#it’s not my intention as I respect everyone’s right to their opinion in if I think they are wrong and that doesn’t mean I can’t also like

[kodyfae-the-1st]

A response, i guess

Alright so I saw this pretty shit post recently, and I cant help but say I'm a little pissed. I will not be sharing the name of the blog that posted this, as i do not wish for them to be harassed.

So here's my response.

An open letter to you who wrote this.

"Hating endos is lame, hate on us instead ! We’re a DID system that believes people shouldn’t have to have their own entry in the DSM5 to be respected , apparently a controversial opinion these days !"

So though i agree in part that hate is lame as all hell, i do believe that listening to science is more punk than throwing it out the window. Yes system diversity is important as a working point in the community, it is still important to listen to the science.

Though some may not fit the diagnostics 100% doesn't mean they aren't valid that is true, but even so, there have been no scientifically supported exception to one. trauma is a necessary part, and the mind cannot and will not fracture like this without it, that should be without dispute.

"Being unapologetically plural is punk, ESPECIALLY if you don’t fit the “scientific” idea of what a real system should be."

You are right that science is not all inclusive, but i will say being anti science seems pretty conservative for a self proclaimed punk. but asides from cheap digs like that, id really recommend reading a couple scholarly articles if you are ever in doubt of the science, there is a lot to learn, and a lot left to be learnt.

"Systems should support other systems regardless of where we come from. The world doesn’t understand us and they don’t want to have to understand us, if we want to have a future where we are proudly and loudly ourselves we have to work together to make it."

Yes systems should absolutely support each other, and i do feel we fight too much sometimes. And no. the world does not understand us, but that does not mean it is ok to spread misinformation. Im sure you do this with good intention, and i too do my part with good intention. but we are fundamentally opposed, and i do not wish to support endos in a journey for recognition.

Some may genuinely have it, i do believe that, and others may be suffering from something else, so similar it may be difficult to know the difference, but i do not believe that they can be systems without trauma.

"I have to fight to be accepted as gay, i have to fight to be accepted as polyamorous, I have to fight to be accepted as trans, I have to fight to be accepted as non human, I have to fight to be accepted as autistic, I have to fight to be accepted as plural."

A lot of us have fought those same battles, i at least have, and a lot of systems still fight for this, and i do not believe that it should be a thing everyone goes through. And we still fight to accept ourselves in this, But i do not support endos fight for recognition. But i will fight with all i have to get them the help they need, because a lot of them do desperately need help. and i think that the fight to give them a support system and help is much more punk than this fight to support misinformation.

"I do not want anyone to have to fight me to be accepted as who they are, I want to fight alongside them because we’re fighting the exact same battle and it’s hard enough without us stabbing each other in the backs."

There is absolutely too much backstabbing in these communities. And i am willing to fight here alone to get them help, im not saying here that they aren't systems, some may very well be and have forgotten the trauma, but i do not wish to stand beside them in a fight against science. Im sure we'll all know more in the future with more studies made, and maybe itll turn the view on systems upside down, but until then i stand with the science, and with those that want and need help.

I do though want to mention lastly that as per the dsm-5 trauma is not noted as a criteria for diagnosis, and thus i am open to read articles of exception to this rule if they can be provided from credible sources.

I will also ask that if ever i said something incorrect i hope youll tell me and ill do my best to make amends. Please do also feel free to share your opinion, id like to hear more perspectives, and learn the faults of my own.

Well wishes.

-Kody, and a very tired system

[bleue-flora]

I want to debate with you over dsmp lore but I'm terrified you'll hate me

Hate? I won’t hate you for having an opinion, everyone has a right to one and I’m happy you have one :D especially if it’s your opinion not purely someone else’s (not to say it can’t align with someone else but it’s yours as in your not just mindlessly repeating someone if that makes sense…). And typically there is a little truth in both sides. Even in the times I’ve disagreed with people it has made me question things. Like for example my conversation with elmhat about c!Quackity prompted me to ask the question: why do I see him as unempathic and find no sympathy for him? Was he not betrayed? Was he not hurt? Was he not discriminated against and overlooked? Why is it that I can be so against him when some of the same things I sympathize with Dream on happened with Quackity. Which then spurred my research into Antisocial Personality Disorder (disorder relating to psychopaths and sociopaths) and Audience Perception. So even if I disagree or dislike what you have to say, I’m not going to hate you for it, and it’ll likely make me question why I think differently, often spurring my dive into lore where I usually find other fun things.

Like this funny clip with c!Schlatt and c!Quackity I discovered last night where c!Schlatt says that Austin Show is dead with him, which almost implies he’s some secret additional mystery character drifting in limbo?…

unless of course we consider that c!Schlatt also talks about the picture on his wall as his Dad who runs the gym with him… man seems to be going insane to be honest and who can blame him, he’s spent how many decades in limbo?…

Anyways, having said that, while certainly optional, definitely not required or necessary or expected, I’ll just let you know as an autistic person I do appreciate sources because there are a lot of times I forget about something or didn’t know and I want to see for myself, not because I don’t personally trust you but because my general rule to the internet is to not pass something on as truth just because someone said that because even in the context outside of dsmp analysis that’s how misinformation spreads so fast.

[bettsfic]

one of the best decisions i've ever made was to stop arguing.

i'd always been an arguer. i was defensive about everything and mindlessly contrary. it wasn't all my fault; i was (and still am) talked down to and patronized a lot, and when you live your life that way, you become kind of a raw nerve and dedicate a lot of energy to trying to prove yourself. someone even told me once, "it's just fun messing with you. you get so upset."

at 23, i was working in an environment where about a half dozen middle aged conservative men were always telling me what to do and explaining things to me. i either argued with them when they said heinous things or stewed about it for hours or even days. and so my new year's resolution one year was simply: no arguing.

it felt a little like defeat at first, like i was no longer standing up for what i believed in, even though no matter how right i was or how much proof i had for my claims, no one had ever been swayed by anything i told them. part of that was because they had no respect for me and didn't take me seriously; the other part was the simple truth that arguments are almost never productive. when someone says something and you immediately reply with, "you're wrong and here's why," a wall goes up and nothing can go over it.

i couldn't just let these men talk at me though, so i started asking questions. not leading questions, not with an intention to prove a point or walk them into a corner. i genuinely wanted to understand how they came to shape the opinions they held. i realized that understanding and agreeing are two different things, and just because i seek to understand doesn't mean i condone.

a truly fascinating thing happened: these men walked into corners all by themselves. it turns out nobody had ever actually tasked them with speaking their opinions aloud to a neutral audience. no one had ever been sincerely curious about them and their views. sure, their loved ones probably asked, "how are you doing?" all the time as a show of affection, but that's much different than, "what do you think?"

knowing what i know now, i think that's true of everyone. how many people ask you for your opinion and listen to what you have to say without speaking their opinion back to you? without judging you? how many people actively and intentionally try to understand you?

it's been over ten years since my resolution and i think i can count the arguments i've gotten into on one hand. one finger, even. it's amazing what happens when someone tries to rile you up, pick a fight with you, and your only response is, "can you elaborate on that?"

you can work someone into a very open and vulnerable state when you ask questions. they eventually run out of their usual talking points and move into the personal. when i do this, it's not like therapy; i'm not trying to help anyone. and it's not like teaching; i'm not trying to educate anyone. i just want to understand how people reach the conclusions they've come to. even after all these years of asking questions and not arguing, it still amazes me how few people in this world feel understood, and how easy it is to get them to open up when you say, "i want to know what you think."

[drdemonprince]

I've noticed a pattern in anticapitalist books I read (specifically I'm talking abt Mark Fisher here, in Capitalist Realism). They do this great anticapitalist analysis etc and then go on to critique their students? and sometimes it's a bit ableist? it's like all the critical thought goes out of the window and they cannot understand the situation because for once suddenly they are in the authoritative position. It always gives me this "I don't understand these kids, back in my day-" vibe, and I see this with lecturers at university too. like Mark Fisher maybe we can think outside the box about your student who "needs" headphones to focus in class "even though no music is playing". and maybe it's not to do with the "Matrix"(????) I'm well aware this was written in 2008 but it's weird that I see this pattern continue today. Not to mention Mark Fisher took part in some ableist studies, and was a guy with questionable intentions on occasion.

it's like you Just said that reducing labour is good why are you calling your students lazy, that's so unprofessional and privileged. I wonder of coincidence that he is anti-meds when his right wing, pro-eugenics, accelerationist friend was addicted to amphetamines.

Or even just the amount of people who have written books about laziness and anticapitalism (excluding you) and just saying the most contradictory shit ever?? or not following their own ideology???

Anyway, I wonder if, when writing Laziness Does Not Exist, you came across any of this and were equally as baffled.

Materialism is just *so* true that high-status academics don't have a vested class interest in seeing their student struggles as legitimate or in recognizing the struggles of disabled people in general. For many edgy academic leftists having the correct opinions is just a way to flex one's intellectual status, not a lived experience they give a shit about. I'm not shitting Fisher in particular in saying this, it's more that it's a really widespread problem in the culture of these kinds of (very white, very academic, very cishet) leftists communities. You see the same kind of thing among some of the Chapo stan types, too, you don't have to be specifically an academic to do it -- lots of people throwing around the r-slur and flexing on how much they have read and doing fuck all for the oppressed people around them. I tend to find it especially common among people who inherited leftism from their (often academic) parents? Whereas leftist communities populated by Black & brown anarchists and working class people tend to fare a lot better in this particular respect.

Note that I'm not saying a person's identities are a guarantee of them being any more radical -- there's lots of liberals lurking in our midsts of all identities for instance -- more that someone's orientation toward power tells you a lot. and unfortunately there is an approach to leftism that puts a lot of stock in either institutional power via the academy, or in a kind of soft power of intellectual authoritativeness that tends to punish anyone who is supposedly less well read, less intelligent, lazy, needs disability accommodations, has trauma triggers, or what have you.

The simple answer is that power and privilege obscures other people's challenges from you, and the desire to preserve one's power (be it actually institutional academic authority or just the status of the person who supposedly knows the most in the room) leads to a lot of oppressive behavior. a lot of these guys that you're talking about believe in communism sincerely but they don't have humility, they believe themselves to be superior to most everyone else. and they tend to be white guys from wealthy families who either do not have any disabilities of their own, or they have the undiagnosed intj mastermind rational flavor of autism that makes you feel incredibly alienated from others but interpret that alienation as a sign of your intellectual superiority. (i had this type but i got better. a little)

[artificial-transmutations]

Rick's Reality

Richard Thompson, or "Rick" as he was known to everyone in his small Midwestern town, had always been a figure of certainty. A solid, unchanging monument amidst a world that was too often in flux. His voice, amplified by the local radio, was a constant stream of opinions and advice that echoed through the homes and cars of his listeners each weekday morning.

Rick was an imposing man, in both stature and belief. Standing tall at six feet two inches, with broad shoulders and a deep, resonant voice, he was the picture of traditional, rural masculinity. His dark hair was always neatly combed, his clothes crisp and clean, and his boots spotless despite the dust and mud of the local landscape.

His radio show, "Rick's Reality," was a beacon for conservative values and traditional perspectives. It was a platform from which he would confidently espouse his views, his deep baritone voice resonating with a fervor that drew in even the most reluctant listener. Rick had a particular disdain for the LGBTQ+ community, seeing them as a challenge to his idea of 'normal.'

"There's a certain way of life, a right and a wrong," Rick would assert, his voice crackling over the airwaves. "Men are men, women are women. That's how God intended it."

Rick had been born and bred in this town, his life as firmly rooted as the old oak tree in the town square. A divorced father of one, his life was a well-trodden path of work, hunting, fishing, and beer with his buddies at Joe's Bar.

That Monday, Rick sat behind the microphone in his small studio, a cup of black coffee steaming beside him. He had a familiar fire in his belly, the one that fueled his daily tirades. Today, his ire was directed towards immigrants and the LGBTQ+ community.

"Folks," he began, his voice stern and unwavering, "our great nation is being undermined. We've got immigrants coming in, not respecting our culture, our way of life. And then we got these... these... folks who can't decide if they're men or women or want to marry their own kind. It's a disgrace, I tell ya."

The phone lines were lighting up, as they always did during his heated monologues. He gestured to his assistant, who patched through a caller.

"You're on 'Rick's Reality', what's your reality today?" Rick asked, a smug grin on his face.

"Hello, Rick," the caller began, their voice calm, measured, and anonymous. "I've been listening to your show for a while. I've heard your views on immigrants and the LGBTQ+ community. I wonder, have you ever challenged your beliefs? Have you ever tried to see life from their perspective?"

Rick was taken aback. He was used to angry rebuttals and passionate agreements, but this? This was new. He stuttered, before finding his footing. "Well, I... I know what's right. And it's my job to stand up for what's right."

"But what if 'right' is subjective, Rick?" the caller continued. "What if the 'right' you know is not the only 'right'? Have you ever considered that?"

Rick was angry. Angry enough to hang up. But something stopped him. He knew he needed more information about this mysterious caller. So, he stayed on the line, listening intently as the caller continued.

"I'm just curious, Rick," the caller said, "what would happen if you met someone who thought differently than you do? Wouldn't that be interesting? What if they didn't think like you did?"

"I'd punch them out," Rick replied. "I don't need no faggot or immigrant around me thinking he's better than me."

"Interesting," the caller mused. "So, you wouldn't try to understand them? You wouldn't try to learn from them?"

"Nope," Rick said. "I'd punch them out." He had enough of the caller and cut the line. This was ridiculous, why did people with these deviant opinions even bother calling into his show? He had to get back to ranting about the evils of immigration and the perils of same-sex marriage.

He returned to his monologue, but his mind wandered. He couldn't shake the strange feeling he had when talking to that caller. Their words had struck a chord within him, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. It was like a small voice in the back of his mind that was so very different from himself, that was curious about what that guy had said, curious about the very idea of being different. It was only miniscule though, and Rick quickly dismissed it, continuing his show.

The rest of the callers were good, normal people calling. People agreeing with him and encouraging him. The day went by smoothly until the end of his shift. He was heading home in the bright noon sun, when he felt like he could do something different today. The route he usually took when walking home was down the main street, passing Joe's bar and into the residential area with the neatly trimmed lawns where he lived. There was, however, another route, a quicker one that went through the bad parts of the town. The parts where those Latino gardeners and pool boys lived, where there were shady clubs and even the dreaded local 'rainbow' scene. Normally, Rick wouldn't even think about entering those parts of town, but the comment from earlier was still gnawing at his mind. Perhaps he should take that way today, just to see how much better life was when you were normal. There was nothing going to happen, after all. If he met anyone who bothered him, he'd just punch them.

So, Rick turned off the main road, making his way towards the seedy part of town. As he walked past the bars and strip joints, he saw men and women going about their businesses or sitting around, taking a break and smoking a cigarette. So far, nothing out of the ordinary except the slightly darker skin color of most people here. He passed a few men playing socker in an alleyway between buildings. A man sat on a bench outside a corner store, drinking a beer and watching some kids play basketball nearby. He made eye contact with a woman wearing a tight red dress as she exited a convenience store carrying bags full of groceries. She was probably wondering why he came here - a question he asked himself.

He kept walking, trying to ignore the looks he was getting as he got closer to the gay district. Well, district was a bit much. There was a bar and a club with rainbow flags in the windows, nothing more.

The bar was closed, as it was just noon. However, the club was apparently open, which was surprising considering the time of day. Rick stopped. Maybe he should go inside. There would probably no patrons in there and he was kind of curious what that godless place looked from the inside.

He pushed open the door to the club and stepped inside. The place was empty, as he thought, apart from a bartender cleaning up. The guy was a fairly muscular and about the same age as Rick and greeted him with a friendly smile.

"Oh hi! Welcome to Club Rage!" he said. "What can I get you?"

"I don't want anything", Rick said with a reserved tone. He didn't even want to speak to that guy, but now that he was in here, that seemed to be less and less of an option.

"Ah, then you're here for the job opening!" the other man beamed. "Name's Miguel by the way."

Of course, an immigrant, Rick grimaced. "Richard." he said noncommittally.

"Good! I didn't expect someone like you to apply, but sure, let's see what you've got! Follow me!"

Why didn't Rick just say he wasn't interested in the job, whatever it was?

Miguel led him to the big dance floor of the place and pointed to an elevated cage with a pole in it. "This would be your workplace."

Rick looked at him dumbfounded. "What did you say was that job again?", he asked cautiously.

"You'll be dancing," Miguel replied. "It's not a difficult job, trust me. You won't have any trouble keeping up with the crowd. Come on, show me some moves, Richard!". He patted the cage floor with his hand.

Rick wanted to say a lot of things, shout at the guy or storm out of here, but another part of his brain saw this as an opportunity. There was no one here but Miguel to see him and he would never, ever do something like that again, so he might as well try it once.

Rick nodded slowly and hoisted himself up into the cage with some effort. Miguel was looking up to him expectantly and Rick tried some careful, stiff dance steps.

It must have looked ridiculous, but Miguel was nodding. "Yeah... you need some beat, man. Hold on."

Miguel disappeared for a moment and shortly after, a driving, thumbing rhythm filled the room, way too loud for the empty room.

When Miguel reappeared, he gave Rick thumbs up: "Okay, Rick! Try it with this!"

The rhythm actually helped a bit, and Rick found it easier to get into it. His dance moves became more sweeping and quickly, Rick was sweating from the unfamiliar workout.

Apparently, Miguel had also noticed and shouted from below: "Come on! Show me that body a bit, don't be shy!"

Rick gritted his teeth and moved his hips faster, feeling the sweat running down his face. He could hear the music pounding in his ears, drowning out everything else. He felt good about himself, better than he'd done in years. While dancing, he unbuttoned his shirt and quickly disposed of it. His torso was looking different from what he was used to: It was smoothly shaven and more toned - not trained or muscular but toned and lean. His skin had a darker complexion than he was used to, and the glistening sweat gave his moves a smooth and fluid quality.

Down below, Miguel was cheering. "Yeah, come on, Rico boy! Use the pole!"

Rick, no, Rico shook his head and smiled. While he grabbed the pole with his right hand, his left hand unbuttoned his pants, in a well-practiced movement. As he twirled around the pole, he used an upward movement to strip the pants completely from his legs, revealing his very tight purple hotpants that accentuated his bulge nicely. Rico noticed that Miguel was clapping to the beat now and decided to give him a special show, turning around and shaking his ass to the rhythm right above Miguel’s face. Rico smiled. He had no doubt that he would get the job - he was just so damn good at it. Every man loved him, and he knew how to hone and groom his body to just tease them the right way. He was a living wet dream, with both an impressive ass and an ample bulge in the front of his pants that he knew just how to shake in a way that made the patrons drool. A boner factory, an ex-boyfriend of his had called him, and there was something very true about it.

Finally, Rico finished his gig and slid down the pole without even panting much, planting an impish kiss on Miguel’s mouth. He couldn't resist to cup the other man's groin with his hand meanwhile... yep, he was going to get that job.

Ricardo Torres was happy - this would be perfect for him, a chance to put his body to good use and get familiar with this new town quickly. Besides, that Miguel guy was really cute, perhaps it was time for a new boyfriend in this new town!

