#there's confusion and speculation and that's where i'll leave it

[juicedaloe]

Mithrun and brain damage

I'm not sure if anyone is interested in this, but I wanted to make a post talking about why I think that Mithrun has brain damage from a traumatic brain injury instead of him being a representation of other neurological disorders or mental illness. I'm not that involved in the dunmesh fandom so I don't know how common this headcanon is, though I've seen a few people mention it here and there.

This is just my own opinion so if you disagree then that's fine. Some of this is just speculation and I can't say what Kui's intentions were. This post isn't meant to be that serious. I just wanted to talk about it and hopefully inform about how brain damage can affect some people in a way that I hope is interesting and relevant.

This will be kind of long because I like to talk so it will be under the cut. Apologies for the length and how much I ramble. Feel free to give input especially if I got anything wrong or if this is too confusing.

Okay let's go

Traumatic brain injury (TBI) is incredibly complex. The long-term effects of a TBI include a wide array of symptoms. Each injury is different, and some people can completely recover rather quickly while others can become permanently disabled, even for seemingly "minor" injuries. What I'll cover here isn't a definitive representation of the experiences of all those who have long-term effects from TBI, nor do I speak for everyone with brain damage.

Here are some long term symptoms relevant to this post:

Alexithymia (inability to process and name emotions)

Inability to process and name physical perceptions

Mood swings and emotional regulation difficulties

Communication difficulties

Social impairment

Apathy about caring for oneself

Lack of motivation

Alexithymia and inability to process physical perceptions

This one is rather obvious. While Mithrun is shown to feel emotions and have physical sensations (for instance, describing his location when he gets lost in the dungeon as "a cold place"), he is also apathetic to how this affects him. This means that his physical and emotional perceptions are reduced in some way. He says that becoming lord of the dungeon will leave someone "empty", showing he is aware of his dulled emotional state.

A good example of this is can be seen here in a bonus comic where he doesn't give much of a reaction to burning his mouth on hot food.

(I love these two a lot, by the way. Pattadol is really under appreciated.)

He is also not able to recognize bodily signals, such as hunger or when he is tired. Despite collapsing from exhaustion and not eating for long periods of time, he still insists he is not tired or hungry.

Mood swings

Mood swings in combination with alexithymia can be an especially disorientating experience. Those who struggle to perceive their own emotions can still feel them even if they don't know how to recognize it.

Individuals with brain injuries often experience drastic mood swings, particularly anger. To those around them, they can appear to go from 0 to 100 in an instant.

This is more speculation/headcanon on my part, as the strongest emotion Mithrun has for most of his appearances is anger. However one could interpret this as being unrelated as he is seeking revenge for a traumatic experience.

Communication difficulties and social impairment

Not only can naming personal experiences be incredibly difficult with a brain injury, but other areas of communication are often affected as well.

Mithrun is not able to set boundaries for himself even if someone is doing something he would not actually want them to do, which can leave him in a vulnerable position.

People with brain injuries can sometimes have a paradoxical experience when it comes to communicating with others. They can go from being very quiet to speaking at length about one topic, seemingly without regard for the importance of each bit of information. (I see it like Newton's first law of motion. It is hard to start speaking and it can be just as hard to stop.)

I really like this aspect of Mithrun's characterization. Usually, he is very quiet because he has no reason to speak. However, once he starts talking he is shown to be overly specific and goes on for long periods of time. Kabru has to spend multiple days figuring out his story.

In a side comic, Kabru tells Mithrun he should condense some of the personal details that Kabru finds irrelevant to the topic of the dungeon.

Mithrun shares many details about himself because his desire not to do so is gone. This mirrors the experience of many people who have brain damage to overshare and not understand how their words will come across to others. Sometimes they say or do things that are insensitive or inappropriate for the situation.

Caring for oneself and motivation

In the dungeon, Mithrun becomes reliant on others for self care. He also seems especially incapable of motivating himself to take care of his body when he is particularly focused on his goals.

In these panels, thus far he had been fairly receptive of Kabru trying to take care of him. However, he could sense that the demon was close and was too focused on that to care to eat.

Refusal of care and treatment is often an effect of traumatic brain injury. This can be for seemingly no reason, even if the person knows that this will help them. Sometimes people will lie about receiving treatment or doing things to take care of themselves, either so they can avoid it or avoid having someone take care of them.

He knows that eating regularly and not pushing himself too much will help him - he's been told multiple times on-screen - but he still has to be continuously told by others to give him that motivation to take care of himself. He's very apathetic to his physical state, even if it seems his only desire is for revenge and he should be doing anything he can to achieve that.

Other things of note

I wasn't sure where to put this, but while Mithrun's sense of direction is speculated by Kabru to be left over from his time as lord of an ever-changing, confusing dungeon, having poor sense of direction in the way he does could also be indicative of brain injury as well.

