked up, reminding Ona of a meerkat on patrol. You smiled weakly, nodding and gesturing to the bed opposite. She didn’t take it, just shifting to stand on the other side of the door, ready to run if she needed to.

“Lo siento,” she murmured eventually. Why was she apologising? You were the one that needed to fix everything.

“You’re not the one who should be apologising,” you muttered dejectedly.

“I know, but Lucia is –”

“No, no, no, no,” you rushed out, cutting her off. “It’s me. I’m the one who should be apologising,” you corrected yourself. “I’m a horrible person. I am a truly awful person. I mean, who does that to their friends? Who disappears for days without telling them what was wrong?” You swallowed, taking a deep breath before surging on. “I need to apologise to you, Oni, uh, Ona … um,” you chuckled awkwardly. You cleared your throat. “I am so, truly, deeply, honestly sorry for what I did to you. I hate myself for it. God, now I’m crying again.” you said humorously, the joke falling flat as you wiped tears away. “I’m just so sorry. I don’t know how I can ever make it up to you, to Lucy, to Alexia, to the team. I don’t even know if you want me to make it up to you or if I should just let you live your life without me. You’d probably be better off,” you rambled. “I hurt everyone around me, and I have no explanation for it. Nothing beyond that; I genuinely didn’t mean to. I wasn’t thinking; I was just so overwhelmed with it all, and being here in Barcelona made it so much worse, so I just left, and I didn’t look at my phone because it was easier not to. It wasn’t happening if I wasn’t looking at my phone. It’s no excuse, and I’m not trying to make one up, I promise. It was wrong, and I know that. I know I fucked up so badly, and I’ve probably ruined the best things to ever happen to me, and now you all hate me, and I’m so, so sorry,” you sobbed. You hadn’t even noticed Ona had moved closer to you, her own tears streaming down her face, until her arms wrapped around you. “No, no,” you pushed her off or attempted to at least. “I don’t deserve your comfort. I am a horrible person, I don’t deserve…” you couldn’t finish as another wave of sobs broke through.

“Shhhh,” she whispered softly, her arms tightening around you despite your weak protests. You tried to move away, but the softness of her shirt, the warmth of her body, and the kindness in her voice were too inviting. “What you did … disappearing like that,” she began, her words spoken into your sweaty hair. “Realmente dolió,” her voice cracked slightly; you tightened your arms around her waist in response. “Your actions were bad, yes. But you are not bad,” she said emphatically.

You took a shuddering breath, the truth in her words piercing through the haze of your self-loathing. “I’ve made such a mess of everything,” you murmured, your voice muffled against her shoulder. “I don’t know how to fix it.” Ona pulled back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes.

“You start by forgiving yourself,” she said gently. “Because …” she paused momentarily, “I forgive you. Te perdono. Et perdono.” This set a new wave of tears bubbling up. It was painful and raw but cathartic, too.

You didn’t want to, but you couldn’t help it as you felt a glimmer of hope. It was fragile and tentative, but it was there, a tiny spark in the darkness. You clung to it, feeling Ona’s warmth and forgiveness surround you. The heaviness in your chest lightened just a fraction, enough to allow a breath of relief. Ona’s embrace tightened, and you let yourself sink into it, missing how her hugs had felt, the comfort she brought you just by being close. She pressed a gentle kiss to the back of your head. “I’m sorry,” you whispered into the fabric covering her stomach.

“I know you are,” she replied just as quietly.

Every moment of the next few days seemed to blend into the next with dizzying speed, and you found yourself caught between triumph and confusion. Winning the Copa de la Reina, preparing for the Champions League, and waiting for the international announcements - it was a lot of everyone to process. Yet amidst the frenzy, you were quietly trying to mend the fractures in your relationships. Conversations, laden with heartfelt apologies, unfolded with each member of the team. More tears were shed, but you slowly began the painstaking process of stitching what was broken. Even as you sat beside Mapí during the Copa final, her silence spoke volumes, a tangible reminder of the distance still to be bridged. The sparse conversation, a mere trickle compared to her usual torrent of words, served as a reminder of the work yet to be done but also of the hope that lingered in the spaces between.

Then came the chaos of the Champions League final, a rollercoaster of emotions that whisked you from uncertainty to jubilation in the span of ninety minutes. Initially resigned to the sidelines, your ankle injury deemed worthy of rest by Jona, fate intervened as Ona fell. In an instant, the plans shifted, and you found yourself thrust onto the pitch, the weight of the final moments heavy on your shoulders. Yet as the final whistle blew and the roar of triumph echoed around the stadium, any lingering doubts were drowned out by the sheer joy of victory. Despite the bittersweet knowledge that this might mark the end of your journey with the team, at that moment, you refused to let anything dim the radiance of your victory.

The only issue that remained was Lucy. Ona had been careful to keep you two apart, but with the Olympics fast approaching, you knew a conversation was in desperate need. You had booked it ages ago, just after the Nation League finals, when you found out Germany and Spain would be heading off to fill the European spots in the Olympics. At the time, you hadn’t questioned it when you booked a singular hotel room with two beds for the entire two weeks of the competition. At the time, the logistics seemed simple enough – a singular hotel room with two beds, a pragmatic arrangement for two good friends united at WAGs in supporting their respective partners. But now … now everything was different.

And then you were waiting for Lucy in the middle of the Barcelona airport. What should you say? What would she say? Was she still angry at you? Judging by Ona’s actions, she probably was, but you didn’t quite know how bad these two weeks would be. You had decided that if worse came to worse, you would fork out for a new hotel room. It would probably be eye-wateringly expensive and damn near impossible to do, but you would do it. You knew a few of the partners of the German national team fairly; maybe you could crash on their floor? No. You needed to fix this. If not for your sake, then for Ona’s. You could see how hard this was for her, keeping her girlfriend and her best friend away from each other whilst balancing the international commitments.

You needed a plan. Ask her how she is when she first arrives. Let her start the conversation. Buy her a coffee. Let her choose the window seat if she wants it. Pay for the taxi from the airport to the hotel. Ask her if you could talk properly. If she says yes, apologise again. Answer all her questions honestly and truthfully. Try not to cry. If she says no … find another hotel.

You had been so wrapped up in her thinking that you had missed her arrival. She looked tired, but not angry. At least you don’t think she looked angry.

“Oh,” you said, surprised. “Hi.” You smiled at her. She nodded once, silently gesturing to the check-in desk behind you.

It was the most painfully awkward 3 hours of your life. Every attempt at conversation felt stilted and forced. You were often met with nods and grunts instead of actual answers. She granted you a small half-smile as you presented her with a coffee from the nicer-but-more-expensive stand near the gates. All you could do was keep reminding yourself that you were doing this for Ona. You were here to support Ona, your best friend. And Lena. Sweet, kind, perfect Lena … Ona and Lena, Ona and Lena, Ona and Lena

The room was rather large, you were grateful to realise. The beds positioned far enough apart to provide some privacy for you both, as well as a small seating area. The small balcony outside offered a great view, the hum of the bustling city audible, even from high up in the hotel. You waited for her to choose a bed, hoovering anxiously by the door, your grip tight on your suitcase. Ok … show time.

“Um … Lucy?" you began, the butterflies in your chest increasing when she didn’t look up. “Can we talk? I need … I want to apologise to you properly and talk a little.” Nothing. No reaction. Not even a flicker. This was not a part of the plan. She was supposed to say yes or no. Not nothing.  “Right, um …” you wracked your brains, trying to think of what to do now. “Ok, um, if you don’t want to talk, that’s ok too. I’ll… um … I’ll just … I’ll just get out of your hair, then. Uhh, yeh.” Maybe you had come on too strong. Perhaps she needed to settle in for a bit first. You turned to go, your hand struggling to find the doorknob in your haste.

“Wait.” You froze. Every muscle locked as you waited for her to continue. “You’re right; we need to talk.” Turning back to face her, you looked at her properly for the first time in weeks. She looked so tired. The weight of everything was clearly etched into the lines of her face. Her green eyes were darker than normal, the set of her shoulders hunched slightly.

“Here? Or we could go get a coffee? My treat.” You managed a small, tentative smile, hoping it would ease some of the tension between you.

“A coffee sounds nice,” she gave a slow nod, picking up her purse and moving across the room.

The café was very typically French, no doubt redecorated somewhat for the influx of tourists, but the smell of freshly brewed coffees and warm croissants was too inviting to pass on.

“Bonjour,” Lucy smiled at the barista, her order flowing with ease in a torrent of French.

She stepped to the side, allowing you to add in your abysmal French, “un petit chocolat chaud, s'il vous plait,” handing over your card to pay for the drinks.

The seats were wide and comfortable, offering a quiet space for you to talk openly.

“I forgot you spoke French,” you fiddled with the napkin on the side of your saucer.

“Yeh, I didn’t want to lose it when I left Lyon. And it’s been helpful for learning Catalan too.” Lucy smiled weakly.

“How’s that going, by the way? Learning Catalan, I mean,” you started, attempting to break the ice a little

“Don’t. Don’t do that, Y/N. You wanted to talk, so talk.” She cut you off bluntly. Ok, she was still a little angry. That was fine, you could manage that, you think.

“Ok, um, well. I wanted to apologise.” You spoke slowly, thinking of exactly what to say before you said it. “Properly.” You took a steading breath. “I have no excuse, no explanation really, of why I did what I did. Why I disappeared. But … I am truly sorry. I know I hurt you, and Ona, and Alexia, the whole team, really. I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you to watch Ona in that state.” You took a sip of your drink to help steady yourself. “I was selfish, and I didn’t think about the consequences of my actions. I was childish and immature; you were right.” You looked up to see Lucy’s eyes fixed on you, her expression unreadable but attentive. You took it as a sign to continue. “What I did was inexcusable, but I didn’t do it consciously. Lena said either I go to her, or she would come to me, and with the Pokal final coming, I couldn’t let her leave Germany, so I went to her. It all happened so fast, and when I got to Germany, everything was clearer, easier a little, I’m not really sure. But Barça and everything to do with Barcelona was just too much. I know that it might not make a difference, but I didn’t purposefully think about shutting everyone out and disappearing.” You took another sip. “I really am sorry for how I behaved. I completely understand if you don’t want to spend the next 2 weeks in a hotel room with me. I can find somewhere else if-”

“Stop it.” Her voice was quiet but commanding. Your mouth snapped shut, your nervous eyes drifting up to meet her gaze. “I appreciate your apology.” It wasn’t forgiveness, but she had at least acknowledged it.

“I really am sorry,” you cut in.

“Stop saying sorry.” You could tell it was an attempt at humour.

“Sorry,” you smiled sheepishly. She raised an eyebrow in response, trying to come off unamused but failing. Your heart lightened a little at the small sliver of the normal Lucy returning.

“I’m not angry at you,” she began. “No, wait, that’s not quite true. I was incredibly angry at you,” she corrected herself. “When I see people I love and care about upset, I get angry, and you really hurt Ona. But … I was also annoyed at the team, including Ona ...” You looked up, confused. “They all forgave you so easily, so quickly. It was like they had forgotten how hard it was for all of us when we didn’t know where you were, if you were safe … if you were still alive. And then I got angry at myself for being angry with everyone and ...” She stopped, looking around at the café you were sitting in.

“Um … they didn’t.” you breathed. It was her turn to look confused. “They didn’t forgive me. I spoke to Alexia after the first training session … I was back for. She explicitly said she hadn’t forgiven me. I still don’t think she fully has,” you licked your lips. “Not that she has to,” you added quickly. “No one has to forgive me if they don’t want to. Um, I guess the others picked up on her changes in behaviour and were following her lead.” It sounded like a question. Truthfully, you weren’t sure why everyone had eased off on you so fast, but you weren’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“I … I didn’t know that.” Lucy muttered, either to you or to herself you weren’t sure.

“And Ona didn’t speak to me until after … that training session. God, I was a total mess. I am an ugly crier, and, bloody hell, was I sobbing,” you tried to lighten the mood.

“I didn’t know that either …” she trailed off. The silence wasn’t awkward, not anymore. But there were definitely things still unsaid that lingered in the space between you. “That makes me look like a total arse,”

“No, it doesn’t,” you said gently. “You were hurt and angry. You had every right to react in that way. I was a total bitch.”

“So was I,” she said wryly. Lucy sighed deeply, rubbing her temples. “It’s just … I didn’t realise how much I was holding onto. I'm sorry if I ... we ... made you feel like you couldn't come to us.”

“Thank you,” you said softly. “But disappearing was wrong. And I don’t expect immediate forgiveness. I want to make that clear. I just want a chance to make things right, to show you that I’m here to stay. Well, not literally, anyway, but … I’m working on it. I’ve started making enquiries for a therapist. I’m really trying to get better at communication and stuff.” You nodded, pushing some hair behind your ear.

“Where are you going anyway? I haven’t seen an announcement or anything.” She took another sip of her coffee, a clear attempt at normalcy.

“Um … Bayern,” you bit your lip. “I think if Barça were to offer me an extension I would have taken it, but I’m excited to move. It’s a new challenge and stuff,”

“Hey, hey, I don’t need the media spiel. I get it. It also helps that a certain someone is also moving to Bayern?” she guessed.

“Well, that’s definitely a perk that other teams didn’t have.” You both let out a soft laugh.

“I really am sorry, Luce,” you said when the laughter died down.

"I know you are. And I am too. None of us were acting very grown up." She smiled at you. You grinned back at her. “Now then, have you got the schedule for Lena’s matches?” She asked, taking another sip and shuffling her chair closer to you, a clear change of subject, yet also a tentative step towards what your relationship used to be like.

Over the next 2 weeks. You truly rediscovered how much you loved football. With good food and good friends, it was easy to fall in love with the sport. The Olympics was special. The energy was electric, and it showed on the pitch. You watched as Lena dominated the field. You were fairly sure you had dribbled a little when she made her appearance with the Captain’s armband on. You were very grateful that the Spain match was later in the day, so you had attended this particular game alone.

“Schatz,” Lena shouted when friends and family were finally allowed over to see the players. “Come here,” she waved you over, holding a hand out for you and helping you over the barrier.

“You played so well, Liebe.” You congratulated her, a hand resting on her bicep as you kissed the corner of her mouth.

“Danke, Schatz. I have some people I want you to meet,” she said as she tucked you into her side, an arm thrown across your shoulders. “This is my mama,” she said proudly, presenting you to the woman in front of you.

“Um …” you blinked and swallowed. “Hallo?” you settled on, a shocked smile on your face.

And then the summer was over. The long, sun-drenched days had given way to cooler evenings, the warmth slowly seeping out of the air as autumn crept in. The vibrant hues of green began to fade, replaced by the rich, earthy tones of autumn. The laughter and chatter of tourists that had filled the streets grew quieter, the city settling back into its regular rhythm. Slowly, forgiveness was shown on all sides. After long talks well into the cool summer nights, an understanding was reached. The scars would probably always be there, but they were not just a faint white line, not raw and open.

“Look after her,” Ona whispered in Lena’s ear as they hugged. The pair stepped back to look at you in a tight embrace with Alexia.

“I will.” Lena promised.

As you held Alexia, you could feel the strength of her emotions mirrored in the tightness of her grip. “Mantenerte fuerte, cariño,” she murmured into your shoulder, her voice muffled. “We’ll see each other soon.”

You pulled back slightly to look into her eyes. “I’ll miss you,” you said, your voice cracking a little. “But I’ll be back before you know it.”

Alexia nodded, blinking back tears. “Just promise me you’ll take care of yourself.

“Prometo,” you assured her, giving her one last squeeze before letting go.

“Bye, kid.” Lucy said, stepping forward for her own hug.

“Bye, Luce,” you replied. “Look after Ona,” you whispered to her.

“Of course.” Her arms tightened fractionally before you let go. "Look after yourself too, yeh?" You nodded into her neck, laughing as she tried to ruffle your hair.

All three of them separated themselves slightly as you and Ona came face to face.

“I’m not going to cry,” you said defiantly, your voice already wavering.

“Me neither,” Ona echoed the sadness in your own. You pulled her forward, arms wrapping around her shoulders as you pressed a kiss to her hair. The embrace was long and tight, both of you reluctant to let go. You could feel the slight tremble in her body. You were sure you were shaking, too.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” you whispered, your voice breaking despite your best efforts to stay composed. Ona pulled back just enough to look into your eyes.