[theidiotwhowritesthings]

A FRESH START [21]

Din Djarin x F!Reader

Warnings: description of injuries, language, spoilers for S3 The Mandalorian, death of minor original character, self defense leading to homicide, groping of reader by stranger (not described in depth)

Word Count: 10k+

Updates every Thursday

Summary: When you made plans for your future they never involved being hired by a Mandalorian to baby-sit his adorable, green gremlin of a child. However, after your life fell apart in the span of one disastrous night, you found it to be the only feasible option you had left. Nevarro was a far cry from Coruscant, but the thriving community turned out to be exactly what you needed. Every day you spend in Nevarro you fall more and more in love with your new life, but when your past rears its ugly head you find that perhaps peace wasn’t meant for everyone.

[a/n: i am so sorry this took so long i know y'all have been waiting all day for it. work was so hectic and i was so frazzled and it's been a long day hah. i know the tags at the bottom aren't all working right and i'm sorry about that but tumblr kept being a bitch and i was gonna lose my mind. speaking of taglists, i am closing AFS's taglist. anyways, hope y'all enjoy!]

#21: MADE OF THE RIGHT STUFF

.

"no one ever told me that grief felt so much like fear." -c.s. lewis

.

The Armorer had been a constant in Din’s life. She was a staple piece of the covert⏤ a figure of mentor ship in his upbringing. He had always greatly admired her, and her opinion meant a lot to him. It was why hearing her call him ‘Apostate’ had stung so badly. Coming from anyone it was a blow, but having the Armorer cast him away had been devastating. Being able to come before her, prove his redemption, and have her reinstate him had been a  sweet moment. If Din were a smart man he would’ve left it at that and been on his way. However, Din was a stubborn man. A stubborn man who would not leave this rock until he got what he wanted come hell or high water.

“She is an outsider.” The Armorer spoke in Mando’a. 

“Yes, but⏤”

“An outsider that you ask me to stoke the forge for?”

Din kept his entire body still to hide his nerves. “Yes. That is what I am asking.” The Armorer did not reply further. She stayed silent, seated by the forge with her hands laid in her lap. Din spoke up again, unable to resist. “She is made of the right stuff. The virtues of a Mandalorian. She may not follow the Way, but she understands it⏤ respects it.”

“You wish to court her?” The Armorer asked and Din gave a firm nod. “Have you presented her with a token of intention?”

Din thought to the blaster he had gifted you. Typically, a token of intention would be a weapon of some kind created for the intended. However, the blaster had once been his and it did not have his signet on it. Plus, it had been given to you while he was an Apostate. It did not count. “No. I have not.”

“This forge is for beskar, and I do not make weapons⏤”

“I am not requesting a weapon.” Din said firmly. He knew beskar was for armor. It was part of the reason his spear had been melted down to create Grogu’s chainmail. Din already had a plan for his token of intention. That was of no concern to him. “I am requesting a set of bracers with my signet.”

The Armorer’s head gave a slight tilt and he wasn’t shocked by her surprise. She rose from her seat and her hands clasped behind her back as she spoke. “You have yet to present this woman with a token of intention, yet you are requesting a token of ridduurok?”

“Yes.” Din replied. He knew how it sounded. Din was not blind to the weight of his request. However, it wasn’t as if he planned to present this to you the moment he returned. He was going to take his time, court you properly, and let you control the speed at which this relationship would move. Din was a man who was sure of what he wanted though, and he knew that was you. He had known that for quite some time now. There was no one else in this galaxy for him. People were constantly referring to you as his wife, and he always corrected them, but more than anything he wanted to be in the position where he did not have to. Din wanted it to be true. “I am sure of my decision and wanted to bring this decision to you sooner rather than later.”

“And if I refuse?” The Armorer pressed.

“I…” Din swallowed the lump in his throat. His hands clenched tight as they rested on top of his thighs. “I would be disappointed, but it would not stop me. She is who I want. She is… She is who I love.”

The Armorer hummed in response and it gave him no clear picture on where the figure head stood on this decision. She made the motion for him to rise from his seat. Din pushed up and tried to hide the tension in his frame. She finally spoke, but it was only to motion to the door and speak on a different topic. “Take your boy to the training yard. We will speak again.”

Din bit back a sigh and gave a tense nod. Well, it was better than an outright no. He turned on his heel to go find Grogu. As he walked, he lifted his vambrace to try and call you. Hours earlier you hadn’t answered, but Din assumed that meant you were busy in the clinic. It happened sometimes. Just as before, the signal did not pick up on your end and his steps came to a slow pause. An uncomfortable feeling settled in his gut. You were busy. His mind was jumping to the worst case scenario, but you were probably just busy. He forced himself to keep walking. Din would try again soon.

Your ears were ringing, and you felt like you were trapped in a fog. There was a tugging on your arm. You lifted your gaze to try and find the source. Nima. It was Nima. She stood by your side, eyes wide in panic, as she screamed at you. She screamed but there was only the ringing. With a final tug, she dragged you up to your feet and the world snapped into focus.

Sirens. A siren was blaring and it mingled with the sound of explosions as fire rained down from the Corsair in the sky. “We have to go!” Nima screamed and your eyes snapped to her. “Come on! Move!”

Nima was pulling you down the road as the two of you got lost in the crowd of other panicked citizens. The smell of smoke burned your nose and you could feel the heat of various burning buildings as you passed. Your head was throbbing and with every step your vision would blur for a second before shakily coming back into focus. The flow of the running crowd picked up speed and panic as another bomb fell not too far away and your hand slipped out of Nima’s. You heard her scream out your name, saw a flash of her pink skin as she tried to jump and spot you, but she was swept even further away.

Someone slammed into you from behind and you went sprawling. Get out of the way. Get out of the way. This was a stampede and you needed to move. Unable to get to your feet quick enough you threw yourself to the side beside some rubble so you weren’t trampled.

While leaning against the rubble, you tried to catch your breath. Your arms were covered in the dust being kicked up into the air, but no immediate wounds. Hesitantly, you probed at your hairline and winced when you found a tender spot. Pulling your hand back your fingers were coated in a shine of blood. 

“Shit.” You breathed. That explained the concussion. 

Most of the crowd had passed and you glanced around to figure out where you were. The school house was up ahead which meant if you kept pressing down the street you’d reach the lava plains. With a grunt, you tried to jog forward⏤ in the distance behind you, the sounds of deep, excited yelling spurned you on. As you were passing the school the sound of a muffled scream brought you to a screeching halt. You paused, trying to ignore the pounding of your heart and the excited yelling getting closer. After a beat, there was another scream. Fuck, the schoolhouse. 

Your eyes darted to where you could see the edge of the city. Din would be so mad at you. You could almost hear his voice at the back of your mind barking for you to get the hell out of Nevarro. The scream came again and it sounded young. All you could picture was Grogu, scared and hurt, trapped in the rubble. That made your decision for you. If this had been your boy you’d want someone to stop for him. You sprinted into the school house and scanned the destroyed classroom. The back corner had caved in from a bomb. 

“Hey!” You yelled. “Can you hear me? Where are you!?”

“Here!” 

That was Wynn’s voice, Grogu’s teacher, and it sounded like it was coming from the space behind the pile of rubble. You hurried over and scanned the pile for a spot you could pull away. Wynn was making calming noises to a sobbing and hysterical child⏤ that’s who had screamed. You wrapped your fingers around a block and pulled it back. The large chunk of concrete shifted just enough that you could get down on your knees and crawl through. 

All of the rubble had blocked off one of the small back cubbies where the children would keep their bags. There you found Wynn, uninjured but covered in dust, clutching a familiar child in her arms. Elodie. You tried to bite back the gasp that threatened to leave you. 

“Hey, sweetie, it’s okay.” You said softly and crawled closer. “Do you remember me, Elodie?”

She sniffled, “You’re⏤ You’re Gro⏤ Grogu’s mommy.”

“That’s right.” You nodded and shifted so you sat right beside them both. Elodie’s blonde hair was covered in soot and you could see bright red blood on her shirt. Jaen and Dayen were probably out of their minds with worry. Maker. “Can you tell me what hurts?”

“Her arm.” Wynn mouthed.

Elodie was crying once more, and you reached forward to carefully touch her. Elodie let out a scream of panic and you tried to whisper reassurances. “It’s okay, it’s okay, sweetie. I’m gonna make it better.” You pulled her right arm away from her body as it had been cradling and covering the left one, and as soon as you did you felt the blood drain from your face. Still, you kept your features neutral. Her left arm was broken, her pale skin discolored in ugly shades of purple and red, and the bone itself had pierced out of her skin. That’s where the blood had come from.

“The other kids were out for recess. My assistant got them out, but Elodie had come back in to use the bathroom.” Wynn shook her head. The gentle woman was trembling. “I couldn’t move the rubble and hold her.”

You gave your pockets a pat, but the only item you had on you was some medical tape. “Dank farrik.” You muttered. “Wynn, where’s the school’s first aid kit?”

“Out by my desk.”

You spun and crawled back out of the rubble to find the kit. If the kit was up to date then you’d have the supplies you needed for a temporary patch job. It didn’t take you long to dig the kit out of the desk, but it was then you noticed the explosions had stopped. Everything had stopped save for the hooting and hollering in the distance. Shit. You raced back to where Wynn and Elodie sat.

“Alright, sweetie, I want you to look at Ms. Wynn, okay? Just her.” You said. You met Wynn’s gaze and she seemed to understand what was about to happen and nodded.

“Hey, honey.” Wynn spoke softly and shifted so she could hold Elodie’s head to face her. You dug through the kit while the teacher spoke calmly and kindly to the little girl who was still crying. The first thing you did was grab the medgun which was loaded with pain meds and punched the needle into her arm without warning. Elodie’s crying grew worse and you hit her with the needle twice more. Three doses was just below what would be too much for a girl her size. Then you grabbed the bacta spray and began to coat the open wound with it in thick layers. 

The numbing pain meds seemed to be working as her sobs turned to hiccups, but she was not going to like this next part. However, the sound of the attackers was growing closer which meant you were running out of a window to do this. You set one hand behind Elodie’s elbow and grasped her left hand with your other. Wynn saw the motion and held onto Elodie tighter. You gave her hand a sharp tug, drawing the bone back into place, and the scream that left Elodie’s little lips was haunting. It only lasted a second before her eyes rolled to the back of her head and she went limp.

“Elodie??” Wynn cried.

“She’s okay.” You checked her pulse and breathing. “The pain just overwhelmed her.” 

Quickly, you grabbed the gauze and wrapped it around her arm along with the collapsible splint to keep it from moving. The sound of a deep laugh while someone kicked around items made you and Wynn freeze. You carefully closed up the kit and motioned for Wynn to pull Elodie to the side and even deeper into the pocket you were trapped in. 

“I liked this place better when it was a bar!” A voice barked out and other men laughed. You were hearing at least four voices. “Look at all this shit!” The sound of furniture being tossed around made you wince. “Where’s Beetl with the liquor!?”

It sounded like they were settling into place and you mentally cursed.

The three of you were going to be stuck here for longer than you liked, and you just prayed Elodie stayed unconscious. 

Din was getting nervous. So much so that he couldn’t even enjoy watching Grogu beat Paz’s son in a sparring match with darts. All he could think about was the fact that he wasn’t getting in touch with anyone from Nevarro. You still weren’t picking up his calls, and now he couldn’t get in touch with anyone else either.

He had to go back. 

“And you’re going to take Grogu with you?” Bo Katan questioned.

“He goes where I go.” Din replied. Grogu grunted in agreement from his arms while Bo Katan shook her head in disagreement. He had told her a quick good-bye and to explain to the others where he was going. Din had a sinking feeling since this morning that he just couldn’t shake.

“Djarin⏤”

His vambrace chirped as a message came through and Din let out a breath of relief seeing Mayfeld’s name. Din shifted the call to his helmet. “Mayfeld! What the hell⏤”

“We got trouble, boss.” Mayfeld blurted. His voice strained. “King Gorian Shard is here. His Corsair is raining fire down on Nevarro. We evacuated the city and⏤”

“Soran.” Din blurted your fake name, the one you still went by. “Where is she? Is she alright?!”

“I’m sure she’s fine⏤”

“You’re sure??” Din barked. “You have eyes on her?! Mayfeld! Do you have eyes⏤”

“I saw her and Nima running out of the city when this all started.” Mayfeld snapped, the sound of blaster fire filled the other line before he spoke again, “We’re trying to keep the pirates away from the citizens, we’re out in the lava plains⏤” Din felt like he was going to be sick. That wasn’t enough. That wasn’t enough reassurance for him. “Mando!? Mando, are you listening!?”

“I’m coming. Just keep them safe. Please get Soran to call me when you see her.”

“It might be tough. The Corsair is jamming our communications. We’ve been trying to get in contact with you this entire time but⏤”

The call cut out and Din was already moving. Bo slid into his path and he nearly bowled her over to get past. She held her hands out and forced him to a stop.

“What is happening?”

“Nevarro is under attack. Gorian Shard brought his Corsair and his men have infiltrated the city.” Din snapped. “Now move⏤”

“You can’t just go there alone.”

“Get the hell out of my way.” Din’s hand drifted to his blaster.

Bo let out a slow sigh and tilted her head. “Think, Djarin. What do you think you’ll be able to do on your own? You’re out gunned on this. You need back up.” Logic told him that she wasn’t wrong, but every fiber of his being was screaming for him to shove past her and get to the N1. “You’re wasting time here with me.”

“I know!” Din yelled, frustrated. “So get out of my way, Bo.”

“The covert is a community, is it not? A family?” Bo questioned. “You have some of the finest warriors in the galaxy here, yet you want to go to Nevarro alone?”

Din was shaking. A mix of anger and fear. Grogu tilted his head up to gaze at him, wide eyes filled with concern. His son may not have fully understood what was happening, but he knew something was wrong. Grogu chirped, “Ma?”

“I get it. I do. But how much can you help this girl of yours if you run in blind and get yourself killed?” Bo pressed. She shook her head. “You drive me up the wall, Djarin, but I know you’re not a complete idiot. Think for a second here.”

With a frustrated huff, Din spun on his heel to find the Armorer. With every step he took, Bo on his tail, Din prayed to the Maker, and any other deity that may be listening, that you were somewhere safe. He was coming for you. Din would tear through any person who stood in his way. He just needed you to hold on a little while longer.

Apparently, the pirates had decided to make the schoolhouse their new cantina. Never mind there was literally a cantina filled with drinks right in the middle of the city they could use. New voices would come in and out, laughing loudly and blindly firing their blasters, while you and Wynn stayed silent. Hours had passed. As unlucky as this entire situation seemed, you were thankful that Elodie was still out cold and that not a single one of the attackers was curious enough to dig through rubble.

You leaned your head against the wall and tapped on your communicator uselessly. It was dead for some reason. Maybe the attack had something to do with that. None of your calls were going out and if someone was trying to call you then it wasn’t coming in. You let your arm fall to the side and glanced over to see Wynn gently running her fingers through Elodie’s hair in a soothing pattern.

Poor Jaen and Dayen. You hoped they were alright and out in the lava plains with everyone else. If you were in that situation, stuck outside the city while Grogu was trapped Maker knows where? There was nothing that would keep you from racing after him. You’d claw the face off anyone who tried to stop you from searching for him. Despite knowing that fact, you still hoped someone was holding them back. The last thing you wanted was for something terrible to happen to them.

A loud crash made you and Wynn jump. You shifted so you sat between the only opening out into the main room and the little girl. Wynn wrapped her arms tighter around Elodie. Laughs followed the crash and it seemed like you were still safe⏤ for now. This wasn’t going to last. You couldn’t just sit here and pray a miracle happened. All it would take is one noise from the three of you or one of the pirates getting nosy and that would be it. Game over.

The light that had been streaming through the hole in the ceiling, created from the rubble, had disappeared hours ago. As night settled over Nevarro this could be good or bad news. If you were lucky then with the darkness the pirates would drift away to sleep and give you three a chance to make a run for it, but if you weren’t lucky then even more people would drift into the school house to drink. Based on the setting, you were not having a lucky day and so far it seemed none of the men drinking were slowing down quite yet.

A soft whimper made you stiffen and you saw Elodie begin to squirm in Wynn’s arms. Wynn’s gaze met yours in a panic and you began to quietly dig through the first aid kit again. You couldn’t expect the young girl to stay completely quiet with an injury like that. There were a few more doses of pain medication. You hated the idea of giving her more than the recommended dose, but as long as you kept an eye on her vitals. Risk versus benefit. In this scenario, there was more benefit than risk currently. 

You pressed the needle into her upper arm and moments later her features evened out. You let out a breath of relief and leaned your head against the wall once more. This was a waiting game and that was your least favorite situation to be stuck in. With a slow breath, you let your eyes close for just a moment.

“Soran.”

A soft hiss made your eyes snap open, to see Wynn trying to grab your attention. You felt dazed and you were now lying on your side. You had closed your eyes for only a second, but the lighting had changed. It was still dark, but the dim glow of dawn could be seen through the ceiling’s hole. You pushed up and winced at the headache still lingering behind your eyes.

“Shit.” You mumbled quietly. “How long was I out?”

“Through the night?” Wynn whispered back. “I was worried. You were out cold.”

“Elodie?”

Wynn shook her head. “Still sleeping.” You turned your head to try and listen out for the main room. It was mostly quiet now, but there was still an artificial glow peeking through the rubble’s cracks. “I think most fell asleep, but they’re still out there.”

You shifted and reached out for Elodie. “Take a break, Wynn. Get some sleep.”

She nodded without much argument and you could see the exhaustion in her eyes. You wished you had woken earlier. It didn’t take long for Wynn to lay down and fall asleep herself while you curled Elodie in your arms⏤ careful not to jar her arm. Holding her made you miss Grogu, but you were thankful he wasn’t here. If anything ever happened to him you don’t think you’d survive it. Him or Din. That was a comfort you could take in this. Neither of your boys were here to possibly get hurt.

They were worlds away⏤ safe.

Maybe an hour had passed when Elodie began to murmur and move against you. You held her tighter to your chest and whispered that she was safe with you. A whimper left her lips and you winced. “Elodie, sweetie, you’re okay. I need you to stay quiet for me.” You whispered. Her bleary eyes blinked open and you ran a hand through her hair. “It’s me. You’re safe with me and Ms. Wynn. Everything is okay.”

“I want my mommy and daddy.” Elodie began to cry. You buried her face into your shoulder to muffle the sounds of her sobs.

“I know.” You mumbled into her hair. “I know, sweetie.”

Elodie cried for a while, but it slowed to harsh and tired breathing. She was awake and clinging to you with her good arm. You continued to run your hand through her hair and murmur how brave she was and how proud her parents would be. This seemed to marginally calm her. 

The sound of shuffling grew closer to the rubble and you felt your entire body stiffen⏤ on edge. It didn’t seem like he was looking for anything and moments later you heard the sound of peeing off to the sound of the rubble. Your nose scrunched in disgust but you supposed it could be worse. The man began to talk to some others and you listened as closely as you could to try and count the number of people in the room. As the glow of dawn spread across the sky, you really needed to get out of here. Elodie was stable, but she needed proper medical care.