While the dungeon is confusing and illogical, he is known to have a poor sense of direction and to get frequently lost by those around him, even trying to exit an entrance he just came through. He is shown to be very intelligent, but memory is greatly impacted by brain injuries which affects a person's sense of direction and location.

Something that really stands out to me about Mithrun is how much the things that help him are particularly helpful to those with brain damage. He is physically capable of performing tasks, but he needs an outside source to remind him and get him started. He relies entirely on routine, and when that regularity is taken away he shows extreme difficulty taking care of himself.

Sometimes, the care that some people need is simply someone else to encourage them or to tell them when to do things. The care that he needs is pretty consistent with a person with a brain injury who does not need a full time caretaker and would prefer to have some independence.

Also, healing magic is specified to not work with brain injury unless the person is killed and revived. Mithrun had not been revived after his injuries, so it is entirely possible for him to have sustained a TBI. I don't think this matters that much because one is still allowed to have headcanons even if there is a magical explanation or isn't really possible in canon, but I thought it was an interesting detail.

In conclusion

Because of all this I don't believe that his lack of self care is due solely to mental illness. While mental illnesses like depression or PTSD can cause a decline in self care, the reasons why the affected individual is avoidant of these tasks differs. These disorders can also cause cognitive difficulties and emotional regulation issues, but not to the same extent or in the same way that brain damage would. I think that he does have both depression and PTSD (both are common after a TBI) but those are not his only disabilities.

And on a personal note, I just think that having a character with brain damage is really cool. Most of the time I've seen it the characters are not given very much respect and they are treated as comic relief and a joke. Regardless of whether you agree with this post or not, it is still nice to see a character with a disability like this.

Thank you if you read all of this. I hope it was easy to understand and I did not ramble too much. I don't have anything else to say but I've been wanting to write this out for a while.

Okay bye

[descendant-of-truth]

Ohhh this scene. This one's a doozy

Nine is right to call this out about Sonic, of course. While he's definitely grown since the start of the show, he's never really been able to move past his tunnel vision and tendency to project onto the others.

He never thought to ask Nine what he wanted not because he doesn't care, but because he didn't think he needed to. He inherently assumes that the people he's working with are on the same page as him until told otherwise - in fact, it wasn't too long ago that he was similarly thrown off by Shadow in that very room.

(Love Shadow being used as a sort of "test run" for these kinds of conflicts by the way)

But here's the thing. While it's true that Sonic didn't really think about what Nine wanted and just assumed they were going to stick together no matter what... the same is true of Nine.

Look at how confused Nine looks when Sonic talks about coming back to Green Hill and restoring it:

Nine didn't ask what Sonic was wanting to do by repairing the Prism because he thought it was obvious that they were going back to the Grim together. I don't think it occurred to him that fixing Green Hill was even an option, or at least not one that he considered in favor of his original plans.

And just like Sonic, it's not that he only cares about himself - he went out of his way to engineer coconuts and (presumably) palm trees because he knew how much Sonic missed them. It was really sweet!

But, in what's becoming a pattern in this show, he doesn't understand why those trees matter to Sonic. They're not just cool plants, they're a reminder of home. And as Sonic aptly puts it at the start of the show, home is where your friends are.

I love that the conflict here is that both of them were convinced they knew what the other person wanted/would be okay with, because they think it'll naturally be the same thing they want, and then were both completely unprepared to handle a conflict of interest. It feels so natural and makes perfect sense with how they've been written up to this point.

But see, while I think it's pretty clear that Sonic and Nine fell into the exact same communication trap, I think it's going to take longer for Nine to realize his own fault in any of this.

Sonic spent the entire second half of that conversation looking devastated, and he's made it clear throughout the show that he's quick to feel remorse when he realizes he's hurt someone. In all likelihood, he's going to put all of the blame for that argument on himself, decide that Nine was right about everything, and leave it at that.

Nine, likewise, doesn't strike me as a particularly self-reflective type. He'd probably try to justify not needing Sonic to himself before anything else, and with that in mind, who else is there to make him see the situation with more nuance?

If I had to pick, I'd guess Shadow - our resident "smacking people in the face with their own flaws" extraordinaire.

Why would he bother with any sort of mediating between the two? Well, the funniest reason would be that he finds Sonic's self-pitying and Nine's self-righteousness equally annoying, but I'm inclined to assume any sort of confrontation between him and Nine would be a little more dramatic than that. (He might still use that reasoning as justification though)

Anyway I gotta cut this post short before I go too far into speculation territory or else I'll be here for another hour and this took long enough to write as is, case in point I love me a well-written and believable conflict

[brf-rumortrackinganon]

…the colossal screw up of Archie's birth announcement

I was not following the royals back then, so I am completely out of the loop with what was happening when Archie was born. There’s so much noise and theories littering this space, that it’s hard to delineate what is actually the screw up and where the theories start and how far plausible goes before it turns into crazy. Do you have a record or write-up you can point me to?