“I’ll miss you too,” she said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “But we’ll stay in touch ... every day.”

“Every day,” you promised her, pulling her into another tight hug. You held on for a few more precious moments before finally, reluctantly, letting go.

Lena approached you then, her expression soft but determined. “Ready?” she asked, holding a hand out for you to take.

You nodded, taking a deep breath. “Yeah, I’m ready.” You placed your hand in hers, cementing the notion that you were doing this together.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you said, trying to inject some lightness into your voice. “And when I am, it’ll be for the Champions League, and we’re going to crush you,” you jested.

Ona smiled, a tear finally escaping down her cheek. “Oh, please. We’re Barcelona,” she said.

“Yeh, we’ll we’re Bayern. Feel our wrath.” You stuck your tongue out, a similar tear rolling down your face. You paused, reluctant to turn away.

“Look at you.” Alexia smiled proudly. “Getting a new job. Moving to a new city. Moving in with your girlfriend. A proper adult now.”

“Not too adult, though. I still need you.”

I hope you enjoyed the story and the series as a whole. Please let me know what you though <3<3<3<3

[enden-agolor]

i fucking LOVE the way you draw/write jesse, as someone with a chubby/buff build i kind of struggle with insecurities about my size but the way you draw him makes me feel very good. idk im describing it badly but i wanted to ask if your design for him is more chubby or muscly?

Dude thank you 🥺🩵 You described it very well.

It really depends on which time frame I'm drawing Jesse in actually.

In the beginning, I imagine Jesse is quite scrawny. I mean did you see his work out routine in the beginning? He was was doing sit ups and punching flowers. He was definitely lacking muscle (but had enough to be able to lift Reuben up and down that ladder) and as the first couple episodes progress, he stays scrawny but progressively becomes more scarred up until the Portal Hallway episodes.

The Portal Hallway episodes, it takes place many months after the events of the Witherstorm. Jesse and his friends are going on many more adventures, really honing their skills that they acquired over the past few months. Jesse is much more built now. He's buff and tough with the true heart of a hero. Although, once he and his friends get stuck in the Portal Hall, that's when things take a really devastating turn for him. Feeling hopeless and lost for weeks on end, he begins to feel withdrawn from the positivity he was feeling before he ended up stuck here. Traumatic events keep occuring, and with these events, Jesse is of course drawn to remember and replay the events of Reuben's death in his head. He keeps the most of these feelings to himself because his group is already feeling so disheartened about their current situation that the last thing he'd want for them is to know that he's breaking emotionally, so he ends up taking less care of himself. He starts eating with the idea that he has to stay strong for his friends, but even those moments are rare. Food is scarce depending on what portal they are in, so when he finds food, he'll take anything that will keep his energy and strengths up.

By the end of it all, he's actually put on a significant amount of muscle. But it's kind of like a 'at what cost?' scenario.

Things get a bit better for him between then and Season 2 where he's eating better again and keeping all that muscle, but once Season 2 comes and goes, and with everything that happens in the Sunshine Institute and the Underneath, he loses a lot of weight.

It's only after Season 2, where he stays in BeaconTown and eventually finds a love life with Lukas when he really begins putting on weight once again. He's done with hero work. He's done with going on crazy life threatening adventures. Now he just wants to live life for himself rather than putting others first. Lukas helps him a lot through this, with body positivity and lots of love and affectionate touch, it's all the reassurance Jesse has ever needed to feel okay with being himself again. So he ends up putting on that happy weight that couples typically adopt over time when they're in a healthy relationship. Lukas treats him so, so unbelievably well. Finally Jesse gets to eat food for himself without the idea of needing to keep himself strong and powerful once he's finally retired. He indulges himself in his sweet tooth and loves to eat cookies, cakes, and other baked goods that Lukas will bake or bring home. He also really enjoys the fact that he doesn't have to eat alone anymore. He loves sitting at the table and enjoying a meal with his hubby. And the best part, which is something Jesse was horribly self conscious about, is that Lukas loves and adores his pudge. He is so supportive of Jesse's eating habits, but he doesn't hesitate to sneak veggies and fruits into Jesse's lunch box for work.

So yeah uh Jesse is chubby, buff and loved at the end of it all 😍

Here's some lil doodles of him I have lying around. The first one is pretty old and could probably use a touch up since now I don't see much of a difference, but you get the point ☠️

[matan4il]

My grandparents were all Holocaust survivors. A large part of my family was murdered in that genocide. I chose to deal with the family trauma by becoming an educator on this subject. I give tours, lectures and workshops on the Holocaust, on antisemitism and on Jewish history.

Intellectually, I'm perfectly aware of how the massacre that Hamas perpetrated is NOT like what the Nazis did. More Jews were murdered over the course of just two days in Babi Yar (33,771 men, women and children), which is just one Nazi shooting pit out of almost two thousand, than during the entire Israeli-Arab conflict. Even after the carnage brought on by Hamas, this is still true. The Nazis were far more systematic (which eventually made them turn industrial) in carrying out the genocide of the Jews than Hamas has been. There's no comparison in terms of scale and industrialization.

And yet emotionally, I can't help but be hit by the similarities in terms of the immediate brutality of the murderers and the experiences of the Jewish victims. Because I am listening to the testimonies and some are so eerily similar to my research, I simply can't process how these are from recent days, not 80 years ago.

Jewish kids hiding from their would be murderers, scared to make a sound for fear of being discovered and killed.

Jewish families completely wiped out.

Jews asking themselves how did they survive and the person next to them did not.

Jewish people executed in droves, their bodies piled up.

Jews begging to be spared, to no avail.

Jewish women raped, most of them then killed.

Jewish babies executed in barbaric ways.

Jews being burned, some after being murdered, some while alive.

Jewish communities devastated. Take kibbutz Be'eri for example. It was founded before the State of Israel. Despite many terrorist attacks, it has continued to thrive in Israel's south. A small, close knit agricultural community. Over 100 people (at least) have been slaughtered there. Homes were destroyed. Everything the kibbutz's economy was based on was laid to waste, too. Be'eri has become synonymous with the worst of the carnage. IDK how they'll build their lives again after the war is over. IDK if they can. A community of almost 80 years, quite likely gone.

Foreign reporters who had been to kibbutz Kfar Azza all talked about the eerie silence and the stench of death rising from the bodies. Eerie silence is exactly how visitors to the sites of the shooting pits describe those places, while the allied soldiers who liberated the Nazi camps talked about the stench of death there.

Some of the reactions to this massacre also remind me of the Holocaust. Even though the Nazis, the murderers themselves, documented their extermination of Jews, there are those who deny the Holocaust happened, painting the Jews as liars. Similarly, even though Hamas documented themselves, and released the footage themselves, there are people going around denying the atrocities, painting the Jews as liars.

Then there's the justification of the mass murder of Jews by insinuating they brought it on themselves... Back in 1943, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, aware of the plight of Jews under the Nazis, told government officials in Allied-liberated North Africa that the number of local Jews in various professions “should be definitely limited” so as to “eliminate the specific and understandable complaints which the Germans bore towards the Jews in Germany.” Understandable complaints. Understandable complaints of Germans against Jews. Roosevelt, the liberal president, said that while Jews were being exterminated by the Germans. In the same manner, we're seeing people justifying the murder of Jews at the hands of Hamas, even though it's a known antisemitic terrorist organization which has repeatedly called for the murder of all Jews in the world. According to the Simon Wiesenthal Center, a reportedly Hamas affiliated Imam declared, "If the Zionist state were to move to the other end of the Mediterranean, our war would not be over, for the enemy is the Jew.

And while I stand by my statement that the scale is nothing alike, the carnage that took place in Israel IS the biggest massacre of Jews since the end of the Holocaust. Not even during Israel's Independence War and some of the massacres of Jews that happened during it (like the Kfar Etzion massacre) were this many Jews murdered during a single day.

Just like so many were silent back then as Jews were being both killed for being Jewish AND blamed for their own murder, many are silent now as well. Don't get me wrong, there are A LOT of amazing people who reached out to their Jewish friends, who showed they care, who took to the streets, who held vigils for the massacre's victims! Many heads of state also condemned this vicious attack. But I'm looking at Tumblr specifically, and it is FULL of posts justifying Hamas' slaughter of Jews. They're being reblogged everywhere, spread in every fandom. People who claim to stand for social justice feel absolutely no shame sharing such de-humanizing posts on their blogs. And what do we do? Are we calling them out? Do we make it clear that it is morally unacceptable to blame Jews for their own murder? Do we unfollow these bloggers, so that at least the dropping numbers send out the message that it is unacceptable to justify the massacre of innocent people?

TLDR:

This massacre is not like the Holocaust, but the cruel antisemitism that motivated it is the same. Let's not let antisemitism thrive here. Please do what you can (whatever that is) to stand for what's right.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[beachf4gz]

I recently was able to restart my adhd meds after a few months of them being out of stock so I have been reading wayyy more DE fanfic again, and something I find kind of interesting is how prominant certain in-game choices are in regards to Harry's fanon characterisation. I understand why the communist route and sorry-cop copotype are by far the most common ways ppl write Harry- I think most people playing the game end up identifying with those dialogue options and therefor end up following those routes (and its a fairly big time commitment to replay with the intention of seeing all the different route you could take)- but I do sometimes really wish there was more writing for the different copotypes and political orientations because the ways Harry's internal processes and position in the world are affected are REALLY interesting to me. I completely understand being uncomfortable (or just uninterested) by the idea of exploring an ultraliberal, moralist or facist character- I think fanfiction as a medium is compelling in part because you are conveying your own relationship to a piece of work, including your own moral reactions and beliefs applied upon the work's characters- but I think DE includes the option to *play as* a character occupying these roles (rather than just presenting them through npcs) in order to invite players to experience and examine the act of being these things both internally and within social contexts.

I think Harry can be fascinating and heartbreaking as a character study in any of these routes, and the gameplay can feel radically different between them even following the same plot. For example, I found the moralist route deeply evocative. It has an uneasy, desperate feeling to it as someone struggles to occupy the in-group, to live in normalcy and civility in the face of their own world ending. It creates an odd position for Harry as accutely disabled and vulnerable- contrasting percieved social acceptance and safety with the tearing of reality "as it should be" at the failure of the social mechanisms he believes in to meet their promise of happiness or safety. The gameover at the statue left me genuinely stunned when I first got it, its sort of horrifying in it's bluntness, and I found it really upsetting in this specific raw way. Its an excellent way of demonstrating, emotionally, the failure and cruelty of liberalism upon those who believe in it- but also its devastating for Harry's character as he is presented through the moralist dialogue. I also found it rlly compelling how the honor cop dialogue options explore Harry as a person seeking dignity in the face of their social ostracisation, and how apocalypse-cop explores the social modes of someone who has fallen out of the "normal reality space", how impaired his ability to live is in response to a full awareness of overwhelming, total threat. I'm not good at writing essays and stuff, idk if I'm explaining this well, but all of the routes are written with such an intimate and personal examination of how it *feels* to occupy different modes of being- of the way the world will treat you if you interact with it in certains ways, or the person you will be and the emotional shape your life will form depending on your framework. I think its kind of abstract and difficult to write properly, but I think its something you can reaaaallly sink yourself into if you find Harry a compelling character- I personally do (lmao) and its something I love seeing whenever I get the chance. I get the appeal of Harry as an exccentric mentally ill communist whose political beliefs are, in social contexts, extentions of his rejection of social norms and position as othered under liberal belief- I do also just enjoy the fact that this version of Harry is only one mode of being he could occupy, and the varying ways in which he is socially, emotionally or cognitively enabled/disabled by other modes of being, and the position the game takes in exploring them all as choices or as routes and reactions by the same person- as someone afloat and disempowered in the world attempting to find "how to live".

[thy-valhallen]

Batfam by How Likely They Are to Break the No-Killing Rule

Jason Todd. obviously, this is his bit, the man is okay with murder so long as he perceives due cause, pew pew babygirl, rubber bullets still can kill you but now, Bruce can't yell at him if they die later

Barbara Gordon. you cannot tell me this woman isn't bloodthirsty. she follows the rules because she plays nice and respects the justice system (mostly), but i fully believe she can and will fly a drone with a mounted gun and snipe someone from six blocks away one day if the other Bats are busy, and she might not feel inclined to call an ambulance

Stephanie Brown. a Narrows girl, she knows how shit can happen, and if someone's after one of the Batfam, you better believe she's got a knife at the ready. Steph follows the rule well! for now. but look, if she's in mortal peril, she's not about to put her attacker's life above her own

Tim Drake. Tim is the true neutral here to me-- he follows the Code because of the effect it would have on Bruce and the rest of the family. he fully understands this and avoids it. ... there are no less than six different timelines in which he has pretty freely murdered people, and the jokes about him being the Most Likely to be a Supervillain jokes are based in something, guys. i feel like it would be more of a problem if he weren't so exhausted and busy 24/7-- so let's keep him very busy so he doesn't catch a charge

Damian al Ghul-Wayne. he's had a lot of growth from his days of being a child assassin and puts a lot of value on following their Code now-- but look me dead in the eyes and say he wouldn't kill for most of his family in a heartbeat. lie to me.

Dick Grayson. he and Damian are tied for me in how it's fairly situational and both would suffer tremendous emotional backlash for the action-- but Dick has a lot of rage and a lot of people who have hurt him and his loved ones. there's a tipping point, and he's reached it before. he blames himself for so much, if he ever got caught up in his own wrath and actually game-ended someone, I think the man would never wear a mask again

Duke Thomas. Duke may be under-credited for his absolutely feral behavior, but murder is definitively not on that list. he is so down to throw down, but Duke has never (to my knowledge) had a close call with murdering someone like many of the others in this family. putting this mostly on his powers giving him a leg-up there, but powers or not, no body count and never expect that to change for him

Bruce Wayne. the epitome of the No-Killing Code except for all those times he's nearly killed someone in intensely stressful situations. is strict about it because he knows how easy a line it is to cross and how it would devastate him emotionally and holds that standard. no killing is probably a kitschy poster in the Batcave at this point, Jason got it lovingly printed on a metal sign next to the Batcomputer

Cassandra Cain. has killed and will never kill again-- Bruce has close calls and has to be stopped, Cass has close calls and reins herself in. the blood on her hands is red enough without more-- she's an obsidian blade, sharp enough to cut molecules but so very fragile. one bad move would break her, and being the strongest in the family, it would be so very easy to make that move and it would be easy to live in fear of herself. but she doesn't-- there's shit to do and crime to be carefully nerve-pinched, after all

Bonus:

Alfred Pennyworth. i couldn't rank him with the others, do you know how this would look if I started the list with Alfred??? this is an ex-MI6 agent. this is a man who responds to home invasions of any threat level from "Burglar" to "Darkseid" with a sawed-off shotgun and fresh pair of gloves in his pocket for after he's disposed of the body. he's killed and will kill again, just step within range, kind sir, and you'll find out

[cherikdogfood]

do you ever think about whether Erik tried to reach Charles telepathically in DOFP before finding out about the effects of the serum? because i do, and then I cry, because oh my god.

I do 😭😭 and I have tons of thoughts about it.

There's the standard, most heartbreaking thought that, like you said, Erik is in prison and he calls for Charles, but at this point in time Charles is using the serum so he doesn't hear Erik, and Erik is just confused and he wonders if maybe Charles doesn't want to talk to him anymore, and maybe Erik thinks Charles finally lost hope in him, maybe Charles doesn't love him anymore maybe Charles finally realizes there's no good in him, and Erik panics and just feels so heartbroken.

So that day when he was rescued and he comes face to face with Charles, even though Charles' first reaction was to punch him, Erik is still overjoyed because this is the love of his life, he's here, Charles didn't give up on him, and so on...

And then Erik finds out about the serum and he's just furious, and he thinks, Charles just gave up on mutantkind? Charles just gave up and hid his powers? Charles... Just gave up on him? Erik is angry and feels betrayed... And so he lashes out and he and Charles fight (that plane scene in dofp).

And, let me be clear that I do not hate Erik. But I kinda hate the dofp plane scene because I don't think Erik was being fair (about the serum and Charles). (It was just emotionally devastating, okay).