Wynn woke up when you hissed her name and you shifted the little girl in your arms to her. They both stared at you in alarm as you crawled slowly and quietly toward the rubble blocking you in. As you got closer you laid on your belly and shuffled closer. You were low enough to be able to peek through the entrance, but you stayed as far back as you could to remain out of sight just in case one of the men was facing the rubble.

“How long do we gotta stick ‘round here?” A man scoffed. Someone threw a bottle and you heard the glass shatter with a wince. “Can’t we go?”

“You wanna tell the King what to do?” Another snorted. “Be my guest, idiot.”

A third man chimed in and they seemed to go in circles. Three in total then? Unless one was quiet, but you sincerely doubted that. It seemed like every soul that swung through here couldn’t keep their mouth shut. You crawled back deeper into the pocket to settle beside Wynn and Elodie.

“We need to get out of here.” You whispered. “I have a plan. I’m going to distract them⏤”

“Wait⏤”

“⏤and while I do that, you’re gonna take Elodie out the back and use the alley to get Elodie to the lava plains. It’ll be a straight shot. Just stay off the main street.”

Wynn shook her head. “This is dangerous. You’re putting yourself in an awful situation. Maybe we should just stay.”

“We’re tempting fate just by sitting here, and Elodie needs further medical care.” You argued. “This is our best bet.” Wynn still didn’t seem convinced, but you had already made your decision. In your career, you needed to rely on gut calls. Instinct. No time for hesitation. It was best if you did this now before more men showed up. “I’m gonna make them chase after me, and as soon as they follow you need to take Elodie out the back door. Do you understand?”

Wynn nodded after a moment. “I do. Just please be careful.”

Before you could lose your nerve, you crawled back toward the rubble entrance and tried to listen and figure out where each man sat. If you had to guess, you’d say they were on the other side of the room which worked in your favor, and the front door was a straight shot. The issue would be going from on your knees to running without tripping over or being shot. Once again, you heard Din at the back of your head telling you what a reckless and stupid idea this was. That was always a good sign, right?

You sucked in a sharp breath, waited until you heard the men burst into laughter, and then pushed out. It all moved in a blur. You stumbled over your feet, trying to get off your knees, you heard the men shout in alarm, but you kept moving. They were jumping up, yelling at you, but you pumped your arms to sprint faster toward the door. You took a sharp turn right out the door and ran down the street towards the city’s center⏤ away from the direction Wynn and Elodie would need to go in.

Glancing over your shoulder, you saw three men following. Good. Your plan fell apart when you turned your head to see where you were running only to collide into a firm body that sent you sprawling to the concrete ground with a grunt.

You tried to jump up, but a boot pressed down on your chest keeping you pinned on your back. A thickly built Twi’lek stared down at you with a sickening grin. His skin was a dark shade of purple and you could see an injury on his side that stained his clothes with blood.

“Well, well,” The Twi’lek hummed, “Aren’t you just adorable?”

“Oh, come on, Kiff.” One of the men who had been chasing you complained. “We saw her first!”

The Twi’lek, Kiff, shook his head and glared at the men. “Is there a reason you left a civilian alive? You had strict orders.” He drew his blaster pointing it at the men first who shuffled back a step and then he pointed it down at you. You stiffened, your hands gripping his boot, and he just smirked down at you. An excited anticipation glowing in his dark eyes. This man was looking forward to killing you. “Any last words?”

“You’re going to die.” You blurted the first thought that came to mind. His face furrowed at the threat, but you shook your head and pointed at his side. “That injury. I’d guess you have an hour at most.”

“It’s nothing. I was just grazed. Not even bleeding anymore. Nice try.” He huffed.

You were lying through your teeth, but he didn’t look like a man who knew much about anything. You kept your voice calm and firm. “I can see the bruising from where your shirt is torn. It’s not bleeding externally anymore, but you are bleeding internally. That’s where all the bruising is from.” He swallowed once and you kept on. “Right now, I bet you feel fine. Barely hurts. Give it another half hour and you’re gonna be in agony. Look at me.” You motioned down to yourself. “You think I’m wearing these scrubs for the fun of it? I’m a doctor, you ass.”

“Then I guess that means you know how to fix it.” He spat at you. Kiff put his blaster away and reached down to snatch you off the ground. You were barely on your feet when his hand clamped around your throat painfully tight. You clawed at him, trying to loosen the grip, but he didn’t even flinch. “Fix it. Now.”

“Clinc.” You gasped. “I need⏤ Clinc.”

Kiff threw you aside and you sucked in as much air as you could while trying to stay on your feet. The other pirates were still watching as Kiff buried his hand in your hair and held on like a leash. He leaned forward to press his lips near your ear. “Lead the way, bitch.”

It had taken hours too long to get to Nevarro. Din was thankful for Bo, thankful for his covert, as they agreed to help, but as his ship entered Nevarro’s atmosphere and his eyes landed on the smokey and still burning city beneath a monstrous Corsair, Din lost his breath. You were down there. You were in that mess.

“Ma? Ma!” Grogu was slamming his hands on the N1’s window. Din scooped the boy up to bring back to his lap and tucked him under his bandolier as a makeshift seat belt. 

Bo’s voice came over his comm unit, checking in to see if Din was still on board with the plan, and he was forced to agree. She was going to drop a unit of Mandalorians down to the city streets to fight, but it was up to him and Bo to take care of King Gorian Shard’s ship. As he got near, he saw a group of civilians nestled out in the lava plains. Were you there? You had to be there. Din could not wrap his mind around any other situation. 

“Let’s get this done.” Din barked gruffly over the communication line.

The sooner he burned Gorian Shard’s ship to the ground, the sooner he could find you.

The clinic was in shambles. Most of the structure itself looked intact, but a group of pirates must have ran through to scavenge for supplies because everything was sloppily tossed around. The hand tangled in your hair was roughly pulling, making your scalp ache, as you let him shove you forward into the main clinic space. You had a plan. It was a very, very bad plan, but that seemed to be the theme of the last 24 hours.

“Well, get to work then.” Kiff threw you aside before climbing up onto one of the cots. You straightened your posture and tried to steel your nerves as you approached him. He stared at you, eyes following your every moment, as you reached out to peel his shirt up. You pretended to examine his skin. “How long is this gonna take?”

“Depends.” You muttered⏤ your throat felt raw from his grip earlier. 

Kiff’s hand trailed down your side until it reached your backside. He kneaded his fingers over your ass, groping and pulling you closer, and it took all your strength to keep a steady face. You knew he was looking for a reaction. 

“I think you just wanted to get me alone.” Kiff hummed arrogantly.

“I need to grab the cautery.” You said and turned to walk toward your desk. He slid off the cot to grasp your hips and you felt a terrifying chill run down your spine as your skin crawled in disgust. “You should stay seated.”

“I think I’ll follow along.” Kiff leaned forward and you tried to ignore him as you continued toward your desk. He follow only half a step behind, large hands groping where he could reach, and you felt his hot breath on the back of your neck. When you reached the desk, your shaky hand reached for the top drawer. Kiff leaned into you, pinning you between his hips and the side of the desk, as he chuckled. “I could fuck you right here, right now. How’s that sound?”

A while back, Din tried to convince you to carry the blaster he gave you on your person at all times. You argued that a doctor shouldn’t be walking around locked and loaded. Din didn’t love your argument, but the two of you settled on a compromise. You wouldn’t wear the blaster on your hip, but you’d keep it within reach at the clinic. 

Your hand wrapped around the blaster’s grip, your finger clicking off the safety as Kiff was distracted by feeling you up, and without pause you spun and fired. He was so tangled around you that the shot only clipped his side, but it was enough to make him grunt in pain and stumble back. 

“You bitch!” He roared.

Not giving him the chance to say anything further or even to reach for a weapon, you fired again. And again, and again, and again. Your finger pulled the trigger over and over. Even after the fourth and fifth burned through his chest and he lay on the ground with blank eyes, you fired more. In fact, you didn’t stop until the blaster overheated and slipped from your shaky hands. If anyone deserved to die it was a piece of shit like him, but you had taken an oath to do no harm. You had lost patients before, that was the nature of medicine, but you had never deliberately taken a life before. 

Nausea rolled through your body as the stench of burning flesh met your nose. It was familiar to you, but only through procedures and operations. Never like this. Never caused by your hand. Panicked, the voice at the back of your head, the one that sounded like Din, pleaded for you to pick up the blaster and run. You wondered how hard you had hit your head yesterday to be hearing his voice like this. You picked up the blaster with trembling hands and hurried out of the clinic.

Lava plains. You needed to get out of this city. 

The sound of a firefight was filling the air as you began to sprint down the street, but a very familiar sight sped by overhead in a blur. The N1. Your feet came to a screeching halt. Din. Din was here. Din had come. Hot tears rolled down your cheeks in relief. You were still in the midst of a war zone, surrounded by fire, smoke, and danger, but just knowing that Din was in the vicinity came as an incredible comfort. Stumbling forward again, you tried to send out a call through your communicator once more, but it still seemed dead.

Just keep moving. Din was here now which meant everything was going to be alright. Just keep moving.

You had made decent progress down the road when the sight of a familiar body filled your view. Wynn. It took a beat before you rushed to their side. Wynn was lying on her chest so you cautiously flipped her over and a soft groan left her weary lips. Your eyes were immediately drawn to the significant wound decorating her abdomen. A blaster shot. Her dress and skin were charred from the heat of the blaster fire, but it clipped deep enough to hit an artery. That was the only explanation for the amount of blood you were seeing and the continued steady ooze. You applied pressure to the wound, to try and stop the bleeding, and Wynn didn’t even whimper in pain. Her just fluttered.

“Hey, it’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.” You said, trying to convince yourself more than her.

“Elodie…” Wynn gasped.

“Reinforcements are here. You just gotta hang on⏤”

“She ran. I told her to run.” Wynn pushed the words out. “They ambushed us. I⏤I tried⏤ I tried to hold them back.” You pressed down on her abdomen harder. The blood seeping through your fingers. You bit down hard on your lower lip and tried not to cry out at how useless you felt. You knew the odds of this injury, you were fighting fate currently. “Find her⏤”

You shook your head. “I will. I will, but I have to take care of you first. You’re bleeding⏤” Wynn’s shaky breaths came to a stop as you watched the life leave her eyes. “No, no.” Frantically you felt for a pulse and when you didn’t find one, you began CPR. Desperate. Was this your fault? Maybe you should have stayed in the school house. Had you made the wrong call? After three short rounds you fell back on your heels with a shaky gasp. “Wynn?”

Her unseeing eyes stared blankly up at the sky. Tears were rolling down your cheeks again and when you tried to swipe them away you felt her hot blood, still fresh on your hands, smear across your cheek and you gasped. You tried to use your scrub top to wipe it away. 

Elodie. You had to find Elodie. Wynn’s blood was on your hands, figuratively and literally, but you had to save Elodie. You gently closed Wynn’s eyes, whispering an apology, and stumbled away. The blaster was back in your grasp and you were desperate.

“Elodie!” You yelled. Not giving a single damn if the pirates heard you. The sound of blaster fire echoed down the streets just as it rang in the air overhead. “Elodie!” You were weaving in and out of buildings as you were able and peering down any alley you passed. “El⏤”

The heat of a blaster bolt screamed past you only narrowly missing you. You threw yourself to the ground as more fired in your direction. The pile of rubble you hid behind took most of the blows, but you could hear the yelling of your attackers growing closer. Shit. Shit. Shit. Blindly, you lifted your hand to try and fire a few shots of your own, but if it made contact with anyone you didn’t hear it do so. You tried to scan the region, looking for an escape, but the two paths you saw involved running out into the open. You wouldn’t survive that.

Right as you began to try and force yourself into accepting the terrible decision of making a run for it. Louder, rapid blaster fire filled the air and the attackers screamed  briefly before it all fell quiet. Someone had killed the men firing at you. The enemy of your enemy was your friend right? Hesitantly, you peered around the rubble and the sight of Mandalorian armor made you jump back out into the street.

The Mandalorian, a large man in armor decorated in shades of blue, carried a black turrent and it swiveled toward you at the sound of your approach. You held your hands up in surrender. “Please! I need help!”

“The path is clear.” The man barked out in a deep voice and motioned down the street. The direction you knew would take you to the lava plains. “Go.”

“No, I⏤ There’s a child lost here.” You rushed to stand in front of him. His broad frame towered over you. You had always thought Din was a large Mandalorian, but this guy may as well have been a building with legs. “I need help finding her.”

“I will seek out the child. You leave the city.”

“I’m not leaving her behind.” You glared at him.

He stiffened and maybe you had just gotten good at reading Mandalorian body signals from Din, but you could tell this man was glaring at you through his helmet at your disobedience. “This area is not fully secured. Leave the city and I will⏤”

“You can’t kill pirates and search for a little girl at the same time.” You snapped. “I’ll stay and we can⏤”

“You will go⏤”

“Look at me!” You barked out with the same confidence you used to command any other emergency you had encountered. The Mandalorian looked taken aback at your tone. You kept your shoulders tight, solid, then spoke in a firm voice that gave no room for argument. “I am going to find Elodie, and you are going to mow down any pirate that gets in our fucking way. Do you understand? This is a team effort. I am not leaving that little girl behind. So either you help me, or I do this on my own.”

The Mandalorian was fuming at you. At least, that’s what you were assuming based on the silent gaze he was burning down into you. This was not debatable. You lost Wynn. You would not lose Elodie. Over your dead body would anyone hurt that little girl any further. Finally, the Mandalorian blew out an irritated sigh and bobbed his head down the street.

“Move then.” He ordered.

You pointed down an alley to the left. “I’ve already been down that way. We need to cut here to search further.” 

Without waiting for his response, you marched down the alley. Only a second passed before a heavy hand clamped down on your shoulder and roughly dragged you back. The Mandalorian scoffed. “I have the weapon. I stand in front. Understand, wero’ika?”

“Fine.” You replied. You recognized the sound of Mando’a but didn’t know the word he used. It didn’t linger long in your mind though. The two of you were pushing down the alley and despite the Mandalorian telling you to keep quiet you continued to yell out Elodie’s name. More blaster fire, getting closer, made your heart pound even harder in your chest. “Elodie!”

“I said you need to⏤” The faint sound of a response only barely reached your ears and you shushed the Mandalorian. “Did you just⏤” You shushed him again and tried to listen. His next word came out in an irritated growl. “Wero’ika.”

“I hear her. I hear Elodie.” You blurted and sprinted past him. 

His thundering footsteps stayed only a step behind you and the Mando’a words he was spitting out under his breath were all the curse words you had heard Din use a time or two. You came to the edge of an alley, right where the blaster fire was loudest, and the Mandalorian shoved you behind him once more just in time for a bolt to bounce off his beskar covered chest. Your eyes frantically scanned the street and it took you three times before your eyes found the little blonde girl tucked in a ball and sobbing as people fired over her head.

“There!” You took a step forward to try and peer out but the Mandalorian yanked you back barking something out in Mando’a. “I wasn’t gonna run out there yet! I was trying to see if there was a path I could use to get to her.”

“I will lay cover fire and you will use that time to get to the girl. Do not,” He emphasized the command, “Leave that spot until I come to you.” You nodded once, but he did not budge. “Speak. Do you understand me, wero’ika?”

“Yes! Yes, alright!”

The Mandalorian grunted once in approval then he stepped out of the alley. The black turrent he was holding open fire and the red bolts leaving it rapidly was a sight to behold. So shocked by the weapon’s range of destruction you paused until he barked out at you. Elodie. Right. You sprinted out of the alley and made a beeline for her hiding spot. The Mandalorian was firing to your right, where the pirates stood, but to your left was a wall of Mandalorians. At least three of them. Had Din brought an army of his kind?

You slid to your knees beside Elodie, setting the blaster down, and wrapped your arms around her. She screamed and squirmed, but you held on tight. “Elodie! Sweetie! It’s me! You’re safe!” You yelled over the loud blaster fire. “You’re alright!”

Her wide eyes, filled to the brim with watery fear, landed on your face and she began buried her face in your chest with sobs. Elodie’s injured arm was still wrapped up with the splint but blood was seeping through the bandage once more. You could barely understand her through her cries.

“Ms. Wynn⏤ She⏤ We⏤”

“I know, sweetie. You’re okay.” You tried to reassure her even as your stomach flipped at the mention of her teacher’s name. “Come on.” You scooped her up into your arms and she wrapped her right arm around your neck in a death grip. “Keep your head down, Elodie. Alright? Don’t look up. Just close your eyes and keep your head down.”

You felt her nod against your shoulder and shifted so you’d be crouched down, out of range, but ready to go when the Mandalorian got to you. Big Blue, as you were so kindly referring to him in your head, was still firing at the pirates but was making steady steps in your direction. The other Mandalorians continued to drift up to add to his onslaught and when they stepped side by side with him, Big Blue peeled off to rush to you. 

“Up!” He grunted, and you didn’t hesitate to listen to him then. With Elodie in your arms, you rose up and Big Blue spun you around to march toward the city’s edge and away from the battle. He kept his body pressed close to your back and every once in a while you’d hear him grunt as blaster fire pinged off his beskar. 

The three of you shifted around a mess of debris when suddenly a pirate jumped into your path. Big Blue reacted quicker than you did and he spun the both of you around so his back was acting as a shield once more. You fell to your ass, with him draped over you in protection, as the pirate rained blaster fire onto the man. On more instinct than thought, you let go of Elodie with one arm to grab the blaster tucked in Big Blue’s holster and after flicking off the safety you rapidly pulled the trigger blindly. It took multiple bolts before you heard the pirate cry out in pain and the attack ended. Big Blue glanced over his shoulder and once pleased with what he saw he shifted off of you.

“Mirdala, wero’ika.” Big Blue grunted with a nod of approval. You held his gun out to him which he took and re-holstered then he reached down to bring you back onto your feet. The sound of an explosion made you both jump in alarm, but it came from the Corsair overhead. You watched in shock as the smoking vehicle began to careen into the side of the mountain Nevarro City was nestled against and go up into fire and ash. “Come.” Big Blue pulled you to his side to try and get you moving again. “We still need to get you both to safety.”

As Big Blue guided you through the streets and the sight of the lava plains came into view, a breath of weary relief left you. The Mandalorian next to you caught you off guard by setting his hand on your shoulder and giving it a small squeeze.

The fight was over. Your brain supplied familiar words that Din had said to you once before.

The danger has passed.

Din was frantic. After landing the N1, and leaving a crying Grogu with Peli, he began to rush through the throngs of civilians looking for a familiar face. Looking for your face. As the seconds ticked by fear gripped him tighter and tighter. What if he had been too late? What if you were still in the city? Shoving past people, more roughly than he probably should have, he finally spotted someone who could point him in the right direction.

“Vanth!” Din barked and rushed to where the man was seated on a makeshift cot. He looked worse for wear. One arm was wrapped in a sling and dried blood was splattered in his hair on the right side of his head where a line of staples held together an ugly gash.

Vanth’s bloodshot eyes glanced up and at the sight of Din he shakily rose. “Hey, brother. You’re a sight for sore eyes.”

“Are you alright?” Din asked and after Vanth nodded, in the same breath, he added, “Where is she?”

Din didn’t need to clarify who. Vanth swallowed roughly and let out a haggard sigh, “I don’t know, Mando.” His blood ran cold. “Last I heard, Mayfeld is on the search for her. I got put out of commission pretty early in the fight.” Vanth winced with every breath and word spoken. “Little doc junior, Aayla, has been patching everyone up best she can since…” 

Since you were missing.