Totally okay if you want to just ignore this ask, though. I know this topic invites unhelpful inputs from people.

Hey, everyone, it's Wednesday! Guess what that means...yup, a super long research project to the dulcet sounds of Top Chef.

I think I'll just give you the whole timeline and then some since there's a lot of debate and discussion around both things.

The Pregnancy

October 12, 2018: Princess Eugenie marries Jack Brooksbanks. Meghan wears a dark navy dress and coat. Only the top buttons of her coat are done, causing immediate speculation that she's expecting.

October 15, 2018: Kensington Palace announces that Harry and Meghan are expecting and the baby is due in the springtime. The royal rota is informed by Jason Knauf over a cell phone in the airport, as they were already in Australia to begin coverage of the Sussexes' tour.

Now, usually when the palace makes these kind of announcements, there's a separate briefing for the royal rota with a few additional details for them to write about. In Rebecca English's article about the pregnancy announcement, she reveals that Meghan had had her 12-week scan, the baby is due in late April 2019, and that they were telling everyone at Eugenie's wedding. The article also reveals that Meghan will visit Tonga and Fiji despite the Zika risk (pregnant women are advised not to travel to areas with the Zika virus due to the risk Zika poses to their baby); it's a controversial decision.

October 15, 2018: Harry and Meghan are papped arriving in Sydney, leaving the airport. Meghan is holding two purple binders, leading to speculation that they are expecting boy-girl twins.

Pippa Middleton gives birth to her first child on October 15th (though it isn't announced for a bit), stealing some of the Sussexes' coverage.

October 15 - 31, 2018: Harry and Meghan are in Australia for the Sydney Invictus Games. They also tour New Zealand, Tonga, and Fiji. There is a ton of gossip and tea about the tour. Meghan is also photographed with a very inconsistent baby belly - sometimes it's there, sometimes it's not.

Also during this time (and into November) is the Sussex press tsunami when these stories were breaking:

"What Meghan wants, Meghan gets"

Meghan smells tastes eggs that aren't there

Meghan made Kate cry

Sussexes are moving out of Kensington Palace

The Sussexes' office is moving to Buckingham Palace; they'll be part of the resource pool that also represents Anne, Yorkies, Edward, Sophie, Kents, and Gloucesters.

Sussexes are leaving The Royal Foundation and setting up The SussexRoyal Foundation.

November 24, 2018: The palace announces that Harry and Meghan are moving to Frogmore Cottage. They will renovate the property from five staff apartments to ten bedrooms, a nursery, a gym, and a yoga studio.

December 18, 2018: Meghan makes a surprise appearance at the British Fashion Awards to recognize Clare Waight Keller (her wedding dress designer) as the British Womenswear Designer of the Year. Allegedly she crashed the event unexpectedly. She is photographed groping her belly the whole time while on stage presenting.

December 25, 2018: During the Christmas walkabout after church, Meghan tells fans that she is "nearly there". It causes confusion because the palace had briefed reporters two months earlier that it was an April baby.

**Anon, this Christmas walk where Meghan says "nearly there" re the baby's due date is where it starts veering off the rails.**

January 14, 2019: Meghan, with Harry, visits Birkenhead for an away day. At the end of the visit when they are leaving, Meghan is observed by some to have lost her belly while developing a new bulge around her mid/lower thighs. (YMMV.)

January 16, 2019: Meghan visits the Mayhew Animal House during the day, in which some people claim to observe her belly folding in and then popping out and others claim to hear a loud popping noise when she stands up. (YMMV.) Later, in the evening, she attends a Cirque du Soleil performance at Royal Albert Hall. This is the night that, as she tells Oprah in March 2021, she felt suicidal and had been crying all day up until just before arriving at the Hall.

February 15 - 20, 2019: Meghan is in New York City to attend a baby shower thrown in her honor by Serena Williams. She stays at the Mark Hotel. Abigail Spencer merches Away luggage. Jess Mulroney and Amal Clooney are some of the guests. Markus Anderson unexpectedly shows up and allegedly, Meghan is upset to see him. There's a ton of paparazzi, which Meghan loves, and the Mark Hotel ropes off the sidewalk for her, which she also loves.

There is a CDAN blind about the baby shower, alleging that Meghan had asked (maybe demanded) the BRF for one but they refused because it's not what they do.

The baby shower causes a lot of questions. There's one instance where Meghan returns from a night out holding a large purse over her stomach area, which is unusual because in every photo since October, Meghan is always showing off her belly.

Meghan leaves NYC by a private jet via Teterboro Airport, assumed to be Amal Clooney's private jet.