I mean, Charles literally lost his legs, sister, and boyfriend, and then his students (who must've been the ones keeping him going) leave to war, and he's alone inside his head, and on the beach in Cuba Erik was the one who shut Charles out (I know Erik had his reasons for doing so, but him putting on the helmet right after killing Shaw is just urgh), so I think Charles was in a really, really bad place and I understand why he took the serum.

Throughout the X-Men movies Charles has always been the one helping others, the one who has to be kind and patient and the father/leader figure. He uses his wealth, powers, time, influence and everything else to build a school for mutants, and still it's not enough. He's never enough. He's got a heavy weight on his shoulders and he's so alone. During the one time he's in a bad place and took drugs, the lowest point of his life, where was Erik? Fighting his mutant war, leaving Charles, who was in a bad place because of Erik (at least partially), alone.

And then in the dofp plane scene Erik just blames and bashes Charles for it.

I dunno my heart just always hurts watching that scene. I mean, thinking about it from Erik's perspective also hurts a lot (he's been calling Charles for years, thinking Charles doesn't want him anymore) and he's just heartbroken and then furious when he finds out Charles couldn't hear him because of a stupid serum.

I am so sorry that ended up being super long and I kinda ranted about Charles lol. Again, I must repeat that I hate neither Erik or Charles. I love them both and they're fucking idiots in love.

NOW I have another theory, based on what you said.

What if when Erik called out to Charles, Charles hadn't taken the serum? Not yet, at least.

But let's assume Charles is in a really low place. He lost his students, he can't walk, his powers are going haywire with soo many voices...

And then Charles hears Erik's voice in his head.

And Charles freaks out, he doesn't believe that is really Erik. He thinks it's just his imagination.

And Charles wants to laugh and cry bitterly because Erik has hurt him so, so much, and yet now he's imagining Erik's voice in his head? He really is delusional. Erik doesn't want him. Erik put on that damned helmet. There's no way the voice in his head is Erik's.

So when Hank offers him the serum, Charles takes it. He doesn't want to hear Erik's voice in his head because it hurts too much. (He doesn't know that it's really Erik who's calling him).

Well, that's my other theory. I dunno which one is more devastating.

Thank you for the lovely ask and I'm so sorry this is soo long 😭

[penvisions]

of beskar and kyber {chapter 22}

Pairing: Din Djarin x Force Sensitive! Reader (the Mandalorian x Force Sensitive! Reader)

Summary: With a plan set in motion, it immediately begins to fall apart at the seams. Maldovan is proving to be one of the planets you face some of your most devastating hardships on, and you're not sure you can survive it intact this time.

Word Count: 10.8k (!!)

Warnings: canon typical language, canon typical violence, death, "on screen" death, din raises his voice one (1) time, argumentative language, inner musings of reader, mentions of past heartbreak and pain, reader is being held captive against her will, talk of self-harm, references to past self-harm, mentions of IV ports and shots, glossed over references to surgical procedures, deadly poison, talks of injuring / killing people, ritualistic and religious activities, talk of past manipulation and administration of sedative drugs, reader has a lot of quiet moments in this, sexual content, reader has one (1) absolutely feral moment, those are all the big ones!

A/N: this marks the end of my all original content arc!! i'm so proud of myself and i hope this doesn't emotionally destroy you too much, oops (p.s. special shoutout to @sawymredfox for the lovely moodboard that helped to inspire me this chapter)

ao3 link || series masterlist || main masterlist || ko-fi

Everything was too bright, even through your closed eyes. It was as if you were underneath a spot light, trained on you, making your entire body feel overheated and almost burning. You tried not to cry out, to hold in the sound as the sensation became too much and your body convulsed, and your eyes flew open.

The memory of killing your intended flooded your mind, the one of you biting into a truffle so strong you could feel the smooth give of the melting chocolate on your lips and tongue. The viscous sensation of the sugary warmth thick on your cotton-like tongue. But it was a bed you woke up in, in the same room as the one your mother had made up for you in the infirmary. She was nowhere to be seen, there was no medic or droid around either. You were alone.

The monitor you were hooked up to wasn’t reading anything, you’re breathing so shallow and the heartrate almost nonexistent. The poison had worked, it allowed for the plan to go through, now all you had to do was knock out the guard, grab your bag and meet up with Din in your room. The escape route was to sneak out under the guise of being a servant, alongside him still in his disguise.

To rush without drawing attention across the city and toward the shipyard, where Cara and ad’ika were waiting. It had been at your insistence that the little one be as far away from your mother once you had regained your sense of self, there was no chance you would take of her getting her hands on him. He had fussed, sensing you so close by when the news was told to him. But even his loud wails and cries couldn’t change your mind, his safety was paramount.

You look for the file, reading the summary at the end of it pronouncing your passing. That you had perished to the symptoms of the poison administered to you. The orders to burn your body not uncommon for someone of royalty, the culture of Maldovan is to honor those in death by allowing them to untether from their bodies to ascend to the afterlife. The order given in the signature of the king and queen, scrawled into the file directly.

It’s your ticket out of here, to run as you saw fit. To escape from the environment in which you had been sold into.

As quickly as you can manage, you exchange the cream sleeping robes you had been dressed in for the dark ones of a guard. Muscles protest the twisting and movements of dressing, sore from the currents that had raced through your body, the poison that had no doubt affected you more than you anticipated.

Arms protesting as you wrap your hair up to conceal it underneath a cover, a leather band holding it in place, another pin allowing for the remaining fabric to drape over your face. With only your eyes visible, you don’t waste any time before making your way through hallways and to the room you agreed to meet up with Din.

The only thing you intended was to retrieve the bag you had stored in the back of your closet. A small collection of clothing and things you could had come to care about while constricted in the life your mother had tried to trap you in.

It may be questionable, the meaning behind it, but the ring Prince Cala had gifted you was beautiful and made your heart flutter for some reason. It was the perfect embodiment of all that you loved should you be given the choice to pick such a piece of jewelry. All polished sterling silver, delicate pastel emeralds lined up in a small cluster of three. You couldn’t bear to part with it, even with the brand associated with it. The way it allowed for the things that happened on this planet to live brightly in your mind and memory.

Perhaps it was because the only way the Prince would know what you would like…was because your mother had to have told him. A small understanding of who you really were beneath all that she forced you into and to mold to, a true part of yourself she had seen and remembered even in her manipulation.

You recall the discussion of removing it to hide it away in the bag, Din’s confusion at such a notion.

‘His lips are soft against your own despite the slight roughness to them from being chapped, from his earnest attempts at being everything you needed the past few months. His own needs falling by the wayside, his own routines holding little to no meaning if it didn’t have to do with ensuring your comfortability or protection.

Cara indulged in all the servants’ quarters had to offer, something she admitted to you on one of your walks, not only to keep up pretenses now that your memory had returned, but a small bubble of time to allow Din to rest. Ad’ika in your arms and cooing along to the sound of your voice every so often, big, beautiful brown eyes looking up at you with admiration as he holds a hand over the middle of your chest.

“Mesh’la,” His voice is a low groan, igniting a smoldering fire beneath your skin. Despite everything, despite all the damage caused by your mother, your body still reacted to him as it had begun to before your kidnapping. Despite the last encounter you two shared…

“My armor, your armor, your weapon. It’s all aboard the ship, down at the docking yard.”

“No, you’re still wanted. I don’t…I can’t bear the thought of you getting captured, they would execute you, this world doles out punishments quickly.” You tighten the grip you’ve got on his wrists, nudging the bronze braces further down his arms, revealing more of his skin for your eyes should they open. But you keep them closed, not wanting to see him for the first time in such circumstances, in a desperate attempt at connection before all chances of it could be lost to you both.

You don’t jolt when he presses to you as much as the bars allow him, the front of his body hot against yours, just as his lips close in around your bottom one. His fingers dig into your hairline, nails scraping gently as he tilts your head just a fraction, deepening the kiss. You can’t help the small sound that escapes your lungs on an exhale, fed into his parted mouth from your own. He swallows it down, giving you one in return when your tongue touches to his.

You startle slightly, overcome by the forward action. By the heat you could feel coming off of him as he responds to your touches in much the same way you are to his. His fingers pull lightly at your hair, holding you in place to prevent you from moving out of reach, it’s intoxicating the way he’s moving against you. Small traces of his tongue along your bottom lip, a chaste kiss to it, to your upper lip, to the tip of your nose and each cheek. His forehead rests against yours as he simply shares air with you now.

Maker, you wish you could see the needy, open expression he’s surely sporting. The furrow of a strong brow, full lips swollen from exchanging kisses, cheeks flushed from emotion and need. You wanted to see it, with everything in your being, but not this way. Not this setting, not while you were anywhere but aboard his ship. His sanctuary. Your sanctuary.

“Din,” You pant, hands moving to grip at his elbows, practically begging him to hold onto you. Just for another moment, another breath, another lifetime.

“San, I promise you….this will be the last time you’re at the mercy of someone else. I swear to you, you will be free, at any cost. I will spend the rest of my life ensuring your freedom, let me, ner k’arta. Even if I  don’t understand the reasoning behind certain things, you are the most important.”

He lingers, until the sun sets and hour signals the shift he had traded with another coming to an end. He doesn’t leave space until a handmaiden descends the stairs. With her is a tray of dinner covered by a domed lid. The smell of caf wafting from the covered mug beside it.’

You turn at the sound of your door opening, your given term of endearment shaped on your lips but your entire expression steels when you see the form of your mother in the doorway. Or at least, that’s who you see when the figure is too small to be Din, a servant that distorted in your vision. The effects of the poison making themselves known in the blurring of colors and sunlight being too bright.

Shaking your head, you realize its your secondary handmaiden. No doubt instructed to begin cleaning the remnants of you from the room. She gasps, startled by your presence though you’re sure she doesn’t recognize you beneath the cover.

“Apologies, I was unaware another was sent to clear the Princess’s room.”

“Was told to gather the valuables, to return to the Queen for safe keeping. I will be gone in a second.”

She’s quiet as she watches you mentally go through the things you need and what’s in the bag, tossing one of the straps over your shoulders before you bowing to her and departing from the room. You make it down the hall a few paces, mind jumbled as you realize Din is late. There’s no sign of him in the hallway nor those that lead to the one your bedroom is located in. Your answer as to why is found in the form of you someone suddenly grabbing at your robes to pull you into a room as you pass the doorway. There’s a slight prick of a needle in you neck and with a shiver from the cold liquid inside, you know exactly who it is.

“Your Mandalorian didn’t expect me to wake up, that much was obvious.” Your mother laughed bitterly as she fastened the cuffs around you, the chains connected them clinking as she did so. The poison and the sting of the sedative make you move slowly, muscles tired and barely functioning. “Managed to sedate him, though he took a lot more than you typically do. I suppose it makes sense, he’s such a big man.” She scoffs at the thought of him, of downing him as she claims. Your heart seizes, worry clouding your mind as she and the sedative work together to immobilize you.

“Bet you let him defile you, in anyway he chose to, didn’t you, my darling? Probably thought it was love, that it was consensual. But he’s using you, just like the others. The Jedi who took you away, who let you fall victim to an attack that eradicated them. To the Mandalorian you claimed protected you in the aftermath, the one who wouldn’t return you home to me. To the Empire who held you captive, demanded things from you until it corrupted you. Changed you into someone you never would’ve become. He’s using you, just the same. Wants to own you, control you, keep you all to himself. Your body and your power the only thing he sees in you.”

Anger and resentment make the energy around you swirl, feeling it more so than a light twinge but a full force all around you ripe for manipulation. Reaching out your mind, you focus it on the chains being pulled taut as your arms are fastened behind your back. She’s moving to fasten the ones about your ankles together when the first one clicks open, the mechanism inside broken. You shove at her next, tossing her off of you and into the other wall.

The chains wrapped around your body were short, the links of them only a few dozen as you free yourself from the hold of your mother. Her own body weak from the poison and the collision of her back to the wall, allowing you to distance yourself from her. To gain a few feet of space as you begin to careen down the hallway. But she follows, far too quickly for comfort once she manages to find her balance.

Footsteps heavy, you feel the sedative try and take ahold of you, but you fight it off. Focusing inward to try and thwart it, negate in in a small bout of healing. Your mind worries for Din, for his own safety. What if your mother had told the guards of his true identity? Would they already have him held in the dungeons, his sentence being doled out? The entire plan of killing and escaping fallen on his shoulders and the blame placed on him?

No thoughts were running through your head other than to get to her quarters, but as you approach the hall, there’s a fear that he’s not there. The bag in your hand grows heavy as your hunch it proved correct, he’s no where to be seen inside her large room. As she’s rounding the hallway herself, slower than you but no less determined, she sees the end of your robe disappear around the other side of the long hall.

Back to the medical wing, you think as you move as quickly as you can down the stairs, far too many of them for you to move at a faster pace. You didn’t want to risk tripping on your tensing muscles. As soon as your boots make contact with even ground once again, you’re careening down a wide hallway, the servants back rooms and paths the goal to travel across the grounds without drawing any more attention.

A distraction never hurt anyone, you reasoned as you dug a hand into the bag for a small round disk. It feels alive in your palm as you nearly slid into the dining hall, the destruction of it paramount to call for servants and guards alike to the scene, to keep everyone in the main part of the palace. To ensure you time to find Din and make the call to Cara for an emergency escape right from the grounds. You trusted her skills, her ability to get the ship low enough for you to load an unconscious Din and then yourself with minimal firepower. All the focus would surely be on the dining hall, the ruined wedding, the craze of your mother claiming her whatever story she concocts.

The three high-pitched chirps of the grav charge you recognized from Din’s weaponry echoed in your ear as you planted it along the ornate door the second your mother was rushing through it after you. The dining hall had been transformed into an extravagant set up for the ceremony. Rows of chairs lined up, beautiful collections of flowers adorning each column, lanterns set up high and in vast numbers, the candles in them unlit. But it all lays in disarray now, covered in debris.

“San!” You heard Din’s voice through the dust and floating debris, but the ringing in your ears drowned it out much the same way the drugs still in your system convinced you it wasn’t even real. It couldn’t be, your mother, she already ensured his death with nothing but a single word. Hoping to crush the very last bit of your heart and will to fight. The only thing on your mind was survival. He was too far, he was fast and he was skilled beyond many but he was down the hall based on the way his voice echoed to reach you.

You called back, hoping that it wasn’t your mind playing tricks on you, the term of endearment echoing back to let him know your precise whereabout should he really be searching for you. But you were sure it would be too late; your mother was already surging up from the blast. Her body covered in ash, dust billowing off of her as she moved as quickly as she could.

You spied the remote on the ground but instead of rushing toward it, you went for your mother who was still sprawled on the ground from the force of the detonation. She roused slightly but burst into movement when she saw you heading straight for her with anger in your eyes. As soon as she scrambled to her feet, you whipped your hand out to send a piece of broken pipe across the room and into her legs.

“San, please, you’re not angry with me! It’s him! He’s the one whose done all this!” She shouted as she regained her footing and tried to flee out into the hallway, she dove for the remote when she spotted it abandoned on the floor. You were already swinging your chains, gathering momentum and just as she broke the threshold you threw it out. The chains wrapped around her middle and you pulled as hard as you could.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Din’s form burst into the entryway, his entire body moving lethargically. He was fighting the sedative; he was fighting it to search for you. His voice called out again, as his head swayed slightly. The

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself as her body collided with yours just as she pressed the trigger on the remote, she had managed to get in her grip, just standing back up from reaching for it as you closed in. The shock was debilitating, originating at the crown of your head, pulsing in your temples and flying across your body to ignite your very nerves on fire. The chains around your wrists, making it even worse, the electricity feeding off of itself for a long moment. You gripped your mother’s body tight to you, the shock transferring to her as well.

Din shouts out your name, louder than you’d ever heard him speak before. But it barely registered over the scratch of your own voice torn from your throat as you cried out.

You both fell to the ground, your teeth gritting so hard you feared your jaw would break.

As soon as you were able to, you rolled over to pin your mother’s rousing form, the chains clinking around you, the metal heavy where your muscles braced against it. She was blinking up at you, her own body no doubt feeling the dangerous effects of the electrocution. Faintly aware of quick steps thundering in the hall, you didn’t dare look away from the woman beneath you as your hands came up to bunch at the front of her robes.