“The fight is over now. Anybody hiding in the city will start coming out.” Vanth tried to reassure him but it fell on deaf ears. “Mando⏤”

“Sit. Rest.” Din carefully pushed Vanth back onto the cot before moving on. 

He’d scour the entire city if he had to. Din would tear down any remaining buildings left standing if it meant finding you. This was what he did, right? He hunted. His rushed steps were nothing like the calm and collected image he tried to uphold as he hurried towards the city. All his worst fears seemed to be crumbling down on him and the beskar he wore felt suffocating. Din pushed out of the crowd, nearly broke out into a sprint, when he hard your voice. Faint. It really made no sense that he’d even be able to hear it over the lively crowd and the pounding of his heart in his ears.

However, as if drawn to it, his feet came to a stop and he turned. There you were. The parents of Grogu’s friend from school were sobbing hysterically as they held a little girl in their arms. You stood right in front of them with Paz a step behind you. It was an odd sight that left Din with more questions than answers, but all his mind could focus on was you. The rest of the world may as well have grown blurry and dim.

You were in a pair of your scrubs but they were dirty and torn. Dried blood stained the front and sides. Your hair was a mess and even from the distance he was at, he could see the exhaustion radiating from your frame. Din was moving before his mind was even aware of his body’s choice. It was you. You were right there. You were standing. You were breathing. You were safe. Maker, Din felt his heart leap up into his throat as he struggled for a gasp of relief.

Din couldn’t find his voice to cry out to you, but as if you were drawn to him as well you turned and met his gaze. His feet stuttered at the sight. Dried blood covered your features, mixed with dust and soot, and there was a wound on your hairline he could see clearly. The skin around your neck was darkened with bruising. You looked like you were in shambles, but that fire he loved still remained in your gaze. Your pretty eyes burned with life and energy and determination.

“Din!” You cried and he didn’t even register the fact that you called out his name in public. He was too thankful to hear it in your voice once more. You broke out into a sprint, to meet him halfway, and as soon as you were close enough Din snatched you into his arms in a bruising grip. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as your face buried into his shoulder and if Din wasn’t so worried about jarring any of your current injuries he would’ve crushed you even tighter in his hold. “Din, I⏤ Din. Din.” Your body shook with sobs as you struggled to find words. For a beat all that could spill out was his name, but every time the sound left your lips Din felt the tight coil of fear in his chest loosen. “You’re here.”

“I am. I am, ner kar’ta, and I’m never leaving again.” He murmured to you. A promise. Din’s gloved hand buried itself in the back of your hair to pull you even closer. It took all of his strength to not rip his helmet off right now. Redemption be damned. “Ni ceta, ner kar’ta. I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I should have been here.”

The only reason he was able to tear himself away from you was to examine your wounds. The injury at your hairline had scabbed over and it seemed the only other injury you had were the faint bruising around your neck. It would worsen before it got better and it was not lost on Din that the darker shade was in the shape of a hand.

“Who?” The word left his lips in a near growl. Din cupped your face and tried to swipe away tears, dried blood, and soot. His hand trailed down to lightly brush against your neck. “Who did this?”

“One of the⏤ One of the pirates. It’s a long story, I⏤” You took in a shaky breath and Din could see how close you were to crumbling. “He’s dead. I… I shot him. With the blaster I keep in my desk. I shot him.” Good. Din could see the heartbreak in your eyes, the pain, and he hated more than anything that responsibility had fallen onto your shoulders. That you had been forced into that position. Truly, you had done the pirate a favor⏤ shown him mercy. Because if he were still breathing, Din would tear the bastard apart limb from limb. “I lost your blaster. I’m so sorry⏤”

“Don’t. Stop.” Din leaned his head down to press his forehead against yours. He took in a slow breath. You were here. You were safe. You were in his arms. Din’s heart finally began to calm. “All that matters is you.”

Your hands had found his neck and the way your fingers dug through his collar told him that you were as desperate as he was for skin to skin contact. Din just needed to reassure himself that you were fine. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of you to ensure that nothing was wrong. That you were fine. It was a craving not born of lust, but concern.

“Grogu.” You breathed out in a ragged gasp. “Where’s Grogu? I need to see him. I need⏤” Din’s eyes darted over your shoulder where Elodie’s parents were still smothering their child. Something had happened in the city, you had obviously saved that girl in some way, and Din knew your desperation to see Grogu had something to do with that. “Din?”

“He’s alright. He’s safe.” Din wrapped his arm around you tightly, not willing to let go quite yet, and began to lead you back through the crowd to find where Peli was. People called out comments of relief and comfort to you as he led you through. It seemed he hadn't been the only one worried about you.

The sound of Grogu’s cries could be heard and you rushed out of Din’s arms to find the source, “Grogu!?” Din paused as he spotted Peli holding the boy as you rushed toward them. Grogu’s cries were halted and replaced with panicked wailing as he squirmed out of Peli’s arms to jump into yours. You collapsed to the ground with the boy buried in your chest. “Hey, baby. I’m here. I was so worried about you.”

Grogu continued to cry as you whispered reassurances to him. A small smile pulled up the corner of Din’s lips. For the first time in hours, he felt his shoulders relax. He took a step forward, to join his family, when familiar steps settled beside him. Paz crossed his arms and watched the reunion between you and Grogu as well.

“She saved that little girl.” Paz spoke with a hum. “She’s brave. Reckless, but brave.”

“I know.” Din replied, beaming with pride. Everything he had said to the Armorer had been true. You may not have taken the oath, walked the Way, or adorned a helmet, but you were Mandalorian through and through. It was in your spirit and soul. 

Paz nodded. “That is the one you spoke of? The woman you plan to court?”

“Yes.” Din didn’t add that you were the woman he planned to marry as well. It didn’t need to be said now or like this. Just knowing was enough for him.

“But you have yet to present her with a token of intention?”

“Not…yet.” Din turned his head to look at his brother with suspicion. .

“Hm. Perhaps, I’ll offer her a token first.” Paz chuckled. Din barked out a curse and it only made Paz laugh harder. You had risen from the ground and glanced over at the noise. Paz slapped his hand roughly against Din’s back, making him stumble, and then gave you a firm nod. “Good work, wero’ika. I was proud to share the battlefield with you.”

Din continued to glare at Paz’s retreating figure, but at the sound of your approach his gaze softened. You were still holding Grogu close to your chest as if you were afraid someone would come and snatch him away. Din understood the irrational fear. It was why as soon as you were in reach he pulled you and Grogu into his own arms. With another sigh, Din let his eyes flutter close as he rested his head on top of yours while you leaned into his chest. You were safe. His family was back together. 

What more could he ask for?

mando'a translations

Ni ceta: I'm sorry Mirdala: clever Wero'ika: little problem Ner kar'ta: my heart

taglist:

@aheadfullofsteverogers @yyiikes @kneelforloki @c-ms1ut @sgt-morgan @luthienaliceisilraa @fawn-kitten @missbabyjay @coldlamaspersonspy @dilfsaremyfavourite @jamesbuckybarnes @yorkeylover @teawrites01 @emily-roberts @djarinxore @impala1967666 @shelbyteller @faithrenner @dindjarindude @dankfarrick29 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @garbo-lesbo @anythingforattention @tearfulsolace @onceinamando @catharinaroxastova @uwu-i-purple-you @modiddys-blog @stagerightlauren @mini-bees @xxinvisblexx @adoringanakin @sagegreensensei @spidey-3 @sydney-1209 @thepascalofus @hrtsforpascal @banana-lol @daybleedsintonightfall11 @lil-dragon-draws @guccistardust @ideajpeg @harriedandharassed @leithatnight @elfamosotoga @damnzelsoul @the-anchored-sailor-girl @morks-watermelon @katelynmarieyt @taylorann2013 @chonkercatto @dheet @liadamerondjarin @fallinallinmendes @missdicaprio @jennaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @alphaash99 @djarinsmixtape @pcrushinnerd @closedaddition @thelovelyhann @harrys-sunflower-bakery @mayaaaaah @theway-thisis @javicstories @ezzynf @bravotwelve @cookielovesbook-akie @coolbanana44 @kittenlittle24

[the-authoress-writes]

If You Please

Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Lawyer!reader

Written for @roosterforme’s Top Gun Rocktober Playlist Fic Challenge

Synopsis: It’s not everyday that one’s best friend gets married, it’s not everyday that one is asked to be said friend’s Maid of Honor, and it’s certainly not everyday one meets a gorgeous, blond naval aviator.

Much less that one gets to dance the night away with the aforementioned naval aviator.

Warnings: Nothing, really, just a prerequisite creepy cousin, and a little teensy bit of cursing, but other than that, I don’t think there’s anything else.

Author’s Note: This is my first fic written for a fic challenge, and I am so grateful to @roosterforme for organizing this, and for allowing me to use one of my favorite 80s songs—Alannah Myles’ “Black Velvet”, as well as to @bradshawsbaby, who made the absolutely gorgeous moodboard for this fic.

You are both incredible, lovely people, and amazing writers!!

Everyone should go check out their stories—go, seriously.

I’ve made liberal use of lines from the song in this fic, but it’s just so absurdly appropriate for Jake that I didn’t even really feel that bad.

It’s also my first time writing Jake, so I’m not exactly sure I did him justice, but I’m looking forward to seeing what everyone thinks!

One down, one to go!!

And so, here we go!!!

She looked at her best friend dancing with her new husband, a smile on her lips.

She couldn’t be happier for her best friend, Cristina Nievara, formerly Cristina Machado.

The wedding was perfect, and went off without a hitch, and now, as the Maid of Honor, she could now relax—the hard part was over.

She sighed, sipping from her glass of rosé, rolling her neck from side to side.

At that moment, as if the very air shifted around her, or some preternatural sense alerted her, she became aware of a masculine presence behind her.

“Everyone’s dancing.”

At the smooth Texan drawl, a smile involuntarily split her lips. “That they are.”

“Everyone but you, Counselor.”

She angled her head to look into the emerald eyes of Jake Seresin. “Neither are you.”

“Hmm—little old me, well, I’m just waiting for the right partner.”

Her mouth ran a little dry, and she sipped from her glass again, trying to keep her composure. “And who would the right partner be?”

He hummed lightly, “I have an idea; she’d be kind, gentle—sweet, even—but opinionated when she needs to be, absurdly competent, insanely beautiful, and incredibly sexy.”

She hissed a breath between her teeth. “That’s quite the criteria.

Not sure you’ll be able to find a girl like that.”

“Well, I’m thinking I’m looking right at her.”

She couldn’t help it, her head whipped around to face him, so fast she worried she got whiplash, for her to find that his gaze was fixed intently and intensely on her.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she swallowed reflexively. “You sure you’re looking right?”

Jake made a show of looking at her up and down, his gaze somehow respectful despite the intensity she could see in his eyes. “I know I’m looking right.

Would you like to dance, Counselor?

Only if you please, though.”

She huffed a chuckle, shaking her head. “Well, since you asked so nicely, how can I refuse?”

And she set her glass down, before placing her hand into his outstretched one.

As Jake led her to the dancefloor, she mentally looked back—a month ago, never in a million years did she imagine that she’d be dancing with this man.

One month earlier…

She had no idea how Cris had managed to rope her into this.

But that wasn’t completely the truth; actually, she did.

Her best friend, Cristina Machado, was getting married to her fiancé, Gabriel Nievara, in her and Gabriel’s hometown of New Orleans.

And of course, Cris had to have her best friend as her Maid of Honor.

It wasn’t that she didn’t love Cris, on the contrary, she’d do anything for that woman, they were each others’ ride-or-die since college, but it was moments like this, where she was currently being hit on by Cris’ creepy cousin, Marco, that almost made her reconsider.

And this was only a family and friends get-together at the large Machado family home a month before the wedding.

Marco was going on and on about how much money he made as a real estate agent, and she had been trying to get out of this conversation repeatedly, but she couldn’t get a word in edgewise.

If she had more energy, she wouldn’t hesitate to tell him off, but she had just come from a too-long deposition (literally throwing her dress on after), and her attitude was habitually completely different from the shark she had to be as a lawyer and in courtrooms, like a coat she put on, as a way of keeping her work separate from her personal life.

At this point, she was debating on dissociating from exhaustion, or looking for a way out, any way out—she was even debating the merits of just running away, and locking herself in the bathroom, which was looking more and more appealing by the second—when a drawling voice proclaimed, “There you are, I’ve been looking all over for you!”

She turned and saw a vaguely familiar dark blond-haired man striding towards her, looking rather like something out of a grocery store romance novel, with his movie star-blinding smile, in a pair of dark jeans, and a thin jacket over a henley, Wayfarers tucked into the collar.

“Hey, I’m sorry, I—I just got caught up with Marco,” she beamed, relief coursing through her.

“Well, uh, Cris wants to talk to you, asked me to come get you,” he nodded.

She latched onto that like a drowning woman. “Oh, I better go then, Maid of Honor stuff, you know—it was a pleasure talking with you, Marco, hopefully I’ll see you around,” she said, all in one breath, as she backed away, before immediately turning to follow her savior.

She blew out a breath, running a hand through her hair. “So, Cris wanted to talk to me, right?”

He clicked his tongue, glancing back to Marco, now on the prowl for his next hapless victim, “Not really, I just saw you looking like you would rather the Good Lord struck you dead then and there rather than continue talking with Marco.

But then again, most people tend to look like that when they talk with him.

So I decided to rescue you.”

She blinked. “Oh—well—thank you so much for the assist.

That was pretty good back there.”

“Not a problem, I’m used to coming in clutch.

And I am very good,” he winked, which made her huff a laugh as she fought the urge to tug the collar of her dress—how did it seem to get two or three degrees warmer just then?

He continued, sticking out his hand, “I’m Jake, Jake Seresin.”

She reciprocated the gesture, telling him her name, to which Jake replied, “Mmm, pretty name for a pretty girl.”

She rolled her eyes, “I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Can’t help it if it’s true,” he smirked.

God, why was it so hot?

Even for New Orleans, November had absolutely no right being this hot.

“So, uh, how do you know Cris?” she blurted, saying the first thing that came to mind.

“Through Javy,” Jake replied, referring to Cris’ older brother, “we—we’re both in the navy, but I’ve known the Machados for almost fifteen years,” he finished, almost bashfully.

At that moment, it clicked for her who Jake was; she’d seen him in the Machado Christmas photo for several years. “I know Javy’s a pilot, so, are you—”

“We prefer the term naval aviator—but yes, we both fly F-18s,” he finished, a somewhat smug and proud look on his face.

“Fighter jets, huh?

You any good?”

At this, he looked indignant. “‘Any good’?

I graduated number one in my TOPGUN class, you are looking at one of the best fighter pilots in this country.”

“Okay,” she nodded, a chuckle escaping her as she ducked her head, “my sincerest apologies.”

When she looked back up, she saw him turn to face the deck, rubbing the back of his neck, the stone on the ring on his right middle finger catching the light.

“Uh, apology accepted,” he murmured. “And er, Cris is up there on the deck if you wanted to talk to her anyway,” he gestured, turning to face her again.

Well, her romance novel moment was nice while it lasted.

“Ah, I know when I’m not wanted,” she nodded.

“No,” Jake literally yelped, garnering several glances, which made him rub the back of his neck again, “I mean, no, it’s, it’s not like that, I just thought that you might want to be around friends, not a random stranger.”

“Well, I’d hardly call you a random stranger—you did save me from Marco, so I’d say that at least puts you firmly in acquaintance territory,” she deadpanned.

An honest to God guffaw escaped him, and she couldn’t help but note the way it made the corners of his eyes crinkle.

When he got control of himself again, he breathed, “In that case, I am pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“Same here.”

Silence soon fell over them, but strangely, she didn’t feel it was in any way awkward—it felt almost easy, despite the inexplicable rising tension which she could feel beginning to draw tightly.

“Jerk!!!”

She whipped her head in the direction the call had come from, grinning when she saw the jumping figure of Cris, on the deck, as Jake said, who was waving her hand, beckoning her over.

“Bitch!!!” she eagerly called back, replying with the matching nickname she had for Cris, which the latter always joked Supernatural stole from them.

“Huh… so it is true, girls call each other that,” she heard, and she turned to see Jake watching her with a grin on his face.

“It’s a thing we have,” she brushed off, knowing that others might find that strange.

“Hey, no judgment here—I call my wingman Chicken or Big Dick.”

That actually made her splutter. “I’m going to need an explanation for those nicknames next time.”

He looked at her with an expression she couldn’t quite pin down. “‘Next time’, huh?

You uh, looking forward to a next time?”

“Yeah, if only to get an answer for why those nicknames for your wingman,” she breathed. “You’re going to be around—for the wedding, right?”

She tried not to sound too hopeful.

“I’m thinking I will be, and I think for the in between,” he stated, seriously.

“Okay, so I guess I’ll see you around, then.”

“I’ll be seeing you,” and he warmly nodded in a way that made her oddly think that if he were wearing a Stetson, he’d be tipping it to her, before going off towards the grill which was currently being manned by Mr. Machado.

She exhaled sharply, then began to ascend the stairs to the top of the deck, where she was immediately intercepted by Cris.

“I see you met Jake,” Cris grinned.

“Yeah, I did, it’s nice to finally meet the odd man out on your guys’ Christmas card,” she breathed, trying to keep her tone light.

“Mm-hmm,” Cris replied, an odd glint in her eyes. “You two looked… cozy.”

“I—he saved me from Marco, and I was making conversation, you know, but he was nice; a little cocky, but nice,” she replied, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“Uh-huh.”

That glint was unfortunately still present in Cris’ eyes, and she lightly shoved the other woman in the shoulder. “It’s not like that, you—you are just… projecting because you’re so stupid happy with Gabriel.

We literally had one conversation, for God’s sake.”

Her best friend poked her in the arm, “‘One conversation’ was how it started for me and Gabe.

And I’m not projecting, you and Jake looked very comfortable together.

And for another thing, you cannot tell me you did not notice how hot he is.”

“Cris!” she hissed, glancing around to see if Gabriel was around. “You are engaged!”

“I am an engaged woman, but I can admit when a man is hot as hell.

And Jake Seresin is hot as hell,” Cris stated, raising her eyebrows, looking expectantly at her.

At first, she just stared, not sure what Cris wanted from her, but when it clicked, she sighed, “Seriously?”

“Admit it.”

“I—” she pinched the bridge of her nose, “I—w—oh, fine.

Jake is hot.

Happy?”

“Very.”

And with a smile, Cris practically bounced over to the other side of the deck.

“Cris! Cris!” She hurried after her best friend, knowing the other woman was undoubtedly planning something. “What are you planning?” she called, soon catching up.

“Planning what?”

“My bestie here finally met Jake, Jav,” Cris beamed, turning to face her older brother.

“Ah, that’s good,” Javy nodded, before also catching the glint in his sister’s eyes. “Okay, glint, you have a glint, what happened?”

“I had one conversation with your friend, Javy, and Cris is blowing it all out of proportion,” she interrupted.

Unfortunately for her, Javy’s eyes lit up in what was practically a carbon copy of Cris’ expression. “Oh. Cozy?” he asked, addressing Cris.