This is the end of the Meghan/Amal friendship, as on March 15, 2019, Clarence House announces a partnership between Prince Charles and Amal Clooney establishing the Amal Clooney Award from Prince's Trust International.

February 23 - 25, 2019: Harry and Meghan are in Morocco for an official visit by request of the Foreign Office.

There's speculation that Meghan was planning to attend the Oscars (which are held on February 24, 2019) and allegedly, the BRF caught wind of it and created the Morocco tour to keep her focused on royal work.

Edited to add: After checking my spreadsheet, I realized I missed one - related to speculation/gossip about Meghan attending the Oscars, there’s additional speculation that the BRF planned the Morocco trip to force Meghan to come home from NYC. (I kind of suspect this may be the origin of “they took my passport” claims as told to Oprah because supposedly the palace was upset she had the baby shower and upset she’d gone out of the country to do so.)

March 5, 2019: When Harry and Meghan crash Charles's celebration of the 50th anniversary of his Prince of Wales investiture, Meghan tells people she is "nearly there" still, according to Us Weekly. Us Weekly also reports that a Sussex source had briefed them that the baby was due in the late March/early April timeframe.

March 14, 2019: Commonwealth Day Service. Kensington Palace indirectly confirms that this is Meghan's last appearance before the baby arrives and she is beginning maternity leave.

March 19, 2019: Meghan suspends her maternity leave to visit the New Zealand embassy with Harry to lay flowers in a tribute to victims of a mosque shooting. Meghan, who is photographed cradling her belly, is also photographed squatting down with knees and feet together, causing questions as some observe that it looks like her belly has completely disappeared.

April 2, 2019: Meghan, with Harry, is papped visiting an apothecary shop.

April 4, 2019: Harry and Meghan are confirmed to have moved into Frogmore Cottage.

The Birth

Note: All items italicized and in red are timings we learned after the fact. Items in "regular" font (not italicized and black) is the timing that happened live on May 6.

May 5, 2019, late in the evening: Meghan and Doria are driven to the Portland Hospital.

May 6, 2019, 5:26am GMT: Meghan gives birth after two epidurals According to Harry in Spare, it was a traumatic birth, potentially complicated, but an emergency c-section was not discussed with Meghan as Harry declined to tell her what was going on. Also, Harry gets high on laughing gas and the nurse disapprove.

May 6, 2019, 7:26am GMT: Harry, Meghan, and Baby Boy Sussex are home from the hospital (from Spare).

May 6, 2019, 1:30pm GMT: Sky News is selected as the pool broadcaster for the birth announcement when a Sussex spokesperson (probably Sara Latham) reaches out to Sky News to coordinate coverage for a statement Harry will make soon.

May 6, 2019, 1:50pm GMT: The palace announces Meghan has gone into labor and is at the hospital. Sky News has the exclusive story owing to the earlier conversation with Sussex representatives.

May 6, 2019, 2:15pm GMT: Harry records his statement about the baby's birth from a stable in Windsor. He speaks about the baby being born early in the morning. Horses make an appearance.

May 6, 2019, 2:37pm GMT: Harry and Meghan announce the birth of Baby Boy Sussex. The palace follows up with more details, including that the baby was born at 5:26am.

The palace's announcement raises questions, as the language used to describe the birth is different from the language used on all the other royal birth announcements.

The traditional birth announcement: {Title} has been safely delivered of a {son or daughter} at {time} today. Her Royal Highness and her child are both doing well. {signatures of medical staff} {date}

This language has been used for the Cambridges (George, Charlotte, and Louis), the Waleses (William and Harry), the Yorks (Beatrice and Eugenie), the Phillipses (Peter and Zara), the Edinburghs (Charles, Anne, Andrew, and Edward), the Brooksbanks (August and Ernie), and the Wessexes (Louise and James).

The Sussexes' birth announcement: The Queen and the Royal Family are delighted at the news that Her Royal Highness The Duchess of Sussex was safely delivered of a son at 0526am today. Her Royal Highness and her child are both doing well. 06 May, 2019.

Immediately causing questions was the verb choice "was" (versus "has been"). From a grammar perspective, "was" is used to describe something that had already happened at a specific point in the past. "Has been" is a verb tense used to talk about an ongoing event - something that started in the past but is still happening. Looking at the language in the birth announcements, and examining it through the grammar only:

When George's birth was announced, Kate was still in the birthing process but it was a safe delivery. Which makes sense; birth doesn't end when the baby pops out - there's afterbirth, there's the hormone evacuation (for lack of a better word), there's the organs moving back into place, etc. She's still in the hospital receving care.

When Archie's birth was announced, Meghan had already completed giving birth. She was no longer in the hospital, already at home.

Causing even bigger questions was the missing medical staff.

Reporters immediately begin asking questions about the timing of the announcements, where the baby was born, who delivered the baby, and why everyone was told she was in labor when she had already given birth.