“You will control me no longer!” Using your shaking limbs, you lift her up by the front of them and slam her back down to the ground. Voice wrecked and trilling.

“S-San, ple-please.” She coughed, voice broken as she tried to reason with you, her breathing labored and her mind still with her.

“No!” You couldn’t help but lift her slightly off the ground only to slam her back down to collide with the lavish and polished floor again and again. “You- have- done- nothing- but- take advantage of me my entire life! You had no right to be that way toward me, to do the things you did to me. Your own flesh and blood! Your only family, your only child! I’ve known more kindness from strangers, from those who don’t even know me!”

“I only did it to protect you!” She cries her own words, sweet voice no longer pitched high in an act but raspy as you recalled it being as a child, the voice that haunted your waking hours just as much as your sleeping ones. Pleading with you, the dynamic completely turned now. But there was no reasoning with you, even if Din were to approach you now, even if your old protector Akiz rose from the dead to ask you to show mercy- you could not.

“You never protected me, you’ve only hurt me. Over and over and over again. Every time you chose to load up the needles, every time you closed the shackles on my wrists and ankles, every time you locked me away in the dark with no way to even know I was alive! You made me want to end my live, mother!”

“I didn’t mean- I only wanted-“

“You made me so unaware of everything, I didn’t even know I was a person!” You were shouting at the top of your lungs now, for all to hear. The small crowd of servants and the people dressed in decorated robes surrounding Din in the doorway. Everyone unsure of what to do, of how to break the scene up. But when Din’s figure tried to, he suddenly halted as if there was an invisible barrier preventing him from entering the room. “You treated me as harshly as those that corrupted me!”

“I sold you to give you a better life, to give us a better life! One I couldn’t give to you on an armor’s earnings. It was for your own good. The things I did were for all for your own good, San, you have to believe me!”

Your knuckles popped as you curled your hands around her throat, the flesh and tendons forming to your tight grip. Her own hands scrabbled at any part of you she could reach but you ignored the dig of her nails into your arms, into the base of your neck, eyes locked with hers as they widened in fear and desperation.

“I won’t let you, I won’t let you, not anymore!” You snarled, teeth bared and emotions raw as you watched her gurgle your name, voice tapering off and turning raspy the longer you held to her. Your own shaking and distorted, hoarse from the power behind your shouted words. The same power you felt flooding your veins was all your own, no influence of the Force. You could feel her, the energy of her very being waver, fade, the light going from her eyes as her hands fell limp to her sides.

Tears sprouted from your eyes, falling onto her slack face as her lips tried to form your name one last time. When her last breath left her chest, your hands loosened thought you didn’t remove them. The fear of her suddenly springing up and turning the tables on you all to real even as you took in the way her slightly parted lips were slack, the spittle and splotchy red patches decorating the skin of her face and neck. Her golden skin tainted and marred, just like that about your wrists, about your ankles, about your heart.

Bowing, you nudged the crown of your head underneath her chin, hands moving down to her shoulders, tears flowing freely, sobs wracking your body as you nuzzle into the body of the woman who was supposed to love you, support you, help you navigate the world. The woman who had failed you in every conceivable way, who had taken what little parts of you had survived the events of your life. All of the power and fight leaves your body, energy drained and muscles slack.

All you can do is weep.

You didn’t jump when a hand settles on your back, when the warmth of it seeps into the layers of fabric and into your skin. A comforting weight, a familiar weight. Din.

“Vaabir nayc ku'rukar, bic cuyir shi ni.  Ner kar'ta, gedet'ye, vi linibar at ba'slanar.  Ogir cuyir naas olar par mhi payt.” His voice is quiet, barely above a whisper as he speaks softly to you. As he calls you back to the room, to the time, to him.

Do not startle. My heart, please, we need to leave. There is nothing left for us here.

“Val cuyir dar.” You rasp out, voice strained and small. So much like a child lost in a crowd and searching for someone, anyone to help them get back home.

She’s gone.

“Ni kar'taylir, San.  Vi…vi linibar to-"

I know, San. We…we need to-

“Ni liser't ba'slanar kaysh!” You lift your head, eyes meeting Din’s with a fierce desperation. The meaning of your actions settling in as you feel the body beneath you. “Val may ganar let ni slanar, val may ganar harmed ni, a ni liser't ba'slanar kaysh.  Liser't ba'slanar kaysh baar olar, ogir. Ogir cuyir kebise vi vaabir! Bat K'ath.  Val- val deserve at nari bat.”

I can't leave her! She may have let me go, she may have harmed me, but I can't leave her. Can't leave her body here, there...there are things we do! On K'ath. She- she deserves to move on peacefully.

He’s suddenly turning his back on you, broadsword held up in defense as two figures approach. They’re surrounded by more guards dressed exactly like him, like you. Dark billowing robes, though their hands remain gripped around handles of their own weapons. The steps of so many approaching falling on his ears alone, you are too lost in your grief, too focused on the woman who lays dead before you. Because of you.

“Stand down, we do not wish to harm her. Nor you.” A woman’s strong voice, cadence lilted in the way that conveyed a high standing. Her robes were shining in the sun filtering in from the tall, arching windows in the room. The colored, faceted glass at the top allowing for prisms of color to splash over the room even as dust continues to settle. Highlighting the damage done by the grav charge. Tables and chairs strewn about, petals from flowers littered over everything. Glass glittered about, as did the remnants of stone columns, two of which hadn’t been able to withstand the explosion. The perfect set up for what was supposed to be a joyous union, shattered down to the very details.

“Aliit, the queen commands you. Heed her words.” Another servant tempered, bridging the gap between the man standing guard before you and those that commanded all of the planet.

“The only words I follow are hers and those of my Creed.” He spares a glance back at you over his shoulder. The confidence in his stance and the conviction in his words pulls you to your feet. You gaze around him, eyes landing on the two figures standing before him. The depictions of them cast in oil paint and in holo nets the only time you’ve seen them, but you would recognize them anywhere. The king and queen of Maldovan.

The people who had been set to become your family.

The people whose son you murdered with your bare hands.

And they stand before you and Din, hands up and placating even though they just witnessed you strangle your own flesh and blood.

Instincts of flight light you up from the tips of your toes to the still aching crown of your head. Though you do not move, you simply stand behind Din, who is poised for a fight. Ready to defend you, to protect you, to ensure your freedom now that your mother’s clutches can no longer control you. You stand still and strong behind him, to match his devotion and willingness to face a potential new threat head on.

“San of K’ath.” The man steps forward, the golden jewelry adorned around his neck and the clasps on his ceremonial belt jingling as he bows at the waist toward you behind Din’s large frame. “We want to express our deepest apologies for the tragedies you’ve encountered while here in our home. From the way you were coerced here against your will to the attempt on your life just last night.”

“We want to extend the offer to undo any medical procedures your mother conducted alongside our medic. There are locked files on our system, we can only assume they worked together willingly. As well as offer you the suite in which you’ve occupied for however much time you require to recover. We humbly request peace from this point on, your skills are beyond anything we wish to fight against. Should you wish to leave this moment, we would allow you to. The contents of your room are yours, the gifts given to you for the union ceremony are yours. Should you want for any of it.” The queen bows as well, her headpiece secured over braided hair glinting in the sunlight.

“You are the Mandalorian, the one Lena had requested we put a bounty on.” The king rises from his bow, eyes focusing on the stance Din holds, the way your fingers had wrapped around the back of his robes. A question, his words are not. But a fact that is now out in the open. His fierce protectiveness, the manner in which he had held back guards that followed in his movements about the palace in his attempts to locate you, the way he holds himself, shields most of who he is from all to see.

They can see the was you hold yourself, how you had nearly effortlessly taken out the threat your mother had revealed herself to be. The use of the Force minimal, but still seen by those who had crowded the entrance to the damaged hall, called forth in haste by the grav charge you had deployed. It is obvious now, the strength you possess yourself, the skills you had hidden away in order to play the part of a willing daughter until a moment for your escape made itself known. Two trained and skilled individuals that now have no reason to hold back. The glimpse of freedom right in front of you both, yours to take, to defend with everything you had.

“She had said you were part of the people who had hunted her since her younger days. A threat that always lurked around the corner. But- that is false. From the way you’ve gravitated to her since your arrival, you’re bonded. A pair that cannot be separated. Is this correct?”

“Yes,” Your answer was immediate. “He’s…he’s my-“

“We are to be joined, according to my religion. Should she still want that after this ordeal.” Din fills the silence when your words falter. When the conviction in them at labeling what he is to you in Basic fails you.

“I see,” The queen looks between you both. “Then the proposal to wed you to our son was ill-intentioned. Stolen away from one you love for another of status. The culture of others is so foreign to us, we couldn’t imagine taking the happiness of our child away. Even if he…had incongruities.”

“The poison, it was an attempt on both your lives. We can only assume it was politically motivated. We will not discuss it here in the open.” The queen’s eyes connect with yours and you nod your head to let her know you’re not just listening, but understanding too. The Medic, the one they employed. They place the blame for all that has happened with him, with your mother. She sees the betrayal for what it is, a plan to infiltrate her family.

“We…we need a moment. If that’s...amenable.” Your fingers tighten where they are wrapped in the fabrics flowing from Din’s broad back, falling in layers from his shoulders. There’s…there’s so much to discuss, to decide. It’s not what you had expected, when your mother had all but chained you up one last time and tried to lead you back to the medical wing. There’s no telling what she had planned to do but…the kindness of the two people before you is genuine. You can sense it, there is no underlying scheme to get you to remain here. No game they are playing, simply extending honest hospitality and understanding of what you’ve been through.

“That is perfectly acceptable. We understand that this- it’s a jarring shift from just this morning. We will step into the hall to give you some privacy.”

You can’t help but feel anxious as you follow them to the medical wing, a hushed exchange of words with Din revealing that he too knew your mother had something implanted into your temples. A control device to shock you, should you step out of line or display powers. Your charts easy to hack into with the clearance code he had seen a droid enter during his time trialing after your mother the night before.

Cara is called back to the grounds, both by Din on the comm link he’s got hidden just inside his outer layer and the guards patrolling the docking yard. She and ad’ika are accepted immediately, the two of them escorted to the medical wing where you wait with Din. Plush chairs and a long couch surround a low table, food served to ease your nerves, to show that they will still provide for you despite what has been revealed.

“Everything’s okay, little one.” You let him burrow his face into the crook of your neck, small body barely a weight against your chest as you held him to you. He wasn’t making a sound, but you could tell he was trying to connect with you mentally. It was fuzzy, your body strained and exhausted so you gently shushed him and patted a gentle hand on his small back. “I can feel you trying to, but let’s wait until I’m a little more in control, okay? Don’t want you to stumble across anything bad in my mind.”

He just nuzzles closer, the point of his little nose cold as he presses it to your neck.

“He’s trying to ‘connect’?”

“Yeah, it’s just a lot right now. Those shocks really- they didn’t do any damage but my mind isn’t strong enough to put up walls should he be poking around in there. Don’t want him to stumble into any bad memories or thoughts.”

“Are you…having ‘bad thoughts’?” Din’s tips his voice low, eyes focusing on you as he stands between where you are perched and the door. On the defensive should something happen, even now.

“Yes and no. I’m not…Din, I’m trying to be okay. But it’s going to take some time for me to be.”

“I understand, I just worry. You- you deserve to feel safe and protected. To be at peace.”

“I’ll feel better once these transmitters are removed,” You try not to raise your voice though the emotion flares through you. The anger and hurt and betrayal of your own flesh and blood submitting you to something so controlling. It was already a hard enough reality to accept that she was willing to keep you in chains that would shock you should you move suddenly, but to implant something into your very head to do the same? To control with a remote should she see any sign of defiance in you from the twitch of an eyebrow to the raising of a singular finger?

It’s a vile thought, the things she had been comfortable in doing to control you, to keep tabs on you. To get it removed, the transmitters as well as a blood transfusion to rid your system of the poison and subsequent sedative, it would be a lot to undergo but you were willing to. For your peace of mind as well as a healthy reboot.

The recovery takes a few days, the faint cuts in your temples healing quickly and painlessly with the aid of bacta patches, with the tender and caring hands of a replacement medic. The one who had worked alongside your mother jailed for his corruption and manipulation. It didn’t matter that you were no longer intending to fold yourself into the royal family, you had been a part of it while engaged to Prince Cala. The principle of the matter stood firm, you had been important, of high standing, the princess at the time- there was no forgiving the man’s actions.

Din remains close, during your recovery. The suite you had resided in is where your little group set up for the time being. Din opted to sleep atop the couch across the pair of chairs clustered around the low table opposite the room from the bed. Ad’ika resting with you in the large bed or alone when his tiredness grew into an afternoon nap. Cara was quick to take the fainting couch in the closet, hoping to give you both a bit of privacy but still remain in close quarters.

She didn’t want to part from either of you just yet, to ensure that everything would be okay. That there wouldn’t be any need to transport one of you to another place. Or both back to Nevarro and then you somewhere else, either your home planet or Tatooine where your hideaway was.

The ashes of your mother, are condensed into a small ceramic box, detailed with gold over a black base coat. It’s heavy in your hand as you stare at it, mind blank and eyes losing focus and blurring the longer you stare at it. Din is standing beside the door, Cara having left the room with ad’ika at the arrival of the queen. She had wanted to hand it directly to you, her words quiet as she explained that it is customary to place the remains in gilded boxes and display them alongside photos of the deceased.

You listen solemnly, words failing you when she asks after your own customs. You tell her of the ones you know of Manda’lor. Your own from K’ath lost in your memory, something you don’t recall witnessing during your first years on the oceanic planet. It had never been something discussed or explained by your mother, questions of your father always bubbled up to the surface but had never been voiced. Not when it was as if he never existed in the first place.

She sits with you for a while, asking after how you’re feeling. If you needed anything from her at that moment, that the cooks are ready to prepare whatever you wanted should you ask. You thank her for her kindness, for her generosity, genuine feelings of admiration and appreciation for her the way she’s folded you under her wing. Her eyes shine as she takes your hands in hers and simply holds them. A lamentation for her son missing out on being the same way for her is the only depressive thought she’s voiced over his death. Her and the king both place the blame of it on the medic and your mother, something you did not correct.

It felt…wrong to lie to her. She was obviously conflicted over the actions of her son and the willingness he displayed to go along with the plan to use the lack of your memories to instill false ones into your mind. The influence of your mother strong on him for reasons she wished to know, but never would. Her son was gone, so many questions would remained unanswered, though the compassion she’s shown you a sliver of obvious as she dressed in mourning robes and does not leave the palace. The fact that you did not feel guilt for ending his life spoke volumes of your own thoughts on the matter, but you wouldn’t add to her turmoil nor disturb it.

With a quick dab of a folded cloth underneath her eyes, she’s clears her throat to explain that clearance has already been set for you to depart when you wish to.

You thank her again, standing when she does. Her hands twitch as if she wants to reach out, but she reads the way you tense at the mere suggestion of it. She bows instead, you return the gesture and that’s the last you see of the woman.

The question of where to go hangs in the air. Both parties sure of voicing it lest the answer be something they are unable to agree with. But they would willingly take you to wherever you choose to go, giving you back the freedom you nearly lost once more.

“I would like,” You clear your throat at your voice falters on the words, packing the ship had been a silent affair. The guards stacking three crates of your belongings as well as supplying you with a token of their symbol that would grant you instant access into their air space. The invitation was offered despite the fragility of the connection, born of remorse and a wish to make things right, for you to stay at one of the few seaside homes they keep up should you want to return and enjoy in the offerings of the city. “I would like to go to Tatooine. To retrieve something from my hide away there. If that’s…if that’s amenable.”

“Tatooine it is, then.” Cara treks up the ramp, cracking her knuckles as she goes. Din is silent beside you, eyes ever watching closely. Though there is something hidden behind them you can’t quite make out and refuse to reach further into his mind to figure out, not wanting to impinge on his privacy.