“Very,” her best friend nodded.

“Huh.”

In what was an unnerving display of sibling synchronicity, they both looked at her with identical glints.

“No.

Absolutely not.

Whatever you two are planning, no.”

“What makes you think we’re planning anything?” Javy protested.

She offered them a raised eyebrow.

Javy sighed, “Cris wants you happy, I want my boy happy—you could be happy together!”

“No, I am not going to be matchmade at a wedding!

It’s a walking cliche!” she protested.

Cris and Javy looked at each other, some sort of understanding passing between them.

“Okay, fine, we won’t try to set you up with Jake,” Cris sighed.

“Thank you!”

That was a month ago, and well, if they weren’t going behind her back, and orchestrating things like puppetmasters, which was highly unlikely, she could only chalk the amount of times she’d been thrown together with Jake to fate.

She had been seated with him at every lunch and dinner they were both invited to, paired with him at every wedding-related event and activity, every friends and family outing.

And somehow, there was always one person extra in the outing, and somehow, Jake was always the one to drive her, and only her, in his rental.

If she were being honest with herself, she wasn’t going to complain, especially not when it led to easy conversations allowing her to see below the cockiness, to see and know Jake, and she definitely wasn’t going to complain when it came to the… very hands-on crash courses she received from him when it came to mini-golf and bowling.

She was only human, after all.

And now, after numerous dinners, wedding related events and activities, after getting to know and see him, she could honestly say that she was more than halfway in love with Jake Seresin.

But she was uncertain of where things stood with him.

Yes, he hadn’t looked once at the bridemaids and various women who’d been throwing themselves at him, but that wasn’t a guarantee of anything.

However, that didn’t stop her from taking pride in the somewhat dumbstruck, glazed way he looked at her as she stood there on the altar, his eyes only for her, even as Cris was walking in her very elegant and beautiful dress down the aisle of the church.

She couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at her like that.

The next time their gazes met, Cris and Gabriel had just been pronounced husband and wife, Gabriel dramatically taking Cris in his arms and dipping her before kissing her, to whoops and cheers.

She couldn’t help the way her eyes drifted to Jake, only to find that he was already looking at her, and she swore that that was longing she could see in his piercing gaze, but she couldn’t completely determine the expression before she had to follow Cris and Gabriel out of the church, and from there, they hadn’t seen each other.

Until he asked her to dance.

Now, as they moved on the dancefloor, all she was aware of was him, the feeling of his arms around her, his eyes gazing into her very soul, making heat like fire dance along her spine—but it wasn’t like a wildfire, relentless and uncontrollable.

Rather, it was like a cozy fire on a cold day, one you wanted to just lie down in front of—getting closer and closer until the fire seeped into your veins, into the very marrow of your bones, into your very soul.

And wasn’t that more dangerous?

The filament of her mind that was still cognizant of things, dimly registered that Jake was leading her fluidly and elegantly across the floor.

“You’ve got moves, Seresin,” she said.

The corner of his mouth tipped up. “Enduring two years of cotillion and being pressganged into filling in for uneven numbers at Annapolis’ Ballroom Club will do that to a person.” He gracefully spun her before pulling her back into him. “You ain’t half-bad either, counselor,” he drawled in that slow, southern style.

“I too, bear the scars of cotillion,” she smiled.

That provoked a chuckle and a smile from Jake—and like it always did, that smile did its level best to bring her to her knees.

It wasn’t the obnoxious shark-like grin he had when he was being annoying on purpose, nor the cutting, sarcastic one he used when he was knocking someone down a peg or two.

No.

This one, which she’d only seen directed at her, was like his whole soul was smiling, and it had an innocence about it, despite the fact that at first glance, this man seemed made for nothing but sin.

“Well, in that case, you’ve got very graceful and elegant scars.

And I must admit, I’ve never had such a beautiful woman dancing in my arms before.”

She couldn’t help but scoff and laugh incredulously.

“What?” Jake inclined his head.

“I don’t know if you’re bullshitting me or being honest with me, because I somehow can’t believe that I’m the most beautiful woman you, of all people, have danced with.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly. “What exactly do you mean?”

“You—you want me to spell it out?”

He hummed, “Let’s just say this witness would like a little leading here, counselor.”

She laughed, before sighing, “You, Jake Seresin, are… well—more than a little bit attractive, and I cannot believe that there wasn’t more than one pretty southern belle in your arms.”

He smirked wickedly, “You sayin’ I’m hot?”

Flustered, she exclaimed, “O—objection—hostile witness!”

“Overruled, witness will answer,” he easily parried.

“Th—that’s not your line.”

He playfully sniffed, “I’m still thinking I’d like an answer, there.”

“You’re killing me here,” she breathed, wanting to duck her head and hide, but in Jake’s arms, there wasn’t exactly any place to escape.

Jake leaned closer, pressing her against him, clouding her senses even more, as he ducked his head to murmur into her ear, his breath warm against her neck, “But you like it.”

She looked up at him, blindly following his lead, placing her trust in him to not let her fall flat on her face, and whispered, “You’re trouble, Jake Seresin.” She shook her head, picked up the frayed threads of her wit and courage, and plowed on. “Yes, I think you are more beautiful than any man has a right to be.

And not just because of the way you look.”

Jake, who had been wearing a somewhat smug expression during her declaration, froze at her last sentence. “That’s new.”

“What?”

“Someone seeing more than a pretty face here,” he replied incredulously.

“I’d kind of have to be blind to not see it, but, I’ve seen what you’ve shown me—what you’ve let me see, and while I won’t presume to completely know you already, I… I like what I see; in every way.”

Some sort of emotion broke in his eyes, something the shadowed dancefloor didn’t really allow her to see clearly, but he murmured, “Dance with me?”

“We already are,” she smiled gently.

“I mean…” he strangely foundered, before continuing, “may I fill your dance card, counselor?”

Teenage her wouldn’t believe what was happening. “Won’t it be boring, dancing with me all night long?”

“Don’t care.

May I?

Only if you please.”

They danced through a more brightly lit area, and she saw the honesty in his piercing sea foam eyes.

In that moment, something told her that if she said no, she’d regret it for the rest of her life, leaving her longing for one more dance. “Well, looks like I’m yours for the night.”

Jake blinked, a rough chuckle escaping his mouth. “You are, huh?”

“Not—not like that—I—” she stammered.

He laughed this time, full and loud, “Relax, counselor, I don’t make it a habit of taking what I’m not given.

I was raised a good Christian boy, after all.”

“Didn’t even know the word good was in your vocabulary,” she breathlessly replied.

“Oh, don’t you remember, counselor,” he leaned in, voice dipping low, making everything fade into the background, “I am good—I’m very good.”

Her breath hitched, and he swept her across the floor, the two of them dancing the night away.

An hour and a half later, the night was wrapping up, and it was time to send the new Mr. and Mrs. Nievara to their honeymoon suite in the hotel upstairs.

She and Jake promptly got separated, eventually finding herself in the press of women lined up for the bouquet toss.

She personally disliked it because it baffled her how a literal bunch of flowers could turn a group of women into feral cats.

So, she was determined not to reach for it, no matter what.

Cris walked to the center of the dancefloor, and counted down. “Three, two, one!!”

In the space between one blink and the next, a massive bouquet of red roses was in her arms, and she couldn’t help but gawk.

Most of the women cheered as they dispersed—though some sent her dirty looks—while Cris approached her, beaming from ear to ear. “Thank you so much, Jerk, I don’t know how I would have been able to make it through without you.”

She clasped Cris’ arms, “It was my pleasure, Bitch.

Now you go get some rest with that husband of yours—” she paused, considering, before finishing with a wink, “or not.”

Cris just laughed, “You too—don’t think that I didn��t notice who you danced with—or rather, who you danced the night away with.”

She scoffed, but Cris whispered, “You do know the tradition behind the bouquet toss, right?”

“Cris—”

“I’m not saying you’re going to be walking down the aisle with him any time soon, but what I am saying, is let things play out, you never know.”

She stared at Cris’ earnest face for a beat, before slapping her lightly on the arm. “You’re so in love, it’s fried your brain.”

“I’m thinking yours is too.

Think about it.”

And with a final hug, all the guests cheered as Gabriel carried Cris out of the ballroom.

Soon after, she was hanging around Candice-Marie, the wedding planner, trying to help in any way she could, but the kindly older woman, with whom she’d been working closely leading up to the wedding, shooed her off, saying, “You go on now, you’ve done enough, sweetheart.

I can handle this.

You go enjoy the rest of your night with your handsome gentleman,” she winked.

She didn’t even have time to reply, or to be shocked, before she was swiftly left alone in the middle of the dancefloor.

She turned, blinking, seeing Jake slowly walking onto the dancefloor to stand before her. “So… looks like it’s just you and me, counselor.”

“Certainly looks that way, Lieutenant.”

He mock-winced. “What happened to ‘Jake’, I thought we were getting along so well.”

She couldn’t help her laugh. “I’m sorry—Jake.”

He fleetingly grinned, before turning serious. “So…”

“So… no plans for a… wild night with Javy?

Night’s still young… ish.”

“He can survive without me.

On the ground, at least,” he teased, inclining his head. “So it looks like my dance card’s empty.

I’m all yours.”

“Oh, are you?” she said, poorly concealing her laughter, at the way the tables had turned from earlier.

He looked at her, wondering what was funny, and she got to see his lightbulb moment. “I—I did not mean it that—I mean—unless—I—I mean—I’m—I’m just going to shut up, now,” he lamely finished.

“That was incredible and adorkable.”

“I’ve been called many things in my life, but never adorkable.”

“First time for everything, I guess.” The moment hung for a beat, before she continued, “Well, you’re in for a pretty boring night, then, because I am exhausted, and I am going to go up to my hotel room,” she sighed.

A frown creased his brow. “You live in New Orleans, and yet you rented a hotel room.”

“I am what, again?”

Jake clicked his tongue, an expression like he was berating himself on his face. “Exhausted.”

It was late, she’d had a couple of drinks (though that excuse was wearing a little thin, given that she’d drank them hours ago), so she allowed herself to be a little silly, and she whipped out double finger guns. “Star witness, here.

But… you can walk me to my room.”

His eyes lit up, and he extended his elbow in the old-fashioned way. “Lead the way, madam.”

They slowly walked out of the ballroom, moving towards the elevator bank.

It was a decent walk, and it was done in a comfortable silence, during which she narrowly kept herself from leaning her head against his arm.

When they arrived at the elevator bank, there was still a decent crowd of people from the wedding stood there, which made her groan. “This is going to take forever.”

“If you’re up for more of a walk, there’s another elevator bank up on the mezzanine,” Jake offered.

A despairing look up at him. “Stairs?”

“Stairs.

But you’ll be in your room sooner.”

She deliberated. “Fuck it—stairs.”

This time, she followed him up the grand oak staircase, wincing with each step—no matter how broken in a pair of heels were, at a certain point, they all became instruments of torture.

At the top of the stairs, she saw that there was blessedly, no one around, but the thought of walking one more step in her heels was a bridge too far, and she tugged Jake towards the mezzanine railing. “Wait, let me take these off.”

Keeping one hand on the wood rail, she eased the strap of her heel out of the buckle, when she overbalanced, and lurched forward.

Strong hands caught her to a firm chest, and she looked up into his verdant eyes, her whole being caught.

“God, but I really want to kiss you right now, counselor,” he rasped, his voice, pure tone draped in yearning.

“Technically, I don’t kiss on the first date,” she instinctively spoke, and she could see his gaze shutter as he began to loosen his grip slightly, when she drew him even closer, pulling him in by fisting her hand in the lapel of his black velvet suit jacket. “But… technically… we’ve already had so many first dates, haven’t we?”

It took him a moment, but she could literally see the shutters on his gaze being flung open, being replaced by a mischievous sparkle. “We have, haven’t we.”

“Hard to see a reason why you shouldn’t kiss me, in that case.”

He smiled, the innocence of his little boy’s smile contrasting with the smoldering desire in his viridian eyes.

The next thing she knew, Jake’s lips were on hers, and he was kissing her.

In a split second, the fire that had warmed her very soul, now rushed through her blood, consuming everything that wasn’t Jake Seresin, until the only coherent thought was of him.

If not for his arms around her, the deep, searching caress of his mouth on hers was enough to bring her to her knees then and there, his kiss a new religion.

The kiss lasted a moment, it lasted eternity, but she knew that from that point on, she’d never have enough—he’d always leave her longing for more.

The breath which so rudely surged into her lungs seemed like poor recompense for his kiss.

Jake looked about as wrecked as she felt, his lashes fluttering over half-lidded eyes, his forehead leant against hers. “An absolutely stunning, whip-smart woman who sees me and likes it, with a gorgeous smile and laugh—damn, I think I’ve found the reason my dance card’s going to be full for the foreseeable future,” he murmured.

A sound between a chuckle and a gasp of air slipped from her lips as a thrill raced through her.

“Only if you please though,” he added, a teasing note in his voice.

“I very much please,” she replied.

“Yeah?”

God, his smile—screw halfway in love—her heart was his through and through.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Now kiss me again.”

Jake chuckled, “Well, since you asked so nicely, how can I refuse?”

He kissed her again, and in that kiss, forever laid at her feet, spread out before her.

What does it say about me that I know exactly what model Ray-Bans Glen used in TG:M?

😂

I did totally take the the “Jerk. Bitch.” interaction from Supernatural.

If you look at the nametags in TG86, below the names, you’ll see “TOPGUN 1”, so I’m going to assume there’s more than one TOPGUN class/session in a year, at least in the TG/TG:M universe.

There’s a headcanon going around that Jake and Javy were either tied, or one and two respectively, in their TOPGUN class, so I went with that.

(I headcanon that Bradley and Natasha were in the same TOPGUN class, and Natasha was number one, while Bradley was number two.)

I vacillate between Old Money!Jake and Working/Middle Class!Jake on a fairly regular basis, but for the purposes of this story, I went with Old Money!Jake.

Apparently, cotillion is still alive and well in Texas, so Jake having that experience is highly plausible.

USNA does have a Ballroom Club, although, like with most things in fanfiction, I might be taking liberties with the time of its establishment, because I don’t know when that got started.

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[obae-me]

A Taste of His Own Medicine- Simeon

Guess who's back, back again, back with sick-fic posts again! Sorry that it's taken me a god-awful amount of time to post an update after my little teaser. Life often has a way of trying to ruin things, but I'll be damned if I don't manage to claw my way out of the depths to finish my works one inching crawl at a time! Anyways, I pray that this was worth the wait! Please, enjoy!

Peace. These last few days, the whole of the Devildom seemed to be experiencing a lull of sorts. Curses, vengeful items, creatures from another world, monsters, mania, and overall magical mayhem felt as if they were in hibernation. Or at least giving you a wide berth. Or perhaps the brothers were repaying your sympathies, beating back problems with several well-intentioned sticks. A much needed break in your opinion. The stars shone brighter, and you had never slept deeper. It was quite like being on vacation despite you still spending most of your time holed up in the House of Lamentation. Even the brothers appeared to be quarreling less than usual. You’d even be tempted to say they were getting along. Yes…there was nothing exactly like this feeling of peace. You continued to rub the towel against the back of your head and neck as you moved down the hall, feeling nice and refreshed after a calming shower. It was rather late into the evening. Dinner was over with and everyone in the House had mostly moved into their respective rooms to get ready for the night. The last week or so had been so normal and blissful, you had completely forgotten about the several ‘events that shall-not-be-named’; a cheap title coined by the brothers to stave off embarrassment. One which you gladly accepted to avoid the risk of superstitiously summoning more incidents. There was something about fine health that you had forgotten to feel grateful for. In fact, you were quite excited to have another moment where you could just jump straight into bed, kick back, and enjoy the silence of the night.

So, with a gentle push of your door, you waltzed happily inside your room.

“Ah, there you are.”

The random sound of another voice had your muscles all jolt. You clutched at non-existent pearls (the towel would have to serve as ample replacement) as you caught your breath. A white head of hair and a small blond one. Two members of a home different than yours. Not exactly undesirable faces, but definitely unexpected ones. They both were sitting on your bed, feeling right at home as they set up a movie on your television, already in pajamas. As you raised an eyebrow, your eyes wandered down to two packed day-bags.

“I… Welcome?” There was clear confusion in your voice as you addressed them. Not to be rude or anything, but this was…your room as so many people seemed to forget. Maybe you should look into getting a plaque for your door… Plus, it wasn’t quite like these two to just show up unannounced. Solomon maybe, but Luke? Did they forget to invite you to a sleepover? A late-night tea party perhaps? The other human was hard at work getting himself settled and relaxed. On the other hand, the angel was avoiding your gaze a little, acting more fidgety than normal. “You both are here…why exactly?” you couldn’t help but ask.

At your question, the two guests looked at each other for a moment, like they were trying to determine who would answer. Both of them were stubbornly staring into each other’s souls. With a little bit of irritation, you cleared your throat, glaring at the more grown of the bunch. The sorcerer glanced back up at you and conceded. A little shrug was followed by a more slumped position as he leaned back against your pillows and started the show. To others, he would’ve come off as unbothered, but luckily you had come to know him better than that. There was a subtle frustrated tone to his voice, his limbs a bit stiff like he didn’t want to be resting, and his eyes seemed to be unfocused. There was something on his mind that was upsetting him, so his actions were attempting to overcompensate for his worries. “Let’s just say that the Hall is a little bit…overtaken at the moment.”

With a shake of your head, you sighed. One side shuffle brought you to stand in front of the screen in an attempt to get him to look at you. “That doesn’t tell me much of anything.” Begrudgingly, the movie was paused.

Then the angel spoke up. Luke stuttered at first, but then managed to find his words. A pillow was held tightly in his lap as he clutched it for comfort. “It’s Simeon! He- He’s been cursed!”

Panic seemed to flood your body. Your eyes went wide and your jaw opened just enough to prepare yourself for demanding more information. Cursed? Was it dangerous? Was he in trouble? Why were they both just sitting around when you all could be helping?! Or was it so bad that they had to escape to safety? However, before you lost yourself to stress, Solomon raised a hand. “Not a curse.” He rubbed away an itch at the end of his nose with one finger. “At least, I’m fairly positive it’s not.”

Luke didn’t appear entirely convinced. “But he’s…” Before finishing his thought, he just went silent. It was clear he was very concerned for his guardian, but didn’t know how to go about fixing it.

“In my expert opinion,” the human continued, “I believe he’s simply not feeling well.” A bitter sensation crossed over your tongue. “I noticed he was acting strangely a few days ago, but any time I tried to pry information out of him, he turned me down. And quite cleverly turned my attention elsewhere, might I add.” Familiar actions started to leave an itch in your brain. A creeping sort of dread covered your skin. But, as soon as you started to notice these details, you shook your head, flinging them off of you. Now wasn’t the time to be feeling that way. Solomon continued to explain the situation. “And then he began to…how do I put this? Become rather obsessive.” He narrowed his eyes a little and glanced downwards, looking at nothing in particular. “I didn’t think anything of it at first…” All the sudden, he sighed, his playful mask falling and turning quite somber and serious. “Simeon’s always been caring, clean, and precise, but its been as if those traits have been kicked up to exuberant levels. It started with just some extra angelic doting- you know how he is-, and then just a few hours ago, Simeon took it upon himself to start tearing the entirety of Purgatory Hall apart to deep clean it.”