May 6, 2019, 2:40pm GMT: Harry's pre-recorded statement with Sky News is broadcast. When he begins speaking, the chyron says "Meghan is in labor." After he announces the baby's birth "early this morning," the chyron changes to "Meghan has given birth."

May 7, 2019, 12:28pm GMT: Palace officials apologize for the bungled birth announcement but there are no explanations or clarifications made.

May 8, 2019: Harry and Meghan announce the baby's name, Archie Harrison Mountbatten-Windsor. They have a photocall with the baby in St. George's Hall, Windsor Castle, in which Harry says the infamous quote "babies change so much in two weeks." Later, they take photos with The Queen, Prince Philip, and Doria.

The photocall and the photos aren't without controversy. Royal-watchers and Windsor locals pinpoint two: May 8th is actually a very wet and overcast day in Windsor, so how did they get sunlight streaming in through the windows? And second (admittedly this one I don't understand), there's a question about either The Queen's clothes or the timing of the photo - she's supposed to be at the Royal Windsor Horse Show? Something to do with horses? - that people are confused by.

May 9, 2024: Harry goes to The Hague for Invictus Games 2020 kickoff events. (It has echoes of Charles leaving Diana just hours after Harry is born to go play polo.)

Afterwards

May 12, 2019: Mother's Day in the US. The Sussexes post a picture of Meghan holding Archie's feet in a field of forget-me-nots.

May 17, 2019: Archie's birth certificate is released. Harry doesn't have the right title.

June 6, 2019: Archie's birth certificate is updated to correct Harry's title and change Meghan's name from Rachel Meghan Her Royal Highness The Duchess of Sussex to Her Royal Highness The Duchess of Sussex.

June 8, 2019: Trooping the Colors. Meghan pauses her maternity leave to attend. She and Harry ride in a carriage with Kate and Camilla. Six things happen that everyone notices:

Meghan stares down Kate many times throughout the carriage procession.

When the royals are coming out onto the balcony for the flypast, Kate - carrying Louis (in his balcony debut) - walks out towards the right side of the balcony, by Andrew, while William veers to the left. William calls to Kate and she turns to join him, George, and Charlotte on the left side of the balcony. Harry and Meghan later come out on the right side, near to where the Cambridges would have been.

The Queen comes out onto the balcony and Meghan sees an opening to move in next to her, but then Andrew suddenly moves in, blocking Meghan. Anne moves in next to Andrew behind The Queen, effectively blocking the Sussexes from moving in.

When Meghan turns to speak to Harry, he sternly tells her to turn around. This happens twice. The second time, Meghan does an awkward shuffle to turn around and she starts rapidly blinking her eyes and clenching her jaw.

When The Queen is leaving the balcony after the flypast, Harry and Meghan bow/curtsy, suggesting that they were late arriving to Buckingham Palace before the parade to have properly greeted The Queen.

Meghan tries to speak to George as he passes by and he throws up a 'talk to the hand'-esque wave at her.

Allegedly, Harry and Meghan were set to have their own carriage at Trooping (as they did in 2019) but the BRF had concerns they would be booed and were thrown in with Kate and Camilla at the last minute. Allegedly, Harry didn't like this because he knew it was a demotion to go from their own carriage to riding backwards in someone else's carriage; when there's a group riding together, protocol requires the senior royals to face forward with junior royals facing backwards.

Also Meghan talks to herself.

I can't find a good video of the balcony so if anyone has one, please share!

June 17, 2019: Father's Day. The Sussexes post a new photo of Harry holding baby Archie. Harry is flipping everyone off and Archie's face is partially obscured.

June 27, 2019: SussexRoyal Instagram announces that the Sussexes will travel to South Africa in autumn. They indirectly announce that Archie will join them.

July 6, 2019: Archie's christening at Windsor Castle. Harry and Meghan decline to announce who his godparents are, citing privacy. The portraits are the first time we see Archie's face in full. They raise questions. Some people observe that the perspective/scale of William and Kate is off from the rest of the group. Others observe that Kate's chair is missing a leg. Others observe that the reflections behind the Spencer sisters and Doria are off.

Ahead of the christening service, William and Kate are papped driving into Windsor Castle. In the pap photo, both are wearing blue; Kate a blue dress or sweater and William a light blue casual shirt but in the released portraits, William is wearing a starched white shirt and Kate a pink outfit. There's some discussion that they changed at Windsor before the service but there's also something wonky going on with the metadata in the photos.

July 10, 2019: William and Harry play polo for charity. Kate, the kids, and Meghan attend. Meghan brings Archie. The lack of interaction between Kate and Meghan gets noticed quickly, as does Meghan seeming not to know what to do with Archie: she holds him for the whole outing, he seems poorly dressed (no hat or sun covering), and he doesn't move/Meghan doesn't change his position.