“I want to…I would appreciate the…um…” You trail off, feeling so offput by the way he’s focused solely on you. You know he doesn’t mean to put you on edge by doing it, used to doing so behind the visor of his helmet. He’s well-meaning with his intentions but you feel very much like a specimen under supervision, your every move giving away information on internal workings. “Maker, I’m sorry. I c-can’t think with your eyes boring into me so plainly.”

“I didn’t mean to unnerve you.”

“No, I know. I just…feel vulnerable and like you’re waiting for me to make a run for it or something.”

“You don’t have to leave with us if you don’t want to. You can…take one of the ships they offered you and go on your own. You don’t owe us anything for-“

“I-I don’t…I don’t want to be alone anymore, Din.” You whisper, feeling the thickness of your tongue in your throat as tears prick behind your eyes. You think back to traveling alongside Akiz, how much you felt like it was the right thing to do, like he was the right person to place your faith in. To care about and be cared for in return, a truly selfless person who had done so much to ensure your protection and safety, someone you had tried your best to do in return. The same feeling you had alongside Din, though there was that…additional layer of connection that sprouted warmth in your entire body and made your heart both beat rapidly and calm. “I want- I want to go with you. I want you. If that’s…if you still-“

“I do,” He breaths out, hands reaching for your own fidgeting ones. The heavy pendant revealed as he opens his fist to you, the shining beskar catching both the light and your breath. He had found it, going through the contents of the medical wing, when he had figured out what the medic had done to you at the request of your mother. “I didn’t…I was waiting for a moment alone. But yes, San, I-I do want you, beside me, traveling with me, anything you are comfortable with.”

“I had hoped she kept it,” You reach a hesitant hand out for it but think better of it at the last second, pulling your hand back and flattening in against the center of your chest. “But it’s yours, you…you should keep it. It was stolen from me, I can’t be trusted with it.”

“Mesh’la- San, I want you to have it.” He steps close and offers it once more. “I gifted it to you, it is yours.”

“I…I like the thought of carrying around something that once belonged to you,” You admit almost shyly, he feels warmth bloom in his chest at the admittance, at the willingness to share such a thing with him, even no, especially now. He feels the fabric covering his mouth shift as his lips twitch when you look up at him with wide eyes, your hand uncurling to accept it.

“Everything I have, is yours as well. I make that promise to you.”

The ship is an blend of quiet beeps and the low hum of the engines as they power the craft to move through hyperspace. You don’t let go from where you gripped tight to Din’s hand as he sits beside you, nor the hold you have on ad’ika as the child sits securely in your lap. Everything is still in the control room as the glowing blues and greens move over the glass paneling of the vantage deck. Cara is staring down at the controls, her head hung slightly.

“I reset the security protocols when I left,” Din speaks into the silence, hoping to put his own mind at ease. Everything is okay….you’re onboard the ship with him, wanting to travel with him, wanting to be at his side. Though he doesn’t know in what capacity just yet. But he could…he had to be patient. You endured so much the last few months, the last year since he had first stumbled upon you chained up in that compound. He could wait for you to approach him, to speak with him about the things you both agreed needed to be discussed. To open your mind and hear to him even if his is beating rapidly each time you suck in a deep breath or stutter our a question you wouldn’t have asked before.

He really…dislikes the idea of thinking of things and before and after. But the reality is that you both went through something, you more so than him. Way worse than him, your own autonomy stolen from you along with the very memories that make you who you are. The death of your mother, even knowing it was the only true way to be free, was going to weigh heavily on you. Greif and loss were not linear, you would feel it for the rest of your life. The levels of it waning and cresting much like the waves you admire every time the ocean is near. And he would stand by your side through it all, as long as you let him. As long as you wanted him to.

“I’ll be catching a ride back to Nevarro, once we land.” Cara announces, taking the quiet moment for herself. “I’m truly glad I could help to get you back, San. But there’s a lot that needs to be tended to, I hope that’s okay with you.”

“Yes, of course. You have responsibilities and things that require your attention.”

“That’s not to say I regret how long it took to find you,” she turns to pin you with a somewhat pinched expression. Her eyes giving away her trepidation, even if her smile is small on her lips. “I just feel like there’s a whole lot you two need to hash out and I don’t want to intrude on that.”

The jump would take only a few hours, Cara further explaining her choice to return to Nevarro and her responsibilities. With the assurance that she would eradicate any other calls for your capture, dispute them herself if need be and that there would be a plot of land with each of your names on it should you choose to lay low. That you both have a place to return to, should you want for one.

You thank her for everything as you share an embrace with her, her own arms tight around you. She’ presses a kiss to your cheek, a smirk on her lips as she pulls back.

“He’s an alright guy, that one.” She nods to where Din is standing beside Pelli, ad’ika’s small body between the two of them as he inspects a droid no bigger than him. “He just got confused it all, I hope you two can work it out.”

“Be safe, please leave contact of your return. I’m sure we’ll be back at some point.”

Travel to home planet of K’ath is mapped out and set into the panel, a quick jump to light speed signals the journey has begun. Din had yet to put his armor back on, sensing you need to see him for who he is, not the wall of armor he typically is. His soft edges exposed to you in your low moment, someone to reach for and find a hand or a shoulder unobstructed by protective leather and hard beskar.

It’s quiet, but you could hear the faint sounds of Din’s rumbling voice as he lulled ad’ika to sleep in the hammock strung up in the small hold space. You’re laying in the moderate bunk space

The second he steps through the door, before it can shut behind him completely, you’re surging forward from where you’re perched on the very edge of the bed. Your hands reaching for his face, fingers curling into the cowl and mask, pulling the fabric down and pressing your lips to his in a desperate kiss.

His reaction is instant, his own hands coming up to cup your face and flatten on the small of your back, his head tilting just so to deepen the kiss as he pulls you flush against him. His stubble is a scratching tickle against your face, but you don’t care. His bottom lip is between yours and you pull back to catch your breath, realizing that you can’t see even a twinkle of light reflected in his eyes as the bunk is in total darkness, the door shut behind him.

He whispers your name as he takes a breath of his own, pressing his lips to yours firmly. They’re so soft, so plush, they feel like nothing you’ve ever had against your skin. All fond softness and genuine intention, a true kiss in the very definition of the word. Your hands move up to shove the band of fabric keeping his head cover in place. Both the leather and soft cotton fall to the floor, his curls exposed for you to dig your fingers into.

“I-I want to see, but, Din. I can’t…I can’t make the vows to you.” You part from him for a moment, wanting to be honest, wanting to voice your thoughts.

He’s loosening his hold on you, beginning to pull away and your heart stutters. You rush to explain it further to him, the feelings tangled up inside you.

“I can’t make the vows to you right now, I….I want to. Someday. Everything is too fresh, it’s all- jumbled in my head. I want to be yours, I want you to be mine. Maker, I want that more than anything, but the idea of reciting vows right now…it-it- Din, it’s too much.” You hiccup, grasping at his shoulders so tight your nails dug into the shoulders of his robes.

He pulls you back into him, closing the small gap that had formed as he loosened his hold on you. He clings to you just as you do to him, noses touching and sharing breath. You know he wouldn’t demand anything of you, whether you voice concern or trepidation or not.

“I want you to see, even if you don’t have intentions to make the vows. I…want to be seen by you, even if it means breaking my Creed.” He pressed closed lips to yours, simply feeling you. “You are what is important.”

“I wish to see you, more than anything.” You whisper, the feel of his facial hair sending sparks to flare low in your stomach. Your fingers are still in his hair, though now they are running through the thick tresses to calm you both. “I just- can’t right now. It’s- too much, Din. I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize, I will never force you to do anything. I promise that to you. But please, mesh’la, let me feel you, let me hold you. I’ve- I’ve-“

“I’ve missed you too,” You read his thoughts and repeat them to him, they are the same you’ve been having. The kisses slow down, become openmouthed as desire flourishes and heat sparks in both your bodies. He’s running his hands down either side of your neck, your shoulders. Down your back to grip you tight around the waist, fingers digging into the fabric at your hips. The robes still in place that you hadn’t yet removed, too anxious to speak with him once the little one went down for the night.

He tugs you closer, letting you feel the swell of him between his legs. The sensation dizzies you, the weight of it against your hip, though he doesn’t move against you, simply holds you close. You lower your arms to wrap around his shoulders as he bends his knees and grips you behind the thighs, lifting you without a second thought. The weight of his becomes trapped between your legs wrapped around his waist, pressed right over the softness that had developed in your lower middle. It’s a heady sensation, pulling a soft sigh from you.

He groans into the kiss, at the feel of you clinging to him. Taking slow steps toward the cot so as to not jostle you. But it all simmers when he leans down to rest you atop the covers. The stifling mood bubbles as his eyes adjust to see the faintest outline of you caressing your hands down his arms and to the fastened front of his robes. The air is warm on his skin as he lets you undress him, soft fingers pushing the fabric from his body with great care not to poke or prod any sore spots. He hadn’t been doing any of the fighting but the care and sensitivity you showed made his heart soften and a sigh escape his chest.

Your hands still at his waist, the belt and harness for his broadsword cool to the exploring tips of your fingers. The blade isn’t in place, removed for him to pilot the ship and safe in the control room. The clink of the clasps being undone causes him to twitch and you barely manage to stifle a huff of laughter before you’re tugging his trousers down his slim hips. The front of them catches but he doesn’t move to or breathe a word of argument as you drag the fabric down until it falls to collect at his feet, completely mesmerized by your slow actions. Leaving him in just his undercover.

The mood tempers even more when you lean forward and press your face to his middle, feeling the softness of the hair that adorns his middle, cheek to his warm skin as you loosely wrap your arms around him. He no doubt feels the heavy breathes you take in and exhale, centering yourself and focusing on the feel of him, the very real man in front of you. The one who had come looking for you, to rescue from those who had stolen you away…the one who had caused you to run in the first place.

As if sensing the direction of your thoughts, Din’s hands cup the back of your head and along the back of one of your shoulders.

“Mesh’la,” He heaves a deep breath, unsure of how to voice the incessant thoughts since the moment you had stormed out of the bunk back on the Crest. He says your name, voice giving way the emotions he’s consumed by as his voice falters. You lean back, pulling him along with you. After a few moments of shifting and moving together, you’re both on your sides. Facing each other while wrapped up in each other’s arms. One of your legs thrown over his hip to keep him close, one of his wide palms cupping your cheek, heads resting on the pillows.

He whispers his apologies to you, over and over again, his lips brushing over your face to pepper kisses along every spot he can reach. He whispers his thoughts to you as best as he can explain, how he felt in that moment, how he was unsure of how to navigate such a delicate matter, how he was more than willing to make it up to you until everything was right once again. You whisper back assurances that everything is okay, that you’ve both made mistakes in that moment. That he is okay, and you are okay, that you are okay together.

“I will wait, until you are ready. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.” His forehead connects with yours, his nose brushing yours as he confesses to you in a moment not born of panic or on the brink of death as he had done before. You return the words in a moment of full clarity, not on the cusp of sleep as you had done before. Both of you professing for the other to hear, to take to heart, to carry with you a better memory of the words.

I love you.

The land is disturbed before you, dug into deep and the ceramic box placed into the well wrapped up in delicate chainmail, covered back up with a few words spoken softly. A language not recognized by those beside you. Who had helped you to make the thought a reality. Allowed you the closure you so desperately sought after.

Crashing waves fill the crisp, salted air all around you. Enveloping you and transporting you to a moment in time you would much rather be in. The time of standing at the shore and watching the waves rush to kiss the sand, whitewash foaming up and making mesmerizing shapes as the bubbles fizzle out.

A small hand of your own dug into the damp sand to feel each little grain, the air filling your lungs and your back warm as you sit in the lap of your mother. Her arms around you, nothing separating you from her as she holds you steadfast to watch the sun dip below the horizon.

You knock your head back to look up at her with a gummy smile, some teeth missing while others wiggle, wile others slowly grow into place. Hair a mess of dark waves and curls as the evening breeze whips through the tresses. She smiles beautifully back down at you, her features soft and rosy. A giggle bursts from you as she ducks down to press a firm kiss to the middle of your forehead. Once, twice, three times.

She can’t hold in the soft laughter as she gazes into your eyes, seeing the world through them in how wide and bright they are. The call of gulls doing nothing to divert her attention as you purse your lips and mimic the kiss before giggling again and looking back to the vast ocean before you both. The water so close to tall reeds of grass your home is surrounded by, the smell of dinner simmering on the stove wafting in the air as it nears readiness.

“I love you, my darling. I will always love you.”

Closing your eyes as they begin to sting, you feel the memory slip away from you as you stand amidst the same tall reeds of grass now, overgrown and wild. The sand still just as pale and shimmery as it had always been. It all hushes around you as you move about, your skin feeling the energy in everything around you, the whispers of it as you feel the long-lost attachment to the woman in your memory flare up.

You weren’t sure what happened to her, what altered her so resolutely. What drove her to do the things she did, what things festered inside of her and turned her into a stranger who bore the look and face of your mother. But you promised yourself that you would never treat someone born of your own body the same way, should you ever find your identity shifting and taking on the facet of ‘mother’. Even with the all too familiar clutches of corruption you could recall as clearly as the sight of the ocean before you, the chilled breeze whipping around the ends of your dark robes, you wouldn’t succumb to it again. You would use your powers to protect, to ensure a long life, to ensure a happy life.

The sand dipped beside you as Din settled down at your side. His robes matched yours, his armor and helmet still aboard the ship. Eyes watching you closely, he turned to face the ocean when you didn’t meet his gaze.  All he could do in that moment was reach his left hand out in search of yours and pull you to rest between his propped-up legs. Willingly, you moved with him, leaning to rest your back into his warm and sturdy chest. The painful thoughts of how life had once been so simple quieted as you felt ease flow through you at his touch.

Little chirps and huffs of exertion announced ad’ika as he climbed out of the bag resting in the sand at Din’s hip. The small child shuffling and climbing over limbs to settle in your lap like you were in Din’s.

Ad’ika knocked his head back to gaze up at you with his wide, brown eyes. He coos as you look down at him with a soft smile. Bowing over him slightly, you touch your forehead gently to his own, feeling the velvety texture of his soft skin and fair hairs there. His giggle ignites something in you, a devotion springing to life deep inside of you. A shared past, shared experiences and struggles bonding you to the older being in your lap. He’s got so much more time than you do, but you vow to ensure that as long as you’re breathing, he will know love and peace.

“You will know love, ad’ika. I swear it to you.” You murmur into his soft skin, earning another giggle that flows into the air to mingle with the sound of gulls overhead.

His little face ducks out from underneath you, gaze going back to the ocean. Before you know it, he’s pushing up and away, running as best his little legs can manage over the sand until it smooths out on the shoreline. The waves reach for him but he stands just out of their touch, turning to hold out a claw to you with a question in his eyes.

“Gar aalar guuror yaim, ner kar'ta.  Nayc vaii has ru'aalar guuror yaim par a munit ca'nara ni sheber olar sa adiik.  Ni'm glad at aalar bic tug'yc, ti gar bintar.” You whisper as you lean back a little further, prompting a huff from the child watching you closely. Din’s arms wrap around you securely, making sure to not irritate your sore muscles. He’s gazing down at you with eyes so soft it makes your stomach swoop and your breath leave you quickly. Craning up slightly, you press your lips to the bump of his nose, hidden beneath his cowl and mask. His eyes are closed when you open your own back up.

You feel like home, my heart. Nowhere has felt like home since I sat in this very spot as a child. I’m glad to feel it again.

“Gar cuyir ner yaim, shi sa ni cuy' at gar. Sa munit sa gar vercopaanir par, mesh’la.” His words are soft, barely audible over the cresting waves. But you hear them, and they settle into your heart. Another kiss is pressed to his hidden face before you disentangle yourself from him with an airy laugh. Your robes bounce and flow all around you as you approach the child, feigning looking out at the water until the last moment, and you’ve closed the distance. Your sudden scoop of his small body startles laughter from him and you’re twirling effortlessly in the shallows as you hold him up in the air.

You are my home, just as I am to you. For as long as you wish, mesh’la.

Din watches from where the sand begins to slope, far enough from the water’s edge to not get sprinkled as the waves meet the shore but enough so to step in should something happen. You know he can see the small smile on your lips and hear the ringing of your combined laughter as you splash about in the cool water, never going in past your calves. Ad’ika is enjoying the way you dip him just at the waves receive, pulling him up to your chest when they flow toward you, little claws reaching for it below him.