Luke made a sad sort of sound, one that broke your heart. “We tried to help so it would go faster and be easier, but he wouldn’t let us.”

“Stubbornness isn’t inherently a demonic or mortal trait, it would seem,” Solomon quipped. “I tried talking him into getting some rest, but he didn’t appear to hear me. And I was…dissuaded from casting any spells.”

Two little eyebrows scrunched up in irritation. “No using magic on Simeon! He always tells us that we shouldn’t force someone into doing what they don’t want to do!” But, even as Luke exclaimed it, he couldn’t help but let a bit of shuddering doubt slip into his voice.

“Well…” The immortal man appeared a bit guilty. “I just hope he doesn’t get himself into trouble trying to potentially clean my room…”

That dug in a different sort of fear… You glanced at the both of them and sighed, glancing out the window. Simeon… If he wasn’t feeling well, why was he trying to convince everyone otherwise? Well, the reason why didn’t particularly matter. If this was…him being sick, he needed rest. The angel probably knew that deep down, but maybe it had been too long since he put his needs above anyone else’s. You’d just have to remind him that self-care wasn’t inherently selfishness. Enough of your own self-pity! You had been given enough of a break. Besides, since when did you get the chance to take care of an angel, especially one so kind and lovely at that? Yes! You were back in business! “Alright!” you exclaimed a little too loudly, almost making your guests jump. “Leave him to me!”

Solomon processed your words before he smiled. “I knew we could count on you.” Cheeky little… So that was why they were here in your room and not over at the castle which had enough rooms to house a gala. Ah well, he could be lectured later.

“Try not to destroy my own room while I’m gone…”

“No promises!"

After a short jog- more like a speed walk- you were in front of Purgatory Hall. For some reason, you expected some sort of… cursed aura to spring from the place, but it stood as it normally did. Fingers crossed that the lack of one meant that Simeon had yet to get his hand on any of the myriad of dangerous items Solomon possessed. Hands tucked inside the pockets of your jacket, you approached the front door. Part of you wanted to immediately let yourself in, but you kept yourself restrained. Not only was knocking first good manners, but you also weren’t quite sure of the state Simeon was in. Hopefully an easier one than the brothers had been. Your knuckles drummed the door a few times. There was no answer. You attempted the doorbell next. Aside from the haunting ringing echoing inside, there was nothing… Normally, that would’ve been concerning, but if you tilted your ear near the door, you could clearly hear some ruckus inside. Sounded like the tooth-achingly familiar squeak of furniture being moved across the hardwood floors. Once more you knocked. “Hello? Simeon? Can you hear me?” The following silence spoke volumes. “I’m coming in then,” you warned, giving the angel a few more moments before opening the front door.

Stepping inside the entrance hall, you could feel floods of angelic magic filling the halls, along with the smell of several cleaning products and also…cookies? The sugary scent mingling with the chemically one made your stomach churn a bit. The sight was also rather overwhelming. When Solomon mentioned the Hall being torn apart, you thought perhaps he was being melodramatic. However, one glance from by the door suggested otherwise. Furniture was pushed from their spots and tipped over, paintings were pulled off of walls and laid out on the floor, blankets and towels and sheets and cloths and clothes were hanging to dry on wires that were strung back and forth in zig-zag patterns across the walls. No wonder Solomon and Luke absconded away.

“Simeon?” You called out again, ducking under some of the clothes as you pushed through the rest of the dorm. The sound of rather aggressive cleaning seemed to get louder as you approached the kitchen, the obnoxious noise of clanging silverware making you cringe.

The kitchen was in a rather right state. Cupboard doors thrown open, every single item pulled off the shelves, a worrisome teetering stack of dishes- that already looked clean, mind- piled in the sink. The room was much too bright, your eyes rapidly blinking as your brain mistakenly thought of sunlight. It took you longer than you’d like to admit to remember you were in the Devildom. The more you adjusted your focus, the more it became apparent that Simeon was the source of the radiance. It was hard to see him clearly, worried about the effects staring right at him would have on your vision. You walked further into the kitchen, stepping over several glistening feathers and loose parchment with scribbled works from his next project. Heat radiated out in all directions, feeling as if you were wading through a sauna.

Several times you called out to him, trying to announce your presence but not even getting a huff of acknowledgment from him. In fact, it seemed that he was completely oblivious to anything in general. The only thing he could do was flit about the room in a panicked state, his fingers raw from all the scrubbing and work he was doing. Some kind of stress response? “Simeon!” The voice that trembled its way from your throat was more frightened than you meant it to sound. But it couldn’t be helped. You had never seen Simeon quite like this before. Was it simply angelic duty intensified by a thousand? A cleanliness is next to godliness sort of deal? Or maybe he was too similar to Lucifer in the sense that he needed to fulfill some sense of obligation to feel ‘normal’. Who knew? It certainly didn’t matter in this moment. Your feet closed the distance between you two in seconds, leaping against him, arms tightening around the angel’s waist. Simeon’s body jolted as your forehead pressed against the skin of his exposed back. Much like the brothers when they had gotten sick, Simeon was much hotter than he should be. It nearly hurt you just to embrace him like this, quite like having your face much too close to an open flame. But you’d deal with it for just a little longer. “Please… Just stop for a moment.”

The hug seemed to put a screeching halt to his momentum. He’d probably been running on fumes for hours now, knowing that the moment he stopped was the moment he would collapse. Even now, his legs were shaking, his body working into overdrive just to keep himself steady. He wobbled and clutched onto one of the kitchen counters. The Celestial light in the room started to dim a little. “MC?…” Finally, he seemed to notice you. “I’m sorry…I didn’t hear you come in. S-Sit down…I’ll get you something to drink.” He attempted to shift in your grasp.

Your hold on him tightened, your fingers curling into the fabric of his warm clothes. You cleared your throat, trying to eliminate the earlier squeak in your voice. “You won’t be doing anything.” Even if you had felt like playing along, you had to wonder how he would do anything with the state the kitchen was in. It was all you could do to keep from imagining that giant pile of plates toppling down on top of him.

“I… Well, at least let me finish up in here. I don’t want to leave it like this for Solomon and Luke.”

Your eyes softened even though he wasn’t facing you. He really was out of it, wasn’t he? “They’re not here, Simeon.”

His back stiffened against you. “W-What?”

“They’re not here,” you reiterated, releasing your arms from around his sides and coming around to face him. Taking in his countenance sunk your heart. His well-kept hair was frazzled and flat, his skin dry, hands calloused. Ink and grime coated the inside of his fingernails. Typically, his eyes held a particular light in them, a small halo around his irises, but now that light was gone, dulled. “They came over to the House of Lamentation to tell me what was going on. They’re still there, worried for you…”

With that revealed to him, his face twisted into remorse. “They left? Because of me?… I didn’t mean…” A sigh left his chest as he stepped behind you, stuffing his hands into two oven mitts as he pulled a sheet of freshly baked cookies out of the oven behind you. “I’ll at least go take these to them…” Even now he was still thinking about caring for others…

“Simeon.” With his name being called, he looked over his shoulder at you. You reached out and took both his wrists in your grasp, taking the mitts off his hands. After you put them on the counter- which was positively gleaming, by the by - you found yourself acting impulsively bold. Without thinking, your touch went to his cheeks, feeling the flush beneath his skin. You gently guided his head down to lean on your shoulder. You tilted your cheek to press against his temple, your palm tenderly resting on the back of his neck. For a moment, there was silence. A comfortable, knowing silence. “I know it might be rather shocking to discover, but those two can handle themselves. At least for a little while.” You managed to chuckle, but he didn’t seem to find it amusing. Or maybe he was simply feeling too miserable to muster any mirth. “Listen…don’t you start feeling guilty over stepping back from those responsibilities for a little while. Your worth isn’t measured by your output…if that makes sense…I’m not the best at impactful speeches. You understand where I’m getting at, don’t you? And you understand that I’m dragging you to bed regardless, right?”

Two arms wrapped around you and ran up your back. “You’re right…”

Despite the situation, you managed a big grin. “Yes, I am,” you chimed. “Let’s go now.” You took one of his hands firmly in yours, leading him through the labyrinth of his own making and towards his room. Unfortunately, his domain didn’t seem to escape the chaos. So, you sat him in a chair and worked to try to get things mostly in order. You pushed the bed-frame back up against the wall, plugged the side lamp back into the socket behind the nightstand, found the bedding hung up in the hallway, and even went so far as to fluff the pillows. When you proudly turned back towards the angel with your hands on your hips, you saw that while you were busy, he had discarded his shoes, cloak, and gloves.

Simeon pushed himself out of the chair and up on his feet, his hand curling around his forehead as he staggered towards the bed. You held out your arms precautiously. He practically flopped onto the mattress, his face temporarily buried into the comfort of a crisp cold pillow. It pained you to see him like this, and you had the sinking feeling that he was expending most of his efforts to hide as much of the sickness from you as he could. A few of your fingers worked on pushing some of the hair from his face. Even his locks were rather toasty. At the very least, he took in a nice deep breath. “Is it wrong…” he started, his voice drifting into a whisper, “…that I’m happy you’re here?”

Those words left you frozen for a while. You just stared down at him, resisting the urge to just hop into bed next to him and hold him next to you. “Why would it be wrong?”

“I…remember how tired you looked.” Your eyes went a little wide at his answer. “I remember thinking at the time how unfair it must’ve been for you. But then…when I first started feeling…under the weather…” His eyes glanced up at you, his arm twitching against his sheets like he had half a mind to reach out for you. “All I could think of was how nice it would be to have you here with me…”

Your lips parted as you went to speak, but no words came out. Guilt swirled in your soul a little. Had he really kept this all hush just for your sake? If that were the case though, he would’ve told the other members of Purgatory Hall, surely. He was partially right though, with the fact that it would do no one good if you wrung yourself dry trying to help someone else. Finally, you sat by his side in bed, pulling a cooled sheet over his body and rubbing his taut shoulders. “I did seem to go a little overboard in the care-taking aspect when the brothers all turned ill, you’re right… But, you can rest assured that I won’t push myself too hard by taking care of you… After all, you wouldn’t let me do such a thing, would you?” His expression seemed to brighten, taking hold of your hand and pressing it against his own face as he shook his head. “And don’t you worry. Tomorrow I’ll be summoning Solomon and Luke back home to help put the Hall back in one piece. So for now,” you leaned forward and embraced him, nearly cradling his head against your body, “rest, and prepare to be fully cared for just as you deserve.”

[loveandleases]

Due to this anon, I'm no longer accepting asks from anonymous posters. The first time they sent a similar message I deleted it. Thinking it was a one-off. Clearly, that was not the case, and I don't need to reiterate the fool me once/fool me twice quote. I'm going to post this, and then block the person. If this comes off as rude know it isn't intentional, I don't have the energy to deal with this. (also they will be blocked)

⦁ You're rude. You're welcome. ⦁ You're wrong. This isn't my first relationship, I ensure that when I post something I do something called "tag" the posts. In fact, I've even gone so far as to add more tags to posts for people. I'll even include a link to a page that will tell you how to block tags/content. https://help.tumblr.com/hc/en-us/articles/115015814708-Tag-and-Post-Content-Filteringfact, ⦁ It was never stated on either post how or where I would bite my girlfriend. I want to point out that biting is not inherently a sexual thing. I'm not forcing you to read these updates.

You could just as simply scroll by them. You chose not to. You chose to instead come to my ask box under the disguise of being anonymous and state your two cents worth, talk down to me as if I'm just some youthful teen. (I'm a 33-year-old woman.). Not only that, but your comments are technically also about my girlfriend's post. You know what I'm not okay with? I'm not okay with you coming to a blog, and talking about a private person's post. As if you're better than them? As if you have some right to censor what not only they post but I post as well. You can have your issue with me because I'm well aware not everyone is going to like this post/the if, the characters etc. I will not allow you to talk badly about my relationship, my partner, their beliefs etc. I can respect if that's not something you want to read about, see above: tag. Maybe cater your Tumblr for things you do want to see? I can respect your opinion, but that doesn't mean I have to take it and simply move on, yet again. I highly suggest going out touching some grass, maybe talking to your mom or your best friend, because I also don't need or want these updates~

[oops-prow-did-it-again]

New Phyrexia disturbed me - and not how it should have

This is going to be a VERY opinion-heavy post. Before I say anything, I want to make it abundantly clear that I am not condemning the entirety of the New Phyrexia arc, nor am I saying that the people who wrote these stories meant for them to be taken this way. This is just a post getting into why the New Phyrexia arc rubbed me the wrong way again and again, and why it's... kind of ruined my love for Magic, if I'm completely honest.

Also, yes, I understand that New Phyrexia was meant to horrify and unsettle people - but I feel like it unsettled me in ways that they kind of weren't going for. I expect horror to unsettle me and show me some fucked up shit, for lack of a better terminology - but I also was expecting, in the fantasy/scifi horror shit, I'd get some stuff that didn't feel like it hit so close to home.

More under the cut.

First of all, it has always felt as if Magic can never quite decide if Phyrexians are people or monsters. This is worsened in New Phyrexia, where time and time again, we are given reason to think that New Phyrexians are people that are simply heavily indoctrinated from birth. Yes, the glistening oil works in strange ways, and they have somewhat of shared knowledge amongst their entire network, but by and large, you see time and time again, that Phyrexians have individuality. This seems intentional - you are shown from the start that Elesh Norn is an egomaniac, a fool, and that her plans of grandeur are insane. But her insanity shapes this world.

In that way, everyone in this world are... mostly actually victims of her insanity. Ixhel and Urabrask on New Capenna stand out as examples of times where Phyrexians show that they are not the heartless monsters they are made out to be. In Urabrask's first cards, he claims that he wishes the Mirrans to be left alone.

Yet, in ONE, we see time and time again that red Phyrexians and Mirrans are fighting still, Urabrask doesn't seem to be paying that much attention to the Phyrexians, and... frankly, I don't know what the Halo subplot was supposed to be about (forgive me, if this was addressed in passing, I only skimmed the latter half of MOM to see what big things happened, because i was so upset with it at that point I didn't really WANT to read it anymore). Yes, I have read the creators saying time and time again that just because Urabrask doesn't say outright he wants the multiverse compleated, it doesn't mean it's not what he wants, deep down. However... this still harks back onto one idea.

Sapient creatures being born evil.

This is a trope that I LOATHE in fantasy/scifi to my core. I understand that Phyrexians, for all intents and purposes, are created in a monstrous fashion. They are not created in a similar way to people. However, in the end, they still ACT LIKE PEOPLE. They have individuality, free will (yes, even if it is limited by the strict theocratic control of Norn, they still have it - how did Ixhel create, otherwise? How did Sheoldred rebel? Why did Nahiri snap at Nissa to show the skyclaves? Why did Tamiyo freeze upon seeing children?), and whether you like it or not, this makes them people. They are extremely different people, and yes, their existence does present conflict - but they. are. still. people.

I understand how it may feel offensive to real people to call the (rightful) fear and concern towards Phyrexians to be racism, as I feel like that waters down the term. However... again, knowing that Phyrexians are largely a cult that has been severely indoctrinated by Elesh Norn... it becomes difficult not to feel bad for them, and as if they have all been written off simply because they have a terrible leader. It comes across, to me, as another case of fantasy racism; similar to orcs being portrayed as idiot, warmongering beasts in some settings, or goblins being portrayed as stupid people little better respected than animals (and full of antisemitic stereotypes), just with less baggage attached.

It comes across as them having wanted to create a sapient race of people that was okay to bash and throw under the bus, so to speak. And yes, they gave plenty of reasons for why these people needed to go... but ultimately, it still feels like people went out of their way to create a civilization of people and show us justification for exterminating them.

I'm not trying to water down the term racism, but like... maybe I don't know the right words, but you understand why that might be uncomfortable, right?

Furthermore, at the start, I thought the transformative nature of Phyrexians was cool. Hot, even, as plenty others here on Tumblr think. Yes, I always sort of knew it was meant to be horrifying, too... but I also thought that the creators also were making them semi-alluring on purpose. (Look at Elesh Norn in promotional art. Look at her in the ONE trailer!! Look at the email they sent out for Arena on Valentine's Day, for god's sake!) But as time goes on... I start to get this uncomfortable feeling that this borderline sensual, sexual tension the Phyrexians produce is supposed to be PART of the horror.

And that's where things start getting uncomfortable for me. I am a transgender man. I don't know if I like sexualized, different people that transform themselves... being treated as horrible monsters that can't be coexisted with. I know plenty of trans people felt otherwise about Phyrexians; I understand this likely wasn't even the intention. BUT it still felt that way to me, for someone living in a country where trans people are getting more and more hunted on the daily.

Suddenly, it wasn't so fun anymore, to look at Elesh Norn and see her as heehoo sexy dommy mommy everyone joked at her being. It felt, to me at least, like she was a caricature of what I was. Of what people like me are. Monstrous. Out to destroy the world. Egomaniacs who want to force others down our same "lifestyle."

This is not helped by how Strixhaven, despite being an obvious play on Hogwarts & Harry Potter, came back into importance in MOM. They made a new Planeswalker from that plane, even! I loathe Strixhaven, and I was not at all pleased to learn that they have made it more important. The stories from the original Strixhaven set make me uncomfortable, too; Lukka arrives at a tavern and is asking for food, as he is not doing so well, and people comment on how he dresses strange, and when he (not rudely!) tells them they wouldn't know where he's from even if he told them, they react by SHOOTING FIREBALLS AT HIM.

These people saw a stranger. And decided the appropriate reaction was to shoot fireballs. (More on Lukka later, as I'm not done with him yet) but you understand how that might have also been deeply uncomfortable, right? Like yes, it did seem very intentional, to show how unkind the general populace of Arcavios can be... but there never seemed to be any point to that?? So it just came across as people hating a guy for dressing unconventionally for ""flavor"" to the very-obviously-based-on-TERF-school set. Which. WHY?

I also was not blind to how most of the compleated Planeswalkers were the nonhuman ones. Barring Lukka and Jace, every compleated Planeswalker was nonhuman, which I think... was done purposefully, because nonhumans are viewed as inherently more "monstrous" to our primal little monkey brains. (I don't think it was coincidence; there are PLENTY of human planeswalkers, to the point the majority could have easily not been human.) But this makes me uncomfortable too, because it feels like it, again, not only implies that Phyrexians are not people and are monsters (even though they had been given traits again and again that very firmly confirmed them as people), but that these nonhuman planeswalkers are inherently more monstrous, too.

Ajani - leonin. Tamiyo - moonfolk. Tibalt - (half) devil. Nissa - elf. Vraska - gorgon. Nahiri - kor.

And of the human Planeswalkers compleated, they chose Lukka and Jace. Jace, who has had a steep history of being viewed as less than human and little more than a tool (even sometimes by himself, as much as he hates it), and Lukka, who was also viewed as less than human by the society he came from, and was essentially labeled a sick dog to be shot on sight by his home city. (But more on him and why I particularly hate what was done with him later.)