Allegedly, Meghan wasn't supposed to go to the polo match. Supposedly she had heard that Chelsy was there and hightailed it over with Archie to keep her man in line. (Yuck, I felt gross just writing that.)

July 14, 2019: Meghan breaks maternity leave again to attend the European premiere of The Lion King: Live-Action edition in London with Harry, who cancelled an event with the Royal Marines for this. Harry is caught on a hot mike pitching Bob Isner (Disney's CEO) about Meghan doing a voiceover.

July 26, 2019: According to The Sun, Harry and Meghan's neighbors in Windsor have been sent rules for interacting with the royals that include don't approaching the couple, speak only when spoken to, don't pet the dogs, and don't ask about the baby. Buckingham Palace denies that Harry and Meghan knew this was happening.

July 28, 2019: Meghan breaks her maternity leave again to guest-edit British Vogue's September 2019 edition, Forces for Change. There's controversy:

Allegedly Meghan was asked by the BRF if she was doing this and she kept telling them no.

Harry interviewed Jane Goodall for the edition, in which he made a comment that he and Meghan were only having two children for the environment. (The Sussexes eventually get some kind of award for this.)

Meghan interviews Michelle Obama over a lunch of fish tacos. It turns out that the interview was conducted over email.

Accusations of plagiarism, as an Australian magazine already did this something like this with a very similar front cover layout.

Also, just because: Inside Meghan Markle's disastrous attempt to edit Vogue magazine - new book 'Meghan, Harry and the war between the Windsors.'

And throughout July and August, Harry and Meghan are getting flack for racking up private air miles despite being environmentalists. They do four back-to-back private flights across Europe with Archie. On one of these trips, they meet David Sherborne, Elton John's lawyer and off to the lawsuit races we go.

The Queen invites them to Balmoral to join the family but the Sussexes decline, allegedly because Archie was too young to fly. (Mm-hmm, and then they take him on four flights to Europe.)

September 6, 2019: The Sussexes' itinerary for their Africa tour is released. As part of the tour, Harry will visit Angola and copy Diana's famous de-mining walk.

September 12, 2019: Meghan's maternity leave ends with an announcement introducing Smart Set, a capsule collection from her friends that benefit Smart Works. Meghan gives a speech that ends awkwardly when she says she needs to leave because it's "feed time."

September 23 - October 2, 2019: Harry, Meghan, and Archie travel to South Africa, Malawi, Angola, and Botswana. Meghan tries to merch Archie's clothes from H&M but it gets shut down pretty quickly. Archie's first official engagement is to meet Archbishop Desmond Tutu, which SussexRoyal cringely calls 'Arch, meet Arch.' Meghan gives her infamous "no one asked me if I'm okay" interview in which she discusses her post-partum challenges as a "young mom" and her mental health distress. Harry gets in a tiff with one of the royal reporters, snapping at her "you know what you did" when she tries to ask a clarifying question.

Princess Beatrice announces her engagement on September 26th and it steals some of the Sussexes' coverage.

And after the tour (or on the last day of the tour? I don't remember and it's late), Harry announces that he's suing the British press and it is chaos.

November 7, 2019: Harry and Meghan attend the opening of the Field of Remembrance ceremony at Westminster Abbey. Camilla was supposed to join, but backed out at the last minute citing a cold. When Meghan is pictured in overly glamorous hair and makeup for the event, speculation begins that they are recording the work for a documentary and that Camilla pulled out to avoid being in the footage.

November 9, 2019: The royal family attends the Festival of Remembrance at Royal Albert Hall. Harry and Meghan are shoved into the back row behind a pillar, barely visible on camera. (It's a demotion, because in 2018 they were seated behind Camilla.)

November 10, 2019: Remembrance Day/Sunday. The Queen, Camilla, and Kate watch from the center balcony. Meghan watches from a side balcony between Sophie and Tim. She holds her composure at being excluded from the 'main' balcony better this year than last year (in 2018, she kept stealing weepy or vengeful looks (YMMV) at the center balcony while she was sidelined with the wife of the President of Germany) but she still clenches her jaw.

This is Meghan's final entry in the Court Circular (ever).

December 20, 2019: The Sussexes announce they will spend the Christmas and New Year's holidays privately in Canada.

November 17, 2019: Harry's last entry in the Court Circular before Megxit, suggesting he and Meghan peaced out to Canada shortly after this (I'm too lazy to look up if there were any papwalks or other private engagements - another day, maybe). His final events are January 16, 2020 (a rugby thing); Philip's funeral; the service of thanksgiving for the Platinum Jubilee; and The Queen's Funeral.

And if you made it this far: congratulations! My asks are back open.