His happiness infectious as you soon begin to commit the moment to your memory, tumbling the edges of old ones so they aren’t so sharp anymore.

previous chapter || next chapter

taglist: @clevergirl74 @strawberri-blonde @js-favnanadoongi @littlemisspascal

@moonknight-s-cumdump @bookloverkat @golden-mando @feral-ferrule

@bearsbeetsbeskar @76bookworm76 @anoverwhelmingdin @sarap-77

@picassopedro @sawymredfox @jessthebaker @genetics4life @mosssbawls

@vivian-pascal @smiithys @thefrogdalorian

[fumifooms]

Marchil crumbs masterpost

Because I can and I will. Someone already made a tiny one way back but I lost it idk if it was here or on reddit… And we’re so small that we have no tag… I can’t credit you sorry marchil warrior you are not forgotten. I’ll definitely updating this whenever I find a new crumb. We’ve already reached the 30 pics cap part 2 coming soon. They do interact a ton I suppose. As always it’s not because I put moments on here that I’m saying they’re inherently romantic blablabla.

Part 2 - part 3 - part 4 - part 5 - part 6 - part 7

My vision: Unstoppable force vs immovable object. Corrupt (money) bitter divorcee and corrupt (magic) hopeless romantic. Emotional constipation vs emotional intelligence. Streets savvy vs prestigious academic. Girl with the longest lifespan possible who has trauma over loss x guy with the shortest lifespan who has trauma over past romance. They would take their romantic interest to the fricking grave.  Halfling vs elf. Emotionally distant vs clingy and needy… Not that Chilchuck doesn’t seek her attention plenty ngl. By all means they are so incompatible and yet their dynamic is so delightful, opposites certainly do attract if Kui’s to be believed because these two constantly drift towards each other.

To me they're the embodiment of "If we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known". Oh actually that'd apply to Laios and Dunmeshi as a whole as well-

She’s his worst nightmare. Opening up to someone?? The audacity to ask that of him. She raises his blood pressure to dangerous levels. He would risk his life for her.

—

HIS WORST NIGHTMARE (what he needs). She's classified as a friend who won’t shut up btw Notice how on the dating sim chapter cover, the clicky hand is always on the choice he ended up choosing in canon except for two, Falin’s and Marcille’s. Meaning he may have hesitated on it, on telling her she was pretty? She’s front and center~

It’s notable that Marcille is the main victim of his teasing, he criticizes Laios and everyone plenty but teasing is done much more towards her than anyone else, and we can see that it is something he enjoys. Perhaps one of the things that put him in a good mood the most, besides alcohol and laughing at others in general lol. Here’s a post compiling a lot of that teasing: link

He often confronts her about things and teases/insults her but it's always without any real animosity, sometimes having problems with her actions but never disliking her.

She craves his approval? More likely than you think.

Chilchuck having a sparkly flustered Marcille on his mind and failing to pull her ponytail so she'd give him her attention the right way, then being devastated when she claps back lol. For as much as he teases her, she’s very much able to stand up for herself when it goes too far and to challenge him on some flaws he may have.

Marcille’s canon shapeshifter of Chilchuck is the most convincing one/last one standing! In which he was nicer because Marcille still had some trouble not seeing him as young and thus innocent. Which besides the whole age thing, her having an accurate but nicer version of Chilchuck in her mind is pretty flattering lol

In the earlier chapters they stick by each other the most, often sharing knowing glances and judging the other together. They share this complicity and "wow finally someone sane in this party" energy that none of the others have in quite that way. Comrades in disgust.

-----

He cannot escape her gossip, she will not rest until she knows all and has met his family and romanticized his life and relationships. She’s the one who pushes Chilchuck to be more open about himself the most. Which, we do also see her being jealous when Chilchuck opens up more to others instead of her, like pic below. Moreover, we see that she’s able to read him like a book to the point that it freaks him out!! Oh the horror of being known… Relationship goals, freak him out bc you understand him so well Oh can I just point out as well that they're the only ones who saw each other's succubus. Like wow knowing each other's most alluring form? Dayum

When doing her theory about what happened between him and his wife, the pictures where her roleplaying as his wife, like literally with her being a half-foot like in the changeling chapters and the mini chilchuck for a baby lmaooo. Which I just now realized that means Marcille’s question about if his wife has blonde hair is valid, we technically don’t know if he already liked blondes or if it’s an acquired taste. Give me a sec to recover from that-

But yeah Marcille is so people-obsessed that she catalogues every little detail about someone, like how Chilchuck complains when he has to wait after someone… She notices things and takes them in stride even if they’re flaws. (In first page, it's the bottom row middle panel)

She wanted to sleep in his bed when Izutsumi was being clingy and she didn't want to sleep alone <3

Here he goes to her to either help her stay upright or comfort her… Uncharacteristic of him but very sweet. What are you gonna do if she collapses on you big guy, collapse along in a show of solidarity?

He's been shown to make sure Marcille stays safe a few times as well, like below. No I will not accept "she's the healer of the party" as a full explanation. He really does get an arc, from not wanting to be anywhere near the battlefield to sticking by his party members. Unlike Laios, Senshi and Izutsumi they both tend to hang in the back in battles, I love how they often strategize together as well.

The reverse is also sometimes true. Especially with how non-shy Marcille is with physical contact, interestingly she's way less delicate about saving others than him lol.

He’s the only one shown to flinch when she makes a noisein the bath which leads me to think he’s the one most flustered by the whole Marcille changing and bathing close by thing, it prob doesn’t help that he has great hearing but yeah, he seems to be hyperaware of her presence in those instances and overreacts.

"Come with me and braid my hair every day!" Meanwhile Chilchuck is fighting for his life holding her at an arm’s length

I can’t believe this is on his ADVENTURER’S BIBLE DESCRIPTION like that thing is one big paragraph about his whole character and you allotted that important limited space for this. Kui do you hear yourself

Part 2 here

[parasolyaa]

give me rtc character hcs for being in the subway for the first time

i love how this implies that they’ve never been in the subway before. well, since most of them almost never left uranium, this checks.

ocean — she always advocated for public transportation (and for some reason believed it wasn’t widely used, probably because she assumed everyone could use a car and subway was for noble people who cared for the environment), but if she ever went to a big city, she never stayed there for long, and usually walked by foot. when she actually used the subway for the first time, she decided to hand out flyers that said something like “thank you for choosing public transit! here are some other ways you can help the planet (…)”. ended up absolutely overwhelmed and in a taxi, wiping tears with the flyers no-one seemed to like. wonder why.

noel — romanticized the shit out of paris metropolitan, said he researched all about it and prided himself on being more knowledgeable of it than a local. when he got to go to france (probs a family/school trip when he was a teen) he bought an overpriced graphic t-shirt with the metropolitan map and confidently entered the underground. immediately got disappointed it wasn’t all gothic catacombs, and accidentally sat on a wrong train. had to take off his t-shirt and figure out where he was, and after two hours of being chest naked in the french underground and hopping from one wrong train to another even wronger train a kind passer-by pointed out that the print on his tee was of marseille, not paris. he spent an extra hour figuring out the correct map and asking for directions in broken french (the locals despised him). he entirely missed the drag show he waited for, and ever since then grew to hate the french underground.

mischa — is in on a ukrainian inside joke about metro in odesa. successfuly convinced all choir that there’s metro in odesa. there is no metro in odesa.

there’s also a ukrainian book called toreadors from vasyukivka, where two boys want to build a metro in their village, so they dig a big hole in their yard and a cow accidentally falls into it. safe to say their idea doesn’t stick. at some point these boys get to kyiv and immediately get lost in metro there. that’s 100% mischa. he did this i was the cow.

also he always finds ways not to pay for his ride: jumps over the tourniquet’s, crawls under them, squeezes in with a person in front of him etc. sometimes gets extremely bored and hides in a train wagon when it reaches the final stop, and stays in it when it goes to depo.

ricky — his parents drove him everywhere by car, and told the tales about toronto subway being inaccessible, dangerous and full of freaks. he never believed them. at some point (maybe in a trip with the choir) he got to travel by subway himslef. it was, in fact, a bit of an unpleasant experience, but he found out that it sucks on his own terms and was lowkey proud.

also he was listening to some cringefail furry music (i do not know if furry music is a thing but it will be now) and realised his earphones disconnected and he was blasting it to everyone only after he got home.

penny — had a secret hiding spot in toronto subway where she could keep her things and return to see them intact. she and ezra hid there often and spied on people, sometimes picking up what fell out of their purses — like pieces of candy or pennies (get it? penny? pennies? penis?). they never stayed there for long tho cause it was too overwhelmingly loud.

one time she went to that place and realised some construction workers occupied it. she was emotionally devastated.

constance — always saves the seat for the elderly, disabled and other people who might need it, and people always thank her plenty when she does so. actually never ever sat on a train seat unless the wagon was mostly empty. however, one time she had a horribly tiring + devastating + bad day and decided to sit down for once. got called 10 slurs by an old guy who didn’t see there was another free seat and ocean then told her she should have thought about others first. when she got home she wrote an angry vent in her musical diary (yk, the ones that open with a password and then play a one direction song or smth) with a fluffy pen.

+ talia — she is a subway rat. has a love/hate relationship with obolon station. has beef with pochayna station. she herself is from solomyanka region of kyiv where there is no subway. considers it her curse.

thank you folks for reading this, feel free to send me asks for headcanons!

[writing-for-life]

To Be Human Means to Die (Even for Morpheus)

I know one of the biggest points of contention in the Sandman fandom (especially between show-only and graphic novel fans) is the end:

On the regular, we all hear the wish that the ending should have been more hopeful, that Morpheus dying is soul-crushing and devastating and sends the wrong message. And while I agree that it is incredibly sad upon first read (I actually cried my eyes out many moons ago when I first read World’s End, because that’s when I knew, without a doubt, what was going to happen), I would like to expand a bit on why I think we are actually getting the most hopeful message of them all…

It’s a Tragedy: Yes, but That’s Also Simplifying It

Let me briefly talk about tragedies first, because many people, myself included, often bring up the purpose of a tragedy first when we are talking about why realistically, there can be no other ending to The Sandman than the one we already have. That purpose is that we, as the audience/reader, are supposed to do better, and that we are supposed to learn from our hero’s fatal flaw(s).

And while all of this is true, it is also too simple.

Yes, Morpheus has fatal flaws, his inherent rigidity being the most prominent of them (on that rigidity, everything else hinges: his occasional cruelty, his sense of responsibility even if it destroys him, his inability to hold down relationships because he won’t communicate and compromise…).

But it would be too easy to say: “This is what we are supposed to learn from it, let’s not do that and instead be capable of change. Lesson learned, the end”.

For me, the most important personal truth of The Sandman goes far beyond that, and it is connected to the through-line:

Gods Can Die and Humans Can Be Immortal

When we first meet Morpheus, he is Endless in the truest sense of the word—although captured, it is very clear that he is not mortal, not human, and one step further: That he also doesn’t always understand what it means to be human. We get to know him as aloof, arrogant, proud, often devoid of empathy, and even cruel. And we all know that this changes throughout his arc. That the being who always asserted he is incapable of change finally has to admit, to himself and others, that he has changed, most poignantly in The Kindly Ones (e.g. when he tells Nuala that he lied to Ishtar when he denied he had changed).

And that change was initially a slow one--perhaps that is why he denied it for so long. But by the time we arrive at the end of Brief Lives, his change and, yes, his humanity, are already so clear to the reader that most of us probably went: “You really are slow on the uptake sometimes.”

Even Frank McConnell writes in his intro to The Kindly Ones: “And with [killing Orpheus], Dream has entered time, choice, guilt and regret—has entered the sphere of the human.” And Nuala is right when she asks him: “You want them to punish you, don’t you? You want them to punish you for Orpheus’ death.” Guilt, regret, and a choice. And his reply is silence, and it’s deafening.

On Becoming Human

By the end of The Kindly Ones, Morpheus basically is human in the metaphorical sense: He feels like a human, and even his body (or at least his relationship to his body) has changed. The most important indication for the latter is when we put in contrast that the Corinthian stabbing him in Collectors doesn’t draw a single drop of blood, but the scorpion whip of the Fates in The Kindly Ones does, and that scar remains. We can of course argue about who can hurt him and who can’t, but in either case, we see a Morpheus now who is more flesh and blood than he has ever been, and he feels a sense of mortality not only mentally/emotionally, but also physically.

(I have to throw in here that the change they made in the show at this point greatly confused me, and I think it is significant, as are a lot of other changes that have been made. And I personally hope they only use them to hint at a more human side to him from the outset to make us relate more, but not as a change to the whole arc. I will admit that I would have preferred if he didn’t bleed at this point because to me, it would have had more impact when we finally do see him bleed at the end. And we got foreshadowing for the scar in the show, when the earthquakes crack one of the windows and he looks through it for the second time. Yeah, I’m really that obsessive when I rewatch it, it’s embarrassing).

To Be Human Means to Die

And before we all collectively go into our evolutionarily ingrained wish to pretend that’s not true (because most of us fear death):

It is our mortality that gives our lives meaning. Without an end, life has no meaning bar feeling empty responsibility (or endless hedonism that gets boring at some point). And after 10 billion years, maybe the burden of that responsibility simply becomes too heavy (“But even the freedom of the Dreaming can be a cage, of a kind, my sister,” he says to Death in #69. And that he is “very tired”). It can’t make up for what truly makes our lives worth living:

The Impermanence of it.

Destruction got it right when he said that the illusion of permanence basically depends on our vantage point. That we can pretend if we so wish, and that there is comfort to be found in that, but that things simply don’t last. And that the Endless are truly no exception to that rule (“…even our existences are brief and bounded. None of us will last longer than this version of the universe.”)

And yet, we look at Morpheus choosing death and think: ”But that’s it then, he can't go back on that, but he deserved happiness because he has changed, he deserved (insert preference/head-canon of choice) and will never get a chance to have it now.”

And I get it. Psychologically speaking, we often fight the idea of death tooth and nail. We fear our own, and we have to deal with the loss of loved ones. So the denial is real—it’s not one of the stages of grief for nothing. But staying in that stage of denial is stagnation—the very antithesis of change. Death and change are linked—in the Sandman, they are not truly presented as alternatives, even if we might think so. They are two sides to the same coin. Death says to her mortal form in The High Cost of Living that the fact that life ends is what gives it meaning. That’s why it always ends. And that message has already been given to us in The Wake: “(Death) gives you peace. She gives you meaning. And she bids her brother goodbye.”

It’s Not Just About Dying, It’s Also About Coping With Grief

It tells us something about our own mortality, but also about mourning our loved ones. That’s why The Sandman doesn’t end with Morpheus’ death/The Kindly Ones, but we get a whole story arc after he is gone/The Wake. Because mortality isn’t just about us. It is also about the ones we love, the ones we need to let go while keeping on living, but we also hold on to them in certain ways (“humans can be immortal” because we make them so). All the mourners are us, and in the case of grieving Morpheus, many of us are probably a bit like Matthew:

In the throes of grief, we don’t care that there might be someone else who might even be more kind and loving (poor Daniel)—we don’t want a “replacement”, we want back what we have lost. And we are not ready to move on, until we somehow are/do. And that path is painful and long, as everyone who ever lost a loved one will be able to attest to. The pain never truly goes away, but it changes, from something so raw and painful that it knocks the air out of your lungs, to something that shows up here and there unexpectedly, still painful, but a little less so. Until it only hurts around the edges of memories that make us smile, miss and love someone, all at once. That love is permanent, even if life is not. It doesn’t really die with us either, because we can pass it on.

And it is somewhat fitting that the idea of “to be human means to die”, and that death is what gives life meaning, also extends to storytelling:

Without an end, a story has no true meaning. Our lives are stories, and every story has a beginning, a middle and an end. Morpheus’ story is meaningful because it has an end (I already wrote about this before in “Why the order of the last three issues of The Sandman matters” and have attached a long reblog chain)—not because it plods on endlessly (no pun intended). And that end is exactly what makes it last, what makes people feel, reflect, understand, learn, pass it on.