And like... I'm not saying that corruption arcs or that transformation horror can't be done in a tasteful way!! It just started to feel like, as time went on, that this stuff was... malicious. I already was uncomfortable with how Phyrexians were seemingly being set up to be offed or taken out the picture completely (for there being no feasible way for them to coexist in the multiverse), so maybe I was looking for flaws, even where most wouldn't see them. But, I mean.. it just... Idk man. That part, too, gets under my skin.

And Lukka. LUKKA. I loathe what has been done to his character like none other. It is frequent fan interpretation that Lukka is stupid, Lukka deserves everything that has happened to him, and that it's a good thing he is gone. However, having read everything he has ever appeared in, I am so infuriated that even the creators THEMSELVES seemed to have bought into this idea.

For those that don't know, Lukka first appeared in Ikoria: Lair of Behemoths - Sundered Bond, a digital novella. He was born and raised in Drannith, a heavily militarized city, one of three so-called "sanctuaries" that have actually managed to stay around on Ikoria. Ikoria is a world of kaiju-esque mutated, crazy monster animals, and he was raised in propaganda by Drannith's military, the Coppercoats. He is 40+ years old when we meet him; he has served the Coppercoats for half of that, and then another 2 years or so as Captain of a Specials force team. You see, through him, that he's actually a very caring leader and a rather simple guy: he is betrothed to Jirina Kudro, the daughter of General Kudro, leader of the Coppercoats, and his concerns seem to only be getting his team back home in one piece and getting quality time with his wife. He's not perfect, he's rough around the edges, would probably be an asshole to hang out with in real life, but it FITS for the world he comes from.

And then, he accidentally bonds with a winged cat that slaughters 3/4 of his team in front of him, within minutes of each other. General Kudro has kept the bonding magic Lukka experienced a secret from Drannith populace. He believes it makes Lukka "sick." (Need I explain why a leader referring to a group of people as inherently 'sick' is bad??) Even Jirina, for as much as she apparently loves her father, so emphatically believes her father will kill Lukka for this that she helps him escape! the city!!!

To recap, Lukka has his entire world upended from beneath his feet in the course of like, a day. He becomes the public enemy of the city he has defended with his life for years. In his eyes, it is us (the humans of Ikoria) versus them (the monsters of the plane). This is how he has been raised and trained; he did not choose the bonding and is (rightfully!) upset and horrified at it (ONE was incorrect when it said he "always knew he was different;" lukka made no such acknowledgments in Sundered Bond, that was an invention of ONE). He later then meets Vivien, who tells him how her home plane was DESTROYED (um??? Vivien? Why would you tell a man whose life is going to shit about that??) which makes Lukka vow to himself that he will not lose his home.

Later in the story, Lukka learns of a presence in a particular crystal called the Ozolith, and he goes to it. There, for reasons that would take too long to explain, a three-way battle ensues, and an unknown Planeswalker reaches out to Lukka through the Ozolith. The Planeswalker shows Lukka one of the bonders he has met along the way getting killed by a skysail's bolt meant to kill monsters and it is only then that Lukka accepts the power of the Ozolith.

Anyway, saying all this to say... Lukka is a villain, yes. But contrary to popular belief, he is NOT stupid. He is just as smart as anyone would be in the situation he was put into, coming from the world he comes from. He wanted, again and again and again, nothing more than to just go home. He even tried to spin his bonding into a way that Drannith could defend itself, by telling Kudro they should use monsters instead of peoples' lives (but Kudro wasn't hearing it; and the kicker? Drannith would go on to use bonders & monsters to protect the city anyway, after Lukka had been run off the world).

Lukka had a SHIT deck of cards handed to him in Ikoria, and he - REASONABLY - lashed out. It was just that when he lashed out, he had the power of a Planeswalker manipulating him, whispering in his ear, and the power to actually make people listen. He believed his choices were come home and die like a good soldier, or force them to let him come home. Maybe other people fault him for that, but I don't fault him for choosing to live, even if doing so caused much violence and bloodshed.

But yes, he was still a villain, and in Strixhaven, he was relegated to villain again, when people once again presume him to be an Oriq - which he doesn't even know what that is - and finally, he simply decides that if everyone keeps calling him one, he might as well be one. This comes after nearly starving to death and having his new bond, Mila, save his life. Had someone from Strixhaven maybe, I don't know, taken pity on this very clearly struggling guy.... I don't know! I feel like his role in Strixhaven really never would have happened. THE GUY LITERALLY JUST WANTED FOOD AND WATER. I cannot emphasize that enough

Anyway, saying this all to say, Lukka's arc felt like it was headed toward a redemption of some kind. He had been given a raw deal, reacted very humanly but very poorly, and now, the only way he had to go was up.

Instead, we got Vivien shooting him dead. Calling him "lukka-thing." We got Vivien saying nothing as she faces down the man she called a friend and seemingly felt bad for by the end of Sundered Bond and killing him.

As someone from a country that is VERY obviously careening toward more VERY conservative bullshit... THAT PLOT DID NOT SIT WELL WITH ME. It felt VERY MUCH like I was being told "if you are born into shit circumstances or bad things are done to you, and you don't sit there and take it, you will be punished for not simply taking it. And that punishment may very well be death."

I especially did not care for how Jirina seemed to be veering into her father's mindset in the story in MOM. And yes, she was called out for this, but the story also seemed to be trying to lean into this "survival, no matter the cost" vibe, which seemed like it was subtly justifying what she did, since it DID technically work in the end. Vivien's emo ass "but survival is the only law out here now" or w/e it was she said to herself as she killed Lukka definitely didn't help that feeling, either.

It upset me very much to see a character born into a shitty society, given raw deal after raw deal, and then be told that he deserved to die instead of get help. Or worse, that dying WAS getting help. It was "putting him out of his misery." He was "irreversibly changed," and "didn't know better anymore," he "couldn't be helped." That, combined with how compleation started to feel like a very negative allegory for transgender people after a point to me (see near the beginning of this), made Lukka's death feel like rapidfire punch after rapidfire punch to the gut.

AND NOT IN THE WAY THAT IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN! I would have loved to see Vivien upset that she can't get to apologize. I would have loved to see Vivien agonizing over the decision to kill him. I would have loved her maybe showing some more REMORSE over having to do it, even if she did feel it was the only way forward. We have seen that New Phyrexians, especially compleated Planeswalkers, are still themselves, even while compleated, so the fact Lukka had nothing to say to her either felt hollow, too. He thought she was his friend and she turned on him; why didn't he have anything to say about that?

Urabrask being pulled apart at the limbs, then, felt like the final message to me: New Phyrexians are not people, they are monsters, end of discussion. They are not making it out of this. Stop asking/talking about it.

Suffice to say, by the time I got to the story of Elspeth becoming an archangel, everything felt hollow and gross for me. I've seen the promo art of Aftermath showing Nahiri and Nissa at least recovered; I get the feeling most of them, bar Tamiyo, Tibalt, and Lukka, probably have recovered or will recover.

But, frankly, I don't think I'm very invested anymore. New Phyrexia felt like it crossed a lot of lines, and not in the way that I would have appreciated horror to do so. It hit on a lot of sensitive subjects that made it rather difficult to enjoy as mere entertainment. Maybe I am just oversensitive, due to the day and age I am living in, due to the fact I am deeply unhappy with the fact I am forced to live closeted irl and feel hypervigilant of all slights, but it felt very gross to me.

Lukka's death in particular just... sealed the deal for me. I know he wasn't a big deal. Maybe he was always intended to just be a villain that gets killed off. But it's not even necessarily about him, in particular, it was about what his death represented. It was about how he was a product of propaganda and hatred, and how he was never given a chance to be better. it's about how I was told that death was the only way forward for him.

Maybe when I was 12 I would have liked that, but I'm over my obsession with the 'death is the only salvation.' SO MUCH MEDIA uses this trope, and frankly, I'm fucking sick of it.

I want to see people, even some of the most depraved fucking people you can imagine, getting better. I want to see that people can change and recognize the error in their ways. I'm tired of being told to look and see "us vs. them."

I'm not saying that you can't have conflict. But I am saying that if you're going to have conflict of this scale, I would prefer it to be solved in ways that don't essentially boil down to "kill/put away the Them."

Because that fucking blows.

If you've made it this far, I am grateful, but again, please keep in mind that this is the ramblings of a deeply mentally unwell ADHD-addled 22 year old (who is not on and cannot get Adderall right now). Emotional dysregulation IS a big problem I deal with, and the world I live in right now fucking sucks. If you're reading this going "oh my godd, let people enjoy things, you crybaby" then please just... move on? Because I'm not trying to tell people not to enjoy it, quite the contrary I WISH these things didn't bother me so much because I JUST got into Magic, and I would love to keep enjoying it! And Im happy for you if you have tolerance/could enjoy it through these things!

I'm just... sad. I'm very, very disappointed in this story. It was pretty, it was flashy, people clearly put in effort, but it felt like a low blow, all things considered, and worse, it touches literally all aspects of canon and cannot be safely disregarded. Much like War of the Spark, it affects almost everything, and will for a while yet.

[demaparbat-hp]

The issue is that you’re always giving Katara the bare minimum of her culture. In your AUs, she can’t have both a betrothal necklace and hair loopies - she either has to have one or the other. I couldn’t even tell that it was Katara in your Lee and Kya AU. I thought it was Jin.

I think it’s wrong to assume that anyone who has an issue with your Fire Nation Katara AUs are automatically jealous and bitter Zutara antis. Even having read all the context, your portrayal of Katara in the Hunters AU along with the caption makes me uncomfortable as a woc.

I know it seems like I'm always putting Katara, in specific, in an uncomfortable position. Maybe I am.

I love to explore what situations like those—being forced to hide who you are, always a foreigner, holding on to a single remnant of your identity (and doesn't that sound like Zuko?)—do to a character. I don't always get it right, but I don't think there is a right way to do it.

These are extremely sensitive subjects, I know, and they are important to me, too.

It is never my intention to make anyone feel uncomfortable with what I think or how I decide to express it. I'm genuinely sorry if I made you feel that way.

I love these fictional cultures. I love these characters. And I don't want to "give Katara the bare minimum of her culture", but putting her in a position, within the AU, where she is forced to have only said bare minimum has consequences that I feel compelled to explore. Not only with Katara, but also with Zuko, with Aang, with Iroh, with Sokka... They are all different characters and react to these issues differently, and that's so interesting to think about.

The Southern Water Tribe culture is dying. Katara's culture is dying, and my stories' intention is not to finish the kill—I want to see how, despite every single obstacle thrown in its way, Katara's culture survives. And if I have to let her keep only her necklace to do so, then so be it.

On the other hand, I never thought of you as an anti, nor was it my intention to treat you, or any other anon, like one. You have been nothing but respectful so far (am I right to assume you're the one who asked about Katara's cultural identity in the first place?), and I would be a hypocrite to demand said respect without giving it in return.

Antis are rude. Antis are spiteful. Antis mention colonizers and woc and domestic abuse without caring or knowing about what they're talking about. Antis tear you down to feel better about themselves.

I refuse to treat anyone like an anti unless they give me reasons to do so.

You are not an anti. You are a person who has legitimate concerns about how I tackle sensitive issues in my AUs and artwork. You disagree with me, and you state your reasons for doing so, because these themes are important to you, personally.

I don't expect anyone to readily agree with me on anything. My opinion is my own, with all the conflict and trouble it may bring me. But it is mine, and I will defend it. However, I'm also self aware enough to recognize when I'm wrong, and when I'm treading on dangerous ground.

Someone once told me I'm as neutral as a wall. They meant it as an insult, but I guess they're right.

Judging everyone for the actions of a few is not really my thing. I have only come across one single anti so far (fortunately). I'm not about to get on the defensive and start attacking everyone. Unless they deserve it.

[blissfulip]

Dopamine

on AO3

Viktor x f!reader

Rating: Explicit

Tags: enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, dubious science, mostly canon compliant, no use of y/n, chemist!reader, eventual smut, masturbation

Cw: Allusion to sexual themes, just general bickering on this one

Words: 1.8k

[A/N: I know this one took forever, sorry about that lmao, tags and content warnings to be updated in each chapter, updates weekly(ish). (also, let me know if you want to be tagged in fic updates!)]

Tags: @ihopeinevergetsoberr

Previous Next

Chapter 5: Rise to the occasion

“Wait,Viktor—” You said, trying to catch up to him since he stormed out of the Hextech lab, “We can’t just walk back in there together as if nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened.”

“I’m talking about us doing something well-nigh against academy rules; they will ask questions.”

“Oh, eh—you go in first."

The opportunity to counter was stolen from you and substituted by the cold touch of Viktor’s hands upon your back, jostling your body effortlessly through the library door. He came in behind you shortly after, and you thought the interval in between both of you walking in was not long enough to make a dent in the opinion of everyone watching.

“The interval in between both of us walking in was not long enough to make a dent in the opinion of everyone watching.”

“No one gives a hoot about where we might have gone; stop concerning yourself with their opinion."

It was virtually an ambuscade. When you sat back right where your book had been left and Viktor was on the chair opposite you, a friend and a foe together in liue of curiosity came without a warning and joined you. Asher seemed increasingly more annoyed than Lara, whom you suspected was simply thirsty for some quality gossip.

“So… you snuck out together, where to?” She asked with a shit-eating grin creeping up across her face.

“The dorms.” You astonishingly managed to answer in unison.

“Whose?” Asher shot at you immediately after, not leaving any time for thinking.

“Listen you—” Viktor started, and you were sure his intentions were going to take him somewhere he’d regret, so you interjected.

“We just needed to get some of our work instruments; it's not a big deal,” you said awkwardly.

“I thought your dorm was on the west wing; why did you go together?” Lara questioned you (and correctly, alas).

“You know what they say: ‘you shouldn’t count your birds before you hit them with a stone’.” You said, in the most deadpan way you could find in you.

“She needed help choosing which one of the books would be better for the presentation she is planning, and I needed help carrying some of the heavier volumes. We…killed two birds with one stone.” He said, entirely unconvinced but long resigned.

“Right, and you accepted his help with your work?” Said Asher with a cynical eyebrow raise.

“Well, the arrogance, fear of public speaking, long-term sickly obsession with work, and his careless neglect of social cues make up for an almost tolerable knowledge of many useful subjects.”

Viktor looked at you with knitted brows, his mouth agape, as if he at some point had the intention of saying something but gave up on it as the hint of faint praise in your statement made him befuddled enough to not know what to say.

“Uh, fine, just let us know you’ll be out next time; we have to make the week one report for Heimerdinger, and you two were nowhere to be found for like an hour."

“We could’ve been here earlier, but as you are both aware, she is chronologically challenged.”

"Wha—we were running against the clock because someone had to stop by the restroom on our way back.” You said, the pitch of your voice was getting higher as the irritation grew.

“I wonder why.”

“I know why, and I don’t particularly understand why you are saying it like it was my fault.”

By that point, both Asher and Lara, after sharing a look of reproach with each other, had quietly stood up and gone back to their respective work tables, leaving the two of you to quarrel in private.

“I’m sure in hindsight you can see clearly that dragging me into a small closet was regrettably ill-advised; you have such a talent for slip-ups that one could almost think you do it on purpose.”

“You think I wanted you to rise to the occasion, on purpose?” You said in a slightly mocking tone.

“You are certainly taking the opportunity to rag on me because of it.”

“If I wanted to make fun of you for that, I would've done it on the way here, Viktor, and just so you know, if I wanted to be the cause of your late-afternoon wood, a cleaning closet wouldn’t be my choice of scenery.”

“Stop calling it those names; it’s horrid—in fact, just quit talking about it; it’s giving me a tension headache."

"Oh, I apologize. Am I being too silly about the thing that you just reminded me about? I’ll make sure to talk about you b-o-n-e-r more solemnly in the future."

“I’m sorry if I thought you’d be able to take things seriously; that wasn’t my intention.”

“I am. I can take things so seriously that I will go back to my work over there, where I don’t have to hear you sniffle every two seconds, the heel of your shoe clanking on the floor, and your pen clicking repeatedly.” You said with a sour expression as you removed his journals from your bag and walked over to the other side of the library.

“Choice of scenery; who does she think she is?" Viktor mumbled quietly to himself before noticing the unintentional clicking of his pen and quietly putting it down on the table with an almost imperceptible pout.

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

Both the second and third meetings, as well as the halfway report with Heimerdinger, went sufficiently well, with your own presentation already in the final stages. It had been a particularly lazy morning; your eyes had nearly not opened, pushed closed by the heavy lids of a sleepless night, and the burgeoning symptoms of what you suspected could turn into the flu, when you decided to skip the last meeting and give your speech the finishing touches in the comfort of your own bed.

Since everything had been finished and you figured everyone would assume you were sick or had other commitments, you didn't tell anybody, hoping your absence would be disregarded. You soon learned that was a misjudgment on your part when you heard someone knock on the door to your dorm room well into the afternoon.

 “I can’t believe you got sick too!” Lara said as soon as you cracked the door open.

“Too?”

“Cirian is terribly sick as well; there must be some sort of epidemic!”

“I’m sorry… who?” 

“Cirian, from Biology.” She said, absentmindedly, as she scrambled in the kitchen for something, “Where do you keep your mugs? I’ll brew you some tea.”

"Ah, yes, top left.” So that’s his name. “I’m quite alright, though; I just needed some rest.”

“That’s good to hear because Heimerdinger said you and Viktor would have to fill in for him.”

“You have to be kidding me.” You said throwing your body back on your bed dramatically.

“I thought you’d be ecstatic,” she said as she came back with two mugs and a puzzled expression, to which you responded with one to match. "Well, you’d have an excuse to spend more time with him.”

“And why on Heimerdinger’s fluffy mustache would I want that?”

"Well, you two are dating, no?”

"No, we’re fucking not. Where did you get that idea?”

“You’re pulling my leg now, come on." She said with a small chuckle, and when you did not laugh but looked at her with concern, she continued. “Well… He seemed to be quite into you that day you were at my place, and you were very flirty.”

“I was drunk!” You said trying to defend yourself and trying to ignore what she had said about him being into you; it wasn’t a thought you wanted to consider at that moment.

“Fair, but then, I thought all that banter you two have was just playful bickering.”

“It’s most certainly not; I despise him, and he hates me with a passion.”

“With a passion, alright.” She said with a cheeky smirk that she tried to hide by taking a sip of the tea.

“What do you know that I don’t?”

“I know something that neither of you do, apparently. But I  digress." She said, gulping the last bit of tea and leaving the mug on the sink before turning back to you. “I’d go talk to Heimerdinger before he leaves for the day, if I were you."

She left shortly after, leaving you to ruminate about more than one of the things that were said.  She couldn’t possibly be making any sense, could she? Perhaps you should have asked what she meant by Viktor being ‘into you’ that night, but then again, you had noticed a slight change in his physiognomy.

You weren’t as drunk as you claimed to be, and it was this small change—the blush all over his face when he saw you—that made you look at him through your eyelashes so suggestively. It was the small gasp hitched on his throat that made you swing your hips when you walked slowly to where he stood. It was his white knuckles and his fingers clasped together in a tight fist around his vest that made you lower your voice into a purr when you said his name. You wanted to provoke him; his reaction was so akin to one of fury that you relished the possibility of making him hate you more.

There was no reason to bend over the table to write, not in the way you did, at least. You just wanted to, although you still tried to convince yourself that it had the same motivations as everything else you had done that night.