[username8746489]

Sylvester Ashling Power Analysis/Speculation

Sylvie has been on the mind for a while, so here's my interpretation of how his epithet works (with evidence where I can find it)

Sleep Dust

Sylvie's sleep dust exists as a thin coat on him at all times

Evidence: "[Wonder how] your jacket is white with all this... weird orange dandruff?" (Prison of Plastic - CAST LIVESTREAM! [PART 2])

This coat is loose enough that any movement is enough to dislodge it

Evidence: Molly bumping into Sylvie (EP1 - Quiet in the Museum!)

Sylvie can release the sleep dust at will, but the speed changes depending on how spread out it is (Smaller = Faster). The largest range he can release it is at least the size of a museum room.

Evidence: Putting Indus to sleep (EP2 - Bear Trap)/Using Sleep Dust on Molly + Giovanni (EP2 - Bear Trap)

Once the sleep dust leaves Sylvie's body, it doesn't last long

Evidence: The sleep dust disappears completely after Giovanni blows it away instead of falling back down (EP2 - Bear Trap)

The sleep dust is able to put a person to sleep for several hours. However, you can still wake up from it the same way you would as if you fell asleep normally

Evidence: Molly falling asleep for at least 4 1/2 hours (EP1 - Quiet in the Museum!)/Mera waking up Indus (EP3 - The Doctor is In)

Sylvie likely has an immunity to his own sleep dust

Counting Sheep

Counting Sheep trades Sylvie's sleep dust's potency for mobility

Evidence: Molly only becomes sleepy for a few moments when a Counting Sheep hits her, rather than falling asleep for hours like before

Sylvie can summon at least 27 sheep at once

Evidence: 27 sheep onscreen for like one frame (EP2 - Bear Trap)

Nightmare Fuel

Nightmare Fuel requires the target to have a certain amount of drowsiness before it can be activated, but nightmares can still be summoned without the target being asleep

Nightmare Fuel summons a past nightmare the target has had, usually their worst one

Evidence: "That fire he summoned was from my nightmares" (EP3 - The Doctor is In)

Sylvie doesn't need to know what a person's nightmare is to summon it

Evidence: "Pyrophobia, huh?" (EP2 - Bear Trap)/Being confused when Mera's nightmare is already reality (EP4 - Reflection)

Sylvie uses his yo-yo to activate Nightmare Fuel

Evidence: An orange light travel along the string of the yo-yo whenever he activates Nightmare Fuel (EP2 - Bear Trap/EP4 - Reflection)

Sylvie can manipulate any Nightmare Fuel he summons

Evidence: "I'll keep that fire where it is" implies he can control where the fire moves (EP2 - Bear Trap)

Nightmare Fuel can be used based on any nightmare a person has ever had in their life

Evidence: Nightmare Fuel has summoned more things than the target's worst fear (Bear statues coming to life/Duck/Blue fire)

Dream Big

If Sylvie were to use Nightmare Fuel on himself, "he will be paralyzed and his heart and thoughts will race in anxiety until the spell gets dispelled"

Evidence: Majin Ask (Thank you to gayfrogstheremix for providing me the source)

Sylvie can bring dreams to life. This includes himself, but potentially also includes anyone else who is asleep

Evidence: "Can lull targets to sleep and bring their dreams to life" (Sylvie Bio)/"Sylvie can use his powers to examine his patients’ dreams up close and personal." (Epithet Erased Website)

Sylvie had to train himself to lucid dream Beefton, although he is still unable to control him completely

Evidence: "I think Sylvie had to do training, to like, specifically kind of lucid dream a Beefton into existence" (Epithet Erased QnA Stream Part 5)

Beefton was first created when Sylvie was 11

Evidence: Beefton is 4 years old (Beefton PoP Infocard)

Sylvie could bring any of his dreams to life through Wild Dream but chooses not to

Evidence: "He could probably Wild Dream about whatever he wanted, but it might not be helpful, it might be destructive." (Epithet Erased QnA Stream Part 5)

Sylvie likely uses Dream Big in his day-to-day life, even outside of battle

Evidence: Beefton's interests include "Doing Sylvie's homework after Sylvie falls asleep" (Beefton PoP Infocard)

Sylvie could theoretically use Dream Big to use another epithet, but he would have to train to do so

Evidence: "Could Sylvie like fall asleep and then dream of having a different epithet?"/"Yeah?"/"He could. It'd take a while." (Epithet Erased QnA Stream Part 5)

Miscellaneous

Sylvie can likely drop asleep at will. He may also enter the REM stage of sleep (when you have the most vivid dreams) extremely quickly

Evidence: He can dream Beefton only a few seconds after falling asleep when it usually takes ~90 minutes to enter REM sleep

All of Sylvie's summons are made of his sleep dust

Evidence: Counting Sheep explode into Sleep Dust (EP2 - Bear Trap)/Mera's Duck + Beefton is the same color as the Sleep Dust