We, a whole fandom. continuously talk about how upset we are that he died, what we learned from it, what we would do differently (be that in our own lives or in a retelling of the story), and I’ll just leave it at that, because it drives the message home so much more than any further exploration could….

[whysodelirious08]

Hey so I know this might seem like a bit of a weird request but I just got done watching Grave of the Fireflies which, if you don’t know, is the most emotionally devastating movie to ever exist and I am in major need of Eddie fluff/comfort

Also in case ur not super familiar with the movie, it’s basically about two kids trying to survive in Japan during WWII. Uh, they don’t

Sorry I'm late! I forgot I have an ask box. I'll try for some comfort fluff though!

Oneshot, short, comfort, fem reader, boyfriend/Bestfriend Eddie

---------

Honestly, should you have watched it? You couldn't entirely answer that. Did Eddie warn you that you'd end up in tears? Yes. Multiple time in fact but you watched it anyway and all Eddie did was shrug half-assedly and walked away to work on project. Probably painting his little figurines for his campaign.

You sat through the movie, you tried to hold back your emotions but by the end of it you were sniffling and quietly sobbing. You heard Eddie's socked feet patter towards you.

"Hey Princess. I told you you'd cry" he chuckled as he maneuvered around the corner of the couch and plopped down next to you, pulling you into a hug.

He hushed you quietly as you whined a little at his remark.

"Okay okay. I get it. It's a good movie but you always pick the ones you know will make you cry. And before you ask, no we're not watching The Little Dinosaur. I don't need my sleeve being the victim of your snotty nose." He tried to cheer you up. You couldn't help but laugh a little through your sniffles.

His chin rested on the top of your head, you could feel as it moved off and was replaced by a kiss and some more shushing. He pulled you closer, you felt his heartbeat which soothed you into a sleepy state. His steady breathing and the quietness of the room didn't seem to help. The end credits were still quietly playing and you could hear the radio in the distance but nothing to halt you as you started to drift off. Eddie's hand slowly rubbed up and down the length of your back, almost as if he had gotten lost in the motion and in thought, moving on naturally reaction.

You heard him take a sharp breath and shift away from you enough to urge you to open your eyes. Wrapped in his warm, you were reluctant to move.

"No sleep for you, sweetheart. You promised to watch Childs Play with me. Though I don't see why they didn't release it for Halloween" Eddie grumbled as he pulled away, leaving you to pout as he grabbed some clothes out the dryer.

"Come on, they're still warm. I'll buy you some snacks for the movie if you hurry up. We're cutting it close."

As much as you loved going out with Eddie, you'd much prefer snuggling with him at home. But a promise is a promise.

[aachria]

I’m so invested in Sanji and Ed it’s not even funny (it’s very funny my friend is so annoyed I keep yapping to her about these two)

The idea that Sanji, someone who’s life stands on so much secrecy tells the one person meant to figure out secrets it’s so crazy. The irony that Sanji tries so hard to not rely on anyone else and prove his worth the whole series. Just to confine in the one or if not the most secretive person he can is crazy.

Obviously Ed already knows about Sanji’s backstory and WCI + Wano so they aren’t surprised. But the idea Sanji trusts Ed so much to tell them his mothers name is insane. The little meetings they have is just so heart wrenching to me I adore them so much

But it’s so silly at the same time! I mean latest chap, for quite awhile Ed is telling the crew to well- kill them. If something they don’t want happens and in this case they don’t wanna be anywhere near the human trafficking (explainable) and at the very end Ed somehow got themselves into a death pact thingy with Luffy

And it reminds me of Zoro and Sanji in Wano. Sanji telling Zoro to “put him down” if he becomes an emotionless machine. And Zoro agreeing and telling him not to die before he can do it himself. It’s just very silly that these two both are so ridiculously secretive and sacrificial that they both end up in a similar scenario is goofy af

I love the two dearly, Whole Cake Island is gonna hurt for me but I cannot wait. We still got awhile but just wanted to share my adoration for these two dumbasses

RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH YEEEEEEEES🦅🦅🦅‼️🦅‼️🦅🦅‼️🦅

Me and Sanji, we're like this 🤞. Me and him and our privacy issues all skip in a circle holding hands. Oh and Ed is there too.

OK. So. Sanji is my darling little guy and he is also very pathetic which is exactly how I like my men. Anyway the fucking SWITCH UP from Sanji mentioning being from the North blue back on Jaya and side eyeing Ed to him voluntarily telling them shit he is fully aware they could figure stuff out from is something that can be so personal.

My guy is like a cat pushing something off the counter, seeing no repercussions, and just continuing to do it. He got no pushback from the North Blue comment from Ed, saw that they never used that to find anything out, and went 'oh so it's like putting something in the bank, got it,' and ran with that.

It's Ed not telling anyone anything about their past they don't assume and Sanji pretending his backstory doesn't exist doing the spiderman meme.

Sanji saw this little freak who knows everything and never tells anyone SHIT and decided that was close enough to a therapist it could work. My man is poking the bear over and over seeing how far he can push his luck and Ed is just letting that happen.

Little Mr. I Will Never Talk About My Feelings Ever Because They're A Burden™ telling Ed, the Trash Receptacle Of Info That Will Be Forgotten Until It's Important™, about his gay ass crush on Zoro and being rewarded with a smooch: is this what being emotionally vulnerable is like????????

Those two idiots are very important to me. I almost bungled a bunch of plot because I adore him so.

The parallels between Sanji and Ed with Zoro and Luffy AND in general are both hilarious and terribly devastating to think about. I have so many big feelings about those two.

Wholecake is gonna be A TRIP I am VERY EXCITED FOR IT and it's gonna be AWFUL for everyone involved. I have something so hilarious I want to do with that arc.

[literally-noone83]

Supernatural Headcanons: Receiving Affection (1/?)

About: female!reader×platonic!everyone, teenage/young adult reader, reader's love language is touch: hugging, hanging off the boys' shoulders, falling asleep on their shoulders and the like :) just wholesome things (with some angst).

Word count: It's a long a one...

Warning: Angst, Shouting, other than that it's just fluffy :)

A/n: This reallt isnt a head cannon tbh. Started with an idea, created an OC then a background and then and then and then — it spiralled into this mess haha.

I meant to go further - provide that conclusion to create a holistic narrative... but it's already really long and atm felt uninspired to keep going with it. So we wait, sorry !

Welp, enjoy!

Let's imagine your love language is touch. The crave and the lingering need to touch, hug, lean on, hold onto someone, some one you felt safe around and loved by was a instinct you've always had.

Surrounding yourself with some of the most emotionally stunted and constipated people — emotionally unavailable car, pie and ACDC loving hunter, his emotionally neglected brother and monotonous 'I don't understand the reason for handholds if you're not lost' angel boyfriend — your touchy feely nature was met half-heartedly.

Given the moment you first met them was amidst a series of tumultuously devastating events — one easy case turned bad, the loss of family was never easy on a adolescent. And for the most part that's all you were to them. Another poor young soul caught up in the cusp of a terrifying world Dean and Sam intended to protect. To save. It never came without consequence — it's just this time in came in the form of a teenager, tear stained and alone.

Dead of night, once the vampires who took your mother and little brother were resolved with a few knife swings and burning bullets — it was the embrace Sam offered that changed things.

You needed it. Solace, comfort. Something to keep you grounded.

The Winchesters would do more than offer a hug. Decisions and shots were called, arguments sure did occure — another mouth to feed, a head to look out for — but in the end life kept moving and this was all you had left; a reason, an opportunity, to help.

A Winchester. You were the rookie who could barely hold a gun. Then you were the amature that fought to fight; snooping for cases, sneaking out for a chance to shoot and to prove you can contribute. Couple years fly by and now you're family.

So many night spent trading stories, on the stupid shit Dean pulled and Sam moments of pubescent embarrassment among the pockets of normal school life, or your gems of memory with your mother you missed and a brother you had teased. The banter was rich on both ends — most prominently with Dean. It was just so easy. A grumpy old man who dished out the rules and stomped around with that voice of his — you couldn't help yourself.

*in Dean's voice* "Its too dangerous, me macho man will take care of it" *normal voice* "y'know I didn't realise you were one grey hair away from being my father..."

He lets out a humorless laugh, rubbing his chin and gesturing to you at Sam. "She thinks shes funny huh? youre real comedian— thats it!"

He chases you down the bunker and you run away. Deans yelling and your laughter ringing behind Sam.

Sam truly was enjoying to have someone on his side — till at times he wasn't so lucky. You and Dean were a little too powerful once you joined arms...

Amidst this new found family, Dean and Sam quickly noticed how much you liked to hug them... almost clingy.

Granted, it wasn't like you smothered everyone who walked into your life — with Dean and Sam it was different. They saved you, welcomed you, took care of you. You trusted them.

It qas noticeable during the early days of your stay. After long hunts when you were left behind, in security of the bunker, those hours felt like days and days felt like years. Crippling fear of losing the only formed tether of family and safety frightened you.

The moment the door clicked open, "Hey, Y/n, we're back," a bag of take out ready and jackets being torn off in lethargic movements of a day's struggle, "got some burgers and those curly fries as remembered and—"

Frantic steps and a leap, Dean was almost knocked down by the force of your hug. Wrapped around his neck, face buried in his collar. "Woah there, Kid." He stumbled and huffed from the suddenness.

"Y/n? you ok?" Sam asked at your long passing moments in embrace. Words of gladness and "Thank god"s poured from your lips, stepping back to look at how they're really here. Alive. Safe. The brothers noted it was probably because of your family — you were dealing and I think they are one of few people who could really understand that.

However, this passing moment became everytime. They'd come home and you'd hug them briefly. Once you were coming with them than waiting patiently, you'd embrace them before bed.

Huddled around the table, Sam reading, Dean nursing a cold beer whilst flipping through a magazine as you ate and prompted Dean into weird topics of 'never have I ever - monster edition'. You'd bid yourself adue.

"I'm gonna hit the sack, weirdos." You'd walk around to them. "Enjoy your light reading, Sammy. And enjoy your pervy magazine, old man." Passing by, wrapping your arm their shoulders, affectionately nudging cheeks with them — Sam would accept them graciously, the loving gesture comforting to him. And Dean would simply hum at you, trying his best to look indifferent or exasperated by such contact. But you knew he silently enjoyed them, and Sam did especially; knowing his older brother, the boundary of affection was never crossed but from you — a semblance of a younger sister — was soothed but this entry of comfort. Shoulders slacked, posture less tense, you were a reminder of everything was okay.

"Now get off me - you need a shower."

When Castiel was around it, too, didn't take long before he was another victim to your embraces. Seeing how close Cas was to Dean and Sam, it meant he was good.

Late night car rides, slumped against the worn leather of Baby as the soft rock channel hummed alongside the murmuring engine pushing the hunters and a angel home. The orange street light continuously ran over their laps, exhaustion lingered in the vehicle — Dean's raw red knuckles were prominent, wrapped around the steering wheel. Sam sported a scrape on his cheek bone, exchanging hushed words between his brother and Castiel. Sat in the back with Cas, you couldn't bother chipping on the discussion. The headache you endured only just subsided, with just a bruise that ached at your side, both the dull music and gentle voices did well to block it. Soothing you into a lul.

"Someone's uncharacteristically quiet..." Sam humoured. The two shared a peak through the review mirror to catch your heavy eyes and tilting head you struggled to hold up. Dean couldn't help but smirk, chuckling under his breath at your disgruntled hum towards Sam.

"It's a nice change," he joked.

"Dean," Cas warned, glancing attentively to you, "She did a lot today."

"Yea... she did." He said silently proud. Of course she did.

Moments passed and next thing you know, Cas felt your held fall on his shoulder. Almost surprised, he didn't move an inch. Tossing and turning, laying on him finally made you settle. Staring down at you, he was glad to see you sleep — you took too many nights to sitting on thay laptop keen that every minute need not be wasted. And so he laid back a bit more comfortably, mindful on how much he moved. He understood, humans needed their rest.

Dean couldn't help but find it endearing.

The boys did their best to revieve your affection in stride. Cas was always naturally stiff when you slung your arm over his shoulders. Dean tried his best to act annoyed when you attack hug him from behind, and awkwardly patting your back. Sam never minded the time you'd sit beside him, leaning against his larger stature while he read or researched.

Then Jack showed up. Between losing Mary, Crowley, the fright of Cas' death and so much more — times weren't the easiest. Lucifer's son, the premeditated anti-christ that was the cease all life and goodness, the first day of getting to know Jack was a rocky path. While Sam continuously sympathised the young man and Dean couldn't even look at him, you remained initially indifferent. Just like your brothers, you were scared more than anything, grieving over the losses especially Cas — you didn't know what to think but you did know they needed you.

Jack noticed how you kept wrapping your arms around them every time you left off to somewhere or twist your twist your face into something warm at the much angrier man. It was so peculiar to him that he asked Sam when they were in the cellar, "why does she do that?"

"What?"

A look of seriousness worried Sam, "Do that - hold him. Dean." And he looked at him confused.

"You mean— she hugging him." Jack's face didn't change, "she's embraced him because she's worried about him," it sounded more like a question as he mimicked the gesture, "you embrace someone when you want to comfort them, or show them affection."

"'affection'?"

"It's means to show care for someone."

Jack looks at him, "She does it a lot." He noted.

Sam omitted a breathy laugh, "Yea. She does - she cares a lot, I suppose."

Soon your apprehension grew to empathy for the nephillum. His innocence and innate kindness baffled you at times. He borne no essence of evil - he rather carried Kelly's sweetness, and a fear that made you realise that Jack was far from anything like his father. He was just Jack.

The realisation settled within you as you sat on that crate where your breath transpired in the cold, facing Jack curled up beside the dumpster. Large shadows drew over his furrowed brows, deep with sadness and hurt as he said, "Maybe I'm not worth all this". Your heart sunk. All alone without the comfort of his mother and guidance of the angel she promised, made to feel like he was something he wasn't — worthless.

"Stop." The words escaped your lips faster than you could think and he stared at you saddened. "Don't..." You hesitated, too many things you want to say and you settle with reaching out a gentle hand. "Can I please uhm..." Jack slightly confused gave his hand at your hushed question. And he was surprised by your warm and firm grip; holding his palm with your other hand instantly clasping over his knuckles, you told him "Jack, you are worth all this..." staring intently into his eyes. "Sam thinks your worth it, so did Castiel, your mother. And so do I."

His eyes softened, and a small smile slipped onto your lips. Hope seeping into his features, he asked, "Really?"

"Really." You said.

That night you shared a room with Jack, agreeing with Sam things were too tense with Dean. You'd continue to be at Jack's side, speaking to him, answering his questions, simply being with Jack whilst mediating your brothers. Meaning, your constant defense of Jack caused a constant bickering and arguing with Dean. Unlike Sam the Diplomat, you two were almost explosive. Dean hated how close you'd stick by that thing, that freak; he was dangerous, he could hurt you! And you hated Dean's merciless disdain for him — always throwing warnings at the names and disregarding statements Dean would say without a thought with Jack.

At times, when Sam was with Jack, the moment he'd leave you and the eldest alone, stiff muttering of words escalated into loud yelling. Seething at each other until your red faced. Sam would always have to intervene, assuring Jack they're just "hot headed".

This anger festered into Dean's asserting orders; regulations, rules, reprimanding of your interactions with Jack. You were holding Jack's hand cause he seemed nervous, Dean would explicitly say no handing holding with devils. Alone in a room with him on an off chance again? Dean's dragging you out on errands or telling you to go to your room. Walking around the table offering your bidding night hugs, your affectionate squeeze on Jack's shoulder earned a warning glare from Dean.

You always made a face back, countering his overprotective as overbearing and stupid. When you finally had a go at him for it, Sam was out and there was nothing holding them back. You both pushed at each other to your limits. Comparing Jack to you when you some kid helpless and alone too, or Sam deemed bad before he could do any good, really sent Dean down the rails — because you're family. Jack is Lucifer's son, not you.

"Does he look like Lucifer's son to you, Dean?! He does nothing but be kind, gentle. He listens to your orders, he's even terrified of you!"