If you didn't know of further proof that backed up Lara's theory (which she herself was unaware of), it would have been reasonable to conclude that she had made an unfortunate misinterpretation of the situation. You caught yourself grinning at the memory of it—how you had been enjoying the scent of Viktor’s perfume and the feeling of his chest pressing against you—even before you noticed what the proximity of your bodies was doing to him.

Raise to the occasion was such a good one; he really can’t appreciate a good joke.

”B-o-n-e-r” You spelled it out loud to yourself with a hearty chuckle.

And even after you did notice it, a smug little voice in your head was telling you to lean closer, to see how far you could take it before he either said something unspeakably rude to you or took it the opposite way, but you had to be circumspect. You were the picture of practicality, yet he still had the gall to get angry at you. 

My fault…ha. If I had been doing it on purpose, that closet would’ve become too small for what he’d want to do with—

You had to physically shake that thought away and remind yourself that regardless of how fun it was to mess with him, Viktor was still incredibly insufferable to work in the same vicinity as, let alone with, so it’d be better to talk to Heimerdinger and get this whole debacle sorted out.

You did, however, spend the entirety of the way there thinking about the scent of saffron and leather.

[66sharkteeth]

WEEKLY THOUGHTS!

of which i have no strong opinions? other than reiterating yet again, lyss ain't gonna freaking die. at this point i'm feeling a tad defeated on the matter, because Lyss is literally talking about not knowing what she's gonna do next when this is all over...which I feel like really implies she has no intention of dying??? Not to mention her dad just agreeing to disagree and sending her off. I! Don't fucking think! he'd be so okey dokey about his daughter dying!! But anyway yeah, anyone who reads these has already heard this point of my commentary enough.

Claude was the real highlight of this ep for me. I've said before, development has been some of my fav to write in the entire series, and it was nice to draw this big turning point for him. I'm glad others enjoyed it too and that in general, all those Claude haters have converted into Claude enjoyers or just being neutral.

Other than that... I'm not sure how I feel about people saying they commend Lyss' dad and respect him after their talk... That definitely wasn't exactly what I was going for. I saw one person comment about how some people will talk about politics like it's a debate over their favorite flavor of ice cream, when in reality it's literal human rights, and I think that was a really great way to put it. This entire debate is nothing but an ice cream flavor debate to Luis and he doesn't get why his daughter is willing to cut ties with him over preferring chocolate over vanilla. But to Lyss, it's over human rights violations, and the fact her dad can't see that is exactly why she's leaving. So I'm not exactly sure why that scene got Luis so many respect points other than making a few valid points about not everyone agreeing with Lyss.

My only last note is that everyone keeps calling Desmond a dumby bc he didn't know right away that the letter saying "oi" and "-Rex" was from Rex...

BUT IT WAS IN A DAMN ENVELOPE WHEN HE SAID THAT DO YOU GUYS THINK HE HAS X-RAY VISION!!!???!!?? LAY OFF MY MAN HE JUST RECIEVED AN UNMARKED ENVELOPE AND WAS WAITING TO OPEN IT W/ LYSS!!! /lh /hj

okay that's all this week

[literary-illuminati]

2024 Book Review #8 – The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham James

This has been on my tbr for long enough that I entirely forget what originally put it there – the only thing I actually knew going in was that the author was ‘the My Heart is a Chainsaw guy’ (I have not read My Heart is a Chainsaw yet either). Given the genre, that was honestly probably ideal. As was the fact that a blizzard hit a couple days after I started it and I’ve been reading it looking out on a frozen snowscape – it’s very much a winter sort of story.

The story’s told in five parts of wildly varying lengths, each with it’s own endearingly cheesy b-horror movie title and each following a different protagonist. The first four each follow one of a friend group who, as a bunch of fuckup teenagers, trespassed on hunting grounds that were really supposed to be reserved for elders and shot a bunch of elk they had no right to – including a pregnant young cow who was for one reason or another special. Ten years later, the Elk-Headed Woman drags herself back into the world, and begins getting her vengeance for the death of her and her child on each of them (and everyone they care about) in turn.

I have a longstanding opinion that a full-length novel is just too long to sustain a real horror story – by 300 pages things have fairly reliably collapse into urban fantasy or action or farce. The breakup into different parts solves this very well – they’re all very much connected and interwoven, but each feels like its own distinct narrative unit with its own tension and rising action.

And this is very much a horror story in the classic, just barely short of shlocky sense. A trespass against vague but understood sacred laws that leads to horrific and bloody retribution against everyone involved is as close to archtypal horror as you can possibly get, after all. The last section is even focused on a Final Girl! Specifically, it’s a subgenre that I can’t really name but feels very familiar to me – and one I’ve always been a huge fan of, anyway. It’s somewhere downstream of The Count of Monte Cristo, a story where the agent of supernatural doom spends the majority of the story consciously working in the background, manipulating events and exacerbating the protagonist/victim’s flaws to lead them to a contrived but tragic end? Think the netflix Fall of the House of Usher, but like about the exact opposite end of the socioeconomic spectrum.

Class is very much something the book cares about. All four protagonists grew up poor on a reservation with little in the way of wealth or opportunity, and by the time they’d turned eighteen all four of them were the kind of young asshole who made life just a little bit worse for everyone around them dealing with the same shit. Ten years latter the three of them who’ve survived that long have gotten over themselves and matured in their own way (and to their own degree), but none of them are exactly flush with cash or living lives of bourgeois respectability (though Lewis comes close). The precarity and only tenuous connections to the society around them just make them better prey for what’s hunting them, of course – in every case, death comes after the (either metaphorical or very viscerally literal) destruction of the few close ties they have, and the only one to survive is also the only one who could really expect people to come rushing to their rescue.

Speaking of close ties the protagonists have – the book’s conception of gender is fascinatingly weird, or at least fascinating in the sense that I’m not at all sure how intentional it is. Of the four main victims, one dies alone at eighteen, and the other three who survive the next ten years are all pretty much explicitly saved (or at least improved and uplifted) by a relationship with a woman who, if not flawless, is basically strictly his moral and practical better. Even the most consistent fuckup of the group has a redeeming feature of being willing to do just about anything for his daughter (despite having lost the chance to really be a big part of her life several times over). With one exception, these women all then die, messily, entirely and explicitly to fuck with and ruin the lives of their men. It’s like someone read Women in Refrigerators and went ‘well there’s an idea...’. It’s blatant enough that I feel like it’s got to be making a deliberate point, but (unless it’s just genre emulation) what the point is does escape me slightly.

Also on the note of stuff I’m quite sure is going over my head at least a bit – basketball! It’s a pretty vital thread running through the entire book, to the point that one of the big set pieces of the final act is literally a basketball game with the monster. Which, like, I watched enough bad anime as a small child to find contrived game-playing under unclear mythic rules with things that really want to kill you instinctively endearing, but I can’t really do anything with this except just point at it.

So as the title might imply, this is a novel that’s concerned with race – all but I believe exactly one character is either is either Blackfeet or Crow, more than half the book takes place on a reservation, and a chunk of the rest is spent having to deal with racist assholes of varying severity. Now, I admit that I have at this point a probably overly cynical view of books that end up on breathless ‘socially conscious horror’ or ‘s/ff from diverse creators you NEED to read’ lists online, but I was still rather pleasantly by how matter-of-factly this was handled? I suppose the best way to put it is that culture, upbringing and racialization deeply inform everyone’s characters, but it never feels like the book is preoccupied with providing some assumed naive and impressionable audience any Important Lessons or provide Good Representation to valourize or emulate? Which is probably just a sign I need to raise and re calibrate my expectations, but.

The monster doesn’t exactly work as, like, a coherent character in terms of her skills and abilities, but as a monster the Elk-Headed Woman is great. But then I love contrived fucked up tragedies and am a longstanding partisan of Spooky Deer Horror, so I suppose I would say that.

So yeah, fun read!

[evilminji]

OKAY. *slams open door in manic about to have opinions*

MAYBE i am binging so, SO much unhinged bnha fics? Have already sent this to all my mutual and is not ENOUGH? But everyone is focused on these BABIES and not the MOST unhinged of them all? You COWARDS!!!

That's RIGHT! Ya girl has been hitting the "yandere/obsessive/possessive" behavior tag on Ao3 and is REFUSING TO BE NORMAL ABOUT IT! I have THOUGHTS DAMN IT! AaaaaaaaaaAAAAAA-!!! *Flips table*

Why the FUCK everyone focusing on BABIES?

I get it, don't yuck someone else's yum. To each their own. I respect that. But ALSO? What lvl of unhinged could they POSSIBLY HAVE? They are FIVE. SMOOTH FACED TODDLER BABY BOYS! A CHILD!

Like? Listen...

You know how Quirks are basicly evolutionary advantages? Random protections that are hit or miss? I have touched on this before in my naruto WIP (that i never posted but shush), but there must exsist a theoretical opposite of killing intent.

A sort of loving/peaceful intent if you will. A SAFETY intent. Or, for the purposes of THIS scenario and slightly to the left of that, a "love me" field. Which? Unlike what the perverse might believe or suggest? Just makes the target... love you.

Not sexually desire.

Love. Care about. Emotional connection.

And, yeah, maybe i've just been reading too many fics where shigiraki do what shigiraki does, and he is his unhinged obsessed lil self. Too many unhinged yandere fics where i darkly mutter "you are forgetting their Core Character Motivatioooooons! Just write an OC!"

Because you can twist a characters personality WITHOUT forgetting who they ARE. Thats what makes it INTERESTING, after all. Seeing how it could go so very, very wrong. How a good emotion, taken too extreme, can corrupt! N it's not just "oh that means violence n cursing right? Immediately jumping to cruelty?"

Its the obsession. The need to consume. The manipulation and care in which they try and maintain the illusion. It isn't one crack and "whelp, fuck it I guess!". Every character is different! Breaks under the strain of 1000% loving someone, DIFFERENT. And it brings up FASCINATING dynamics n potential quirk reactions?

Cause a emotional quirk WILL work. Even on people who supposed "dont have any" emotions? Because thats not how the human body FUNCTIONS. They HAVE all the necessary components. They just have a disorder. The Quirk would be forcing their body to MIMIC "feel-Y.exe" and their body would go with that. How THEY would process that data? What would it FEEL like to THEM? Whole different story.

But they WOULD feel "love" in what ever capacity THEY understand it.

You don't want to hurt your BEST FRIEND do you? You love them. Your BELOVED SISTER? This CUTE CHILD? She seems so NICE. Or maybe it's a precious and to be protected PET? She doesn't know what she'll get, "love" is nebulous and multifaceted. Could be platonic, familial, romantic. The love of a comrade. But it's never failed BEFORE. (Not, that I imagine, she being a well adjusted young lady, would feel morally comfortable USING said quirk in such times of peace. On anybody.)

We're all friend here, right? No need to be aggressive! Hurt anybody! Let's all put our weapons down, yeah?

But! This runs into a PROBLEM. The fuckin Yandere. Your bog standard sociopath. Those to whom this love field/targeting/ray/what-have-you is either so completely foreign too or NOTICEABLE as to be ineffective. Or to whom "love" is AGGRESSIVE.

Who's concept of "love" would actually make the problem WORSE.

I bring this up? Because I am FACINATED by the concept of AfO falling in love.

He... he would be COMPLETELY unhinged about it. The very act would unlock LAYERS to his deeply fucked up, highly obsessive, mind games and bank vaults, squirrel brain.

But I don't think he'd ever WILLINGLY fall in love. Or even be capable. Might be a brain chemistry thing, honesty. But the very reason his CLINGS to his his brothers quirk? Is because his brother was HIS. They were connected. It was... the closest thing he understood to love. And he is unhinged even to this day about it.

EIGHT GENERATIONS OF USERS LATER.

So like? If he spooked some poor soul? With a "love me" quirk? And she, in terror, tried to blast this Scary Supervillian into Not Hurting Her? She would have NO WAY of knowing that she just made a HUGE fucking mistake. Like... conceivably, the WORST mistake.

Because all it would take? Is her NOT instantly dying. No reflexive "how dare you use your Quirk on me". And? The altered brain chemistry starts to kick in. He's suddenly getting?? All these NICE happy brain chemicals that his body has been fuckin STARVED off? Fascinating new sensations? Elevated mood?

It's fake. He KNOWS it's fake. :) But that doesn't mean he won't murder her if she STOPS :)

Looooove yoooou~♡

Does it shift in to real, deeply deranged, love? Impossible to tell. Someone for the LOVE OF GOD call All Might. But?? He's just such an unhinged MESS it's fascinating to explore how emotional quirks would even react to him? Fascinating to think about how he would REACT if he had a SECOND "little brother" scenario. A person he CARED about. But this time... WORSE because it was in a way he could somewhat comprehend AND he had FAR more power then before.

Would it derail everything? Would he be able to focus on his Machiavellian plans while being able to fold them into them? Would he fuckin CONSUME THEM like he did Tomura? Ultimate form of love, after all, to become HIM.

How long could she, the hypothetical Quirk holder, keep that Quirk ACTIVE? Fear is a powerful motivator.

Just?? Why are there not more fics about the Ultimate Creep, BEING CREEPY AND UNHINGED??? He's VERY GOOD AT IT. Has had a LOT OF PRACTICE. LET AfO be deeply insane, 2XXX!

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

Another Starlo rant + there's some stuff to clarify

this is my reply to the latest post from @a-legacy-not-to-be-forgotten bc i feel like he mainly had me in mind when he wrote it, which I don't mind, really. After all, we're both apologists of different characters and i DO respect your opinion. Just wanted to throw my two cents in and clarify some stuff (please read till the end)

Exhibit A (having Moray walk around with a snake in their boot and giving them rashes): I always thought this was some kind of job policy, all bc Star's so ambitious and expected his (future) employees to be the same. He wanted everyone to prove they were "real" cowboys. That's also why everyone had lassons for 8 weeks and he had that kangaroo locked in a cell for sneaking a phone in (although it IS hypocritical that Star himself is allowed to own a TV).

Star expects a lot from everyone because he himself gives it his all to make this town as realistic as possible and makes everybody behave like real cowboys (and imo he thought Moray was fine with having a snake in their boot for a week since they probably didn't complain. Star most likely didn't even know the snake gave them rashes/apologized if Moray had told him this). Honestly he's too obsessed and passionate and can be too much without realizing it, that I can't deny

Exhibit B (The Boulder Droppers): No matter how severe (It IS severe), I still see this as super careless (and super forgetful of Starlo), rather than reckless. Again, another instance where he screws up but there's no ill intent. Also he apologized for this to Gilbert

Exhibit C (blaming Clover for everything that happened and shooting them over it): TRUE 100%

...now, Ceroba was doing her best to understand Starlo and he needed her to get back on the right track, but I still think she views him more as a manchild than someone worthy of respect. I don't hate Ceroba or see her as a heartless bitch and a terrible friend (there's that post of mine where I explained everyone's flaws, and it turns out Starlo is the most flawed of them all, which I admitted). I just think her and Star aren't on the same wavelength.

She WAS on the same wavelength as Chujin and that's why I ship them. Ceroba deeply admired him (still does) and honesty she has the right to love whoever she wants. Still, I can't get out of my head how she thought that her wanting to date Starlo in the past must have had to do with the fact "her brain was still developing," or how she lied to him about the sheriff stuff just to spare his feelings. I get the intentions but she should have told him how she really felt (based on her many annoyed faces I got the message Roba never liked any of this + she says she doesn't understand it). I genuinely saw it as her babysitting/pitying him for his childish fantasies instead of actually enjoying participating in the antics (she does like observing the five tho)

And yeah, everyone (Ed, Ace, Mooch, Moray, Ceroba) knew Starlo ADORED westerns, obviously, but what they DIDN'T know or try to figure out is the deeper meaning as to WHY. I feel like everybody thought it was simply a childish fantasy and didn't stem from any deeper insecurities (the FF, just like Starlo, aren't very good with communicating their feelings; why else would they criticise Starlo right in the middle of town where everyone could hear them instead of going someplace private to have the talk)

HOWEVER!

List of Starlo's character flaws I believe he has: insecure, overly enthusiastic, careless (not reckless bc he doesn't intent to cause chaos), cocky, too obsessed with his status & social image, arrogant, mischievous (particularly with Blackjack), childish, needs too much external validation, uses escapism too much, people pleaser, wants to be everyone's "hero," ignorant, naive, too optimistic, overbearing, too ambitious, stubborn, emotional & sensitive to criticism, too obsessed to the point he ignores everyone and everything else, actually IS selfish (I wanna take this opportunity to correct myself. Starlo should have listened to his posse and not have snapped like that & dismissed what they had to say, but they should have also let him know how they felt way earlier and tried to understand Star's pov & deeper insecurities he has & should have not publicly lectured him since they SHOULD know how much he wants to protect the reputation he worked hard to earn. Everyone should have reacted differently)

We don't know what Starlo was like before Clover but based on the way none of his posse ever talked smack about him, gave him dirty looks, or overall acted like they didn't wanna be part of the team, I assumed they either didn't mind his enthusiasm before he got obsessed with Clover, or kept their frustrations with his passion hidden well and didn't choose to communicate at all with him about how they really feel.

As for Star himself, I just don't see him as having been a bad boss. Ed even said how he would always ask him nicely to do stuff, and Dina explains how the only arguments the five of them had were about trivial matters, and how things were pretty predictable before Clover. So I don't think he had made any huge fuck ups. The five were always together in all their shenanigans (Dina says they're like siblings) and Ceroba mentions how she hasn't seen Star "this ecstatic in some time". Which is why I think he didn't step outta line or mistreat others before his dream of meeting a human came true.

HOWEVER #2!

I just remembered a single line of dialogue from Ed, which suggests that Star might have been more bossy than I thought and didn't actually ever ask his posse about their opinions. If this is the case, and probably is because Ceroba says he had changed a lot, scratch that stuff I said before about him not being a bad boss

He acts selfish because he's insecure, but I still shouldn't have used that as an excuse. It's interesting how he's got both selfishness and selflessness inside him at the same time, but yeah, bc of his undeniable charm I overlooked the selfishness part. guilty as charged

time to add that and his bossiness as another one of star's many flaws

Another thing: while all of Ceroba's flaws seem to come from the tragedy that had struck her (besides being stubborn), every single one of Starlo's flaws stem from him and how he feels about himself. He had a normal family, a best friend, and his own friend group, with whom he could discuss his nerdy interests. I think THIS is what makes him so loveable. He techincally doesn't have a real REASON to feel unhappy, but he did, before he became 'North Star' But that persona was exactly WHAT he needed to let go of to be himself and be truly happy

I once jokingly mentioned how Starlo's name could mean "Star + loser" and the more I think about it, the more it makes sense for his arc. He wants to be 'North Star' (all cool and badass and important), but in reality, the real him is just a nice guy who loves his friends. And even if that doesn't make him popular and a loser farmer instead, at least that is the real him who he shouldn't have been running away from

I do love when my fave character ain't perfect and has inner conflicts to work on

To conclude this rant, I want to apologize to the Four and Ceroba for not taking into consideration their pov more and being way too obsessed with this charming nerd

also, @a-legacy-not-to-be-forgotten, your rant gave me much to rethink and for that I thank you