All of Sylvie's (personal) summons have some form of sentience

Evidence: Counting Sheep have the ability to distinguish themselves from each other ("The pompadour sheep thinks it's the leader of the flock" (Sylvie Trivia 2))/Beefton has a personality and memories separate from Sylvie ("Beefton did all that!?" (EP3 - The Doctor is In))

The 'realness' of a Nightmare Fuel/Dream Big may depend on how asleep the target is

Evidence: Molly's fire leaves no trace behind (EP2 - Bear Trap) but Beefton's damage remains (EP3 - The Doctor is In)

Sylvie will most likely reach tier 2 in a decade or so

Evidence: "Sylvie's stats are currently in the high-stars, but if he continues on his current trajectory then it's very likely he'll reach the Orbit tier in Proficiency by the time he's in his late 20s to early 30s." (Star Mechanics Explanation)

[fallen-mario-bros-au]

Aight just a warning I'm pretty new to Tumblr and I'm DEFINITELY new to making AUs so I'm pretty nervous to post anything here but I figured I'd just rip the band-aid off.

FIRST POST HYPE!! :D

Anyways I love Mario and I love Undertale and I NEEDED TO COMBINE THEM LEGALLY so I decided to make an au about it! Dunno if I'm actually going to do anything serious with this, I mostly just want to imagine cute shenanigans with my favorite characters and whatnot, but who knows? Maybe I'll actually try to give this a proper plot

So here's the basic info:

- Mario and Luigi, in the midst of trying to chase down Bowser, who has just kidnapped the princess again, somehow wind up far away from the Mushroom Kingdom and on Mt. Ebott. Where, of course, they fall into the underground.

- All the monsters are pretty much their canon counterparts (at least, my best interpretation of them 💀)

- Mario ends up discovering he has the power to reset/load/save/etc, but Luigi does not. This is because Mario has the most determination to get out of here and save the princess

- Toriel isn't quite as overprotective of them as she would be if they were a literal child like Frisk, but she is still very motherly towards them because it's just kinda who she is. She would probably be concerned about them potentially attacking the monsters so she might make them promise not to hurt anyone. I still don't think she would want them to leave because Asgore would take their souls

- Honestly mostly this is just an excuse for the Mario Bros and the Skelebros to hang out XD

- the thing that is really interesting is that Mario and Luigi are not 1, but 2 humans, which means only one of their souls would be needed to break the barrier. This ends up becoming a real issue but I could see it being resolved in a few ways.

1. one of the bros self sacrifices so the underground goes free (much to the dismay of the other, and also my heart would break haha)

2. They decide to just stay in the underground instead of going home (but they would be pretty sad about it because oh no their kingdom is still in danger

3. ??? IDK tbh

- Since Mario can load saves, he's just constantly in this angsty cycle of trying to keep his bro from getting killed off ;;

- Not sure if Mario could keep the resets secret for long since Flowey would taunt them about it, but he definitely would be pretty closed off about it, especially to Luigi. He does NOT want Luigi to know about the horrible things he's seen

-ofc cut to Luigi being confused as heck as to why Mario seems to already know what's going to happen.

- they have cute sweaters because I said so

- not sure how omega fight would work, but either way Mario would have to fight to save both of them (probably all by himself :c)

- I want them to eventually do true pacifist but IDK how it would work so I'm not gonna think about it too hard rn

- Mario and Undyne having a friendly rivalry about who's the most heroic

- sans trying to convince them they could just stay in the underground and they're like "no we have to save the tiny mushroom people" and he's like "ur just like my bro fr"

- monster speculation about the purpose of mustaches

- It would be kinda funny if they had the firebrand and thunderhand since... Like... Humans aren't supposed to be able to do magic

- "are you sure you're humans? You're so small"

- *confused Italian noises*

Also here's some assorted doodles (I know the quality sucks 😭)

[hroscek]

Il Dottore segments - what I could gather

⚠︎Massive spoilers for the Sumeru archon quest and other Dottore-related media ahead⚠︎

Okay so as far as I can tell there's little to no official info about dottore's various segments. Nevertheless they're an important part of my fav lunatic ✧˚ so I decided to document what we know so far and what we've made up within fandom.

Keep in mind this is in no way 100% canon or conclusive, just to help myself (and perhaps you) keep everything somewhat consistent. If there's anything I missed PLEASE let me know and I'll try to keep this up to date.

◄░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░►

Okay so first the canon stuff.

We know that Dottore made segments of himself at various stages of his life in order to gain additional perspective and transcend the limits of a mortal mind. We can also make a few educated guesses as to how many there are and what their personalities might be.

There were at least 3 different segments seen trough various media. Firstly there's the two segments we see during the Sumeru archon quest. One of them is the one that talks to Tighnari and later leaves on a boat. The other we see in a cutscene talking to Nahida. He is also the one that ends up killing the others in exchange