"And so he should be!" His voice booms with anger you hadn't heard from Dean till now and it shakes you. "You think I care that he can smile nicely at you, and say 'thank you' and 'sorry'? That doesn't matter. Cas is gone because of him, Mum is gone because of him. Wake up, Y/n, he can't change what he is and what he is, is a freak, an inevitable danger to you, to us, this entire freaking world- I'm sorry youre too damn stupid and niave to realise that." His starn, harsh words push past his lips in a burst of thoughts that seemed like he's been holding in forever, and he has to lean back for a moment to sigh. You stood there without moving, your eye glisten against your will as you swallow his words. He paused before turning to walk away without another word — the knife sunk a little deeper.

"I know you're hurting, Dean," your voice went small, and you caught him mid step. "but you're not the only one." His face grew sullen: he was too angry, too tired. He hadn't the energy to say or do something. Looking at you, he noticed your quivering lip you tried so hard to hide and instantly in his eyes you reverted back into that small 14 year old girl he and Sam decided to take under their wing. An image that flashed by and then you were walking away. To the other side of the bunker. And after a few heart beats, he did too.

Without either of you knowing, Jack had heard the entire altercation. Your purposeful steps rushed past him and you didn't see him — too busy fiercely wiping away escaping hot tears you didn't want. Jack had never seen you this upset and quietly he followed you to your room. He heard you slam the door shut and heard you sniffle inside. Hesitant he slowly cracked the door open to see your back facing towards him, sat on the edge of your unmade bed, silently crying.

A sensation of sorrowful guilt imbued in the centre of his chest. This was his fault wasn't it?

"Y/n?" His sudden appearance finally made known surprises you and you whip around. "Jack," your voice is thick with emotions, harshly sniffed back as your wiped your cheeks several times. "What are you..." You took a deep breath. Seeing his worried eyes you realised your attempt to appear unphased and normal was feeble — your eyes were puffy, flushed cheeks and red nose. And then it hit you, "I'm sorry, Jack. Sorry you had to hear that it's just, he's just..." you lett your hands fall to your lap defeatedly and head hung low. You looked him and flashed a weak smile, "Don't worry," Jack moved to sit on your bed, "It's just everything's a bit weird."

"I'm sorry." He finally said simply.

"What? Jack-"

"I'm sorry," he looked at you with those same eyes that night. "that you, Dean and Sam are hurting - because of me."

You shook your head, "No, no Jack, you have done nothing wrong, we're fine. We will work this out-"

"But you are crying, you are upset."

"I'm fine, Jack, don't-"

"Why are you lying?" He places a hand over yours, catching your evasive and scattered gaze. He pulls you to a halt, forcing you to meeting his big attentive eyes. They were so kind and gentle. And the warm of his hand stopped your racing heart. "You can tell me." He said softly and such simple words crashes over you. Your eyes locked onto his, you let silence hang in between as you soaked in this blooming comfort from someone you least expected it. It was overwhelming. And the longer you looked at him, all thoughts and emotions started to feel too real, too much, and your eyed began to well up in tears. Trying to blink them away made them fall faster and your gaze fell to his hand. "I- I'm sorry."

Your voice cracked and your instinctively tried to cover your face; to hide from Jack which you were sure you were confusing him even more with your immense and sudden outpour of emotions. You muttered your apologies, intending to turn to avoid overwhelming him further until the mattress dipped this way and there and a pair of arms embraced you. The foreign feeling of his body against yours made you hold your breath for a second — digesting the unexpected gesture of comfort from Jack and one that you didn't know you needed.

He held you firmly, his head tucked beside yours, eyes scrunched tight as if desperate to make you feel better. Seconds pass before you relent into his touch, wrapping your arms around his neck and burrying yourself away into the nape of his neck. And Jack squeezed you a little tighter.

You and Jack would stay like that for a while. Until your quiet sobs muffled into his shirt quietened down to weak sniffles and your arms loosened, feeling yourself wafting into sleep.

Once Sam came home from his grocery run, he was met by the unsuaul silence and brooding Dean who fixing himself a sandwich.

"Dean, I literally went shopping to cook now why are you-"

"'s not for me." He finished it before pushing it towards Sam, "Mind giving this to Y/n?" It was hardly a question.

The way his brother barely looked at him leaning back with a drink, and the sullenness of his voice, Sam knew something must've happened, "...And why can't you do that?"

"I don't think she's in the mood to talk to be right about now."

Sam walked up to your door, sick with worry and anger to hear what had gone down between you and Dean. The steam from yet another argument with Dean came to a simmer seeing your door not locked but left ajar. He slowed, softly calling out "Y/n?" coming closer he heard not only your soft snores he knew well after years but another's.

Entering he stopped — there you were deep in slumber. And in the arms of the nephilum. Your head lay in the croock of his neck, arms loosely fallen across his torso while his around your shoulders. Sam noted your red eyes and nose, stains of tears that revealed the severity of this argument with Dean had a toll on you. It pained his heart yet seeing Jack with you overturned such hurt — he comforted you. A cosmic being does not need sleep yet Jack visibly chose to rest with you — to show you he cared too. However it there was no doubt you had fallen asleep on him first — a sign of your trust.

The two of you have connected, and Sam quietly left, clicking the door shut with a relief and no plan on letting his older brother know about this.

[isa-ghost]

ok

*insert coin*

Can I ask for q!Phil hcs BUT when he's fully un Bird mode :D

Jokes on you that's easy, those are just more plain qPhil hcs for me >:D

qPhil headcanons masterlist

Sometimes if he's in a fight that he's not taking seriously he'll put some goofy ass music on in his headphones. Some favorites include the Mario invincibility star theme, Waltz of the Meatball Man, and the kind of bubbly anime ending music that plays over an emotionally devastating scene

After way too much stress, once he gets Chayanne & Lullah to bed and is on his own he'll go somewhere and just. Scream. For as long as it takes. And then he chugs tea or noodle broth to prevent his throat from dying on him.

Sleep schedules his beloathed <- wants to spend more time with a bunch of islanders he doesn't get to see often

Out of the 3 polycule members, Fit is best at cheering him up. He knows Phil best and the extent to which he lacks a filter sometimes is too powerful for Phil not to at least smile at

His wheeze laugh is the best thing ever to the the kids. If the two of them can make him wheeze, they know they've done their job right.

As soon as he knows something is safe (the maze, an event site like the code builds, that new mountain at old Spawn, etc) he's the first one to start exploring. He's been that way as long as he can remember ;)

*Slaps top of his head* This old man can fit so much survivor's guilt in him

He's only old in age and wisdom, if you try to imply he's geriatric he will get SO out of pocket about the things he's done with Fit & Etoiles and you will regret it

Okay so I've talked about how his worst fear is not having control, especially of himself. And I've talked about other fears of his, but I don't think I've mentioned his fear of loss yet. He tries to pretend he isn't, he'll insist he isn't, and to some degree he isn't Entirely wrong, but he is afraid. Being as old as he is means you get a bit desensitized to loss because it's natural when the things and people around you don't live for as long as you do. The part of it Phil fears, or maybe hates is a better word, is all the emotional turmoil after. That bone-deep ache of grief, the heaviness that refuses to leave his chest, how easy it is to emotionally compromise him, the hollowness that consumes him. The way he can't think or sleep properly, how his motivation is completely wiped out, how embarrassing it feels to not be at 100% in front of people. He HATES the aftermath of it all.

Excursions, Shuniji, and ofc Weirdest Year by C418 are Phil grief songs, in this essay I will

The Federation has learned that if they want Phil to attend an event he isn't particularly interested in, all they have to do is have really good food there, especially Latino food

He does legitimately gag a little when he kills a mob and flies or maggots come out of it. That's not just drama, he fr is like 🤢. It reminds him of the first time he saw Ender King's corpse

A fraction of the reason why he has people he trusts very deeply, like Fit, whitelisted on his security stuff is bc he knows if he ever got too depressed (like when the kids were missing), he'd never leave the house and just bum around feeling awful despite being restless. Having them whitelisted means they can get in and force him to get some air and stop festering in his emotions.

See I could get into a whole analysis abt this but like. So many of my angst hcs for him are abt how he's kinda shit at taking care of himself, esp when the people he cares for the most are removed from the equation. But it's not that he's incapable of it, he's not a baby or something like that. It's another part of how he's so locked into being the caretaker, the protector, the Strong One, the wise one, etc etc etc that he Hates being in the reversed role. He's gone so long without it that now it's foreign and unpleasant to him. He feels weak & like a burden. But at the same time, going so long without being in the reversed role is unhealthy and he NEEDS to be the one taken care of or protected sometimes. Everyone does. It's a double-edged sword: be the caretaker, shoulder everything & suffer OR be the one taken care of, feel awful about it for one reason or another. He can't win. He hates the latter but he needs it occasionally just like anyone else. He prefers the former, but the toll it takes over time is extensive.

It's why he'll do little things in an attempt to remedy it. To avoid being full-on taken care of for once while also not Only doing the reverse. Watching the sunset with the kids, adventuring in new and exciting places, sparring with friends, etc. His escape is making vivid fond memories to look back on and smile about, even if they don't always fix his emotional state. At least he isn't fully neglecting himself.

[lowkeyed1]

great interview, definitely some info i haven't seen anywhere else... ----- ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: I don't think you could end the show without losing someone, but how did you decide it would be Graydon as opposed to Airk, Boorman, or anyone else who's life was in imminent danger?

JONATHAN KASDAN: There was some conversation about that. But we all felt that there was something beautifully tragic about Graydon, and as a character, he is our Dark Prince. We always called him the Dark Prince in our construction of the show. One of the questions we always had and hoped to keep alive to some extent throughout the season was, "Is he good or is he evil?" As the show progressed, he's pretty definitively good. His devotion to Elora was so pure, and the way he played those scenes was so lovely and tender. It felt like the thing that would most impel Elora into this final stage of her development was the loss of this completely devoted person. As is often the case with these decisions, and they're sometimes unpopular, sometimes you want the most devastating possible thing. And for her, he felt like that.

Now that Airk has come back to himself, is there any chance he and Elora would reconnect? Or is her heart fully with Graydon at this point?

She's not with either of them, frankly, at the moment. She's intent on taking a little break from the dating world entirely, and we'll see how she does with that. But conversely, Airk is not at all over her. In fact, she's only more attractive to him now that she's empress of the world and the most powerful sorcerer ever and has come into her power so fully. But I definitely think the bloom is off the rose for Elora.

If Elora hadn't changed her mind during that wedding ceremony, how bad would that have been for everyone else?

It would've been bad. One of the things that the movie set up that is a helpful bit of storytelling is this idea that this baby, they couldn't just like chuck her out the window and kill her, and that would be the end of it. There was something about her spirit that needed to be either extinguished or transported or moved in some way that made killing her not a good option, which is convenient as a storytelling device for the movie. They've got to get her back to the castle. She's going to be okay a little longer. But it's really helpful for us here in the series that there's something more at stake than simply, "Will she live or die?" There's something about her that is spirit. It's in line with George Lucas' philosophical, quasi-religious stuff about the Force. There's a great speech in Empire Strikes Back that I was just thinking about last night — that I'm sure my father wrote — which is that we're more than just this crude matter. We're celestial beings. There's something of Elora that is pure light, and it would've been really bad if he'd been able to suck that light out of her mouth.

Boorman gives his own reasoning for it, but why is Kit finally able to use the armor?

Kit's journey is about embracing responsibility. It's a very personal idea to me because I myself struggle with this very question of, "How much responsibility do I want to have? And family and who do I take responsibility for?" She's running away from that responsibility all season. In the end of the season, she finds herself moved by Elora and devoted to her, and above all the other characters, she is the one most equipped to protect her, spiritually and emotionally. Metaphorically, Elora represents the natural spirit of the world, and Kit represents our human role in that. She goes from being very selfish to very generous. It's that journey that makes her worthy of the armor.

We do see Willow and Elora defeat the Crone, but I take it, if you have your druthers that their fight is far from over?

Absolutely. It was always designed to be a three-act story. These things have to have a finite end to them. Because as a fan of these stories, I don't want to think that creators are just continuing it as long as they can to make a buck. It's nice in this day and age where there's an appetite from these streaming services for stories that do continue but aren't endless. This was very much designed and intended that this would be the first part of the story about Elora coming into her power, and then she would have to contend with darker forces beyond that.

They do end this with the charred remnants of Willow's staff and Elora's wand broken. How much is that going to be an obstacle to them? Will they need to repair those things?

You really hit on something with the staff question, and it's been something we've talked about a lot in the writer's room. It was a very intentional decision for Willow to sacrifice the conduit for his power to save Airk. We wanted him to give something up that was meaningful. It felt like a fun way to enter potentially future stories where he doesn't have that way of expressing the magic in himself and to have that be a challenge that he has to overcome.

Early in the show, we see Willow say a prophecy claims Elora Danan has to die. We saw her make it through this time, but should we still be worried about that?

Absolutely. The Crone is the Wyrm's agent. She's this talent agent, she goes out, she makes the deals, she tries to recruit the people. She's the producer, but she's not the talent herself. The Wyrm is the thing. And that dark force that presses against the light is still very much out there in the world to be contended with.

When we get to those final moments of the season, Graydon seems to be waking up on this battlefield that we've seen in Willow's nightmares. Is that accurate?

It's so accurate that the moment we finished shooting Warwick standing up in that battlefield, we were like, "Okay, get Warrick out of there, throw Tony in." We were racing the clock to do it. And Tony was in position not 10 seconds after Warwick had vacated it.

The final battle really reminded me visually of the Harry Potter wand duels. How much of a visual reference point was that for you?

Huge. There's the promise of a lot of things in that final scene. But the big one for me is that in a character like Elora, much like Luke Skywalker or Harry Potter, there is the potential for incredible good and incredible darkness. We wanted to complicate the meaning of that a little bit over the course of the season and not have such hard and fast concepts of good and evil. Particularly Star Wars has a very clear bad guys-good guys thing, and we've made it much more in our series about desires versus ideals and the conflict between those two forces within ourselves. Certainly, that conflict is alive in Elora. The temptation of what the Wyrm represents is powerful. Ellie communicates it in this almost ecstatic way that she plays out the battle with the Crone. It's terrifying and hard, but it's also clearly getting her off a little bit (laughs). We really wanted to play on that and unequivocally with that final scene, stay with the fact that the potential for something really bad is in her too. Something really rather destructive is in her too.

Should we interpret that final version of Elora that Graydon sees as her potential alternate path?

Yes. And as the clear statement of intention by the bad guy.

You said before you'd like to have Val Kilmer appear in a second season.

There's nothing I would like more. The world is unpredictable, but certainly the runway has been laid for him, and we'd love it.

But you did have Christian Slater as a guest star. Is there another 1980s heartthrob you'd love to have on the show?

I'm a huge Billy Zane fan. If I could find a way to use that man in Willow, I would be very pleased. He's under-appreciated, under-loved and brilliant. I'm not the only one who feels this way. He's done some great stuff lately. So I'm hopeful that he's someone we could use someday.

Hulu and Disney+ are a package deal, and with Reservation Dogs, there are now two Elora Danans in the Disney family. Is there some crossover potential there?

(Laughs) No, but we invited them all to the premiere. They weren't able to make it, but we are still fighting for an opportunity to have a coffee between our two Elora Danans. They need to sit and do a photo shoot together or something. It's too perfect. That show is unbelievably great. I would love to have Devery Jacobs guest star on the show. That would be a really fun idea.

Is there any news you could share on a potential season 2?

Only that I'm sitting in my office and continuing to plan and scheme. It's a strange time in the business. It's a transformative time for Disney. So, I couldn't tell you anything that felt certain, except that we're continuing to work on this with every intention of doing more.

Can you tease where you envision it going from here?

The events of the finale have to be dealt with in a meaningful way at the top of wherever the story goes and the implications of the trauma those events caused to our characters and where it lands each of them. I'd love to get these characters out of that desert. Beyond that, they're all looking at very clear conflicts that were deeply positioned in season 1. Specifically, with Jade, the question of her loyalties and where her politics are going to land her is at the forefront in our minds in terms of where that character can go and, and how she's torn between love and country a little bit. There's no shortage of directions that we'd love to explore, but at its core, it is about this conflict between this otherworldly entity and our heroes. And that's far from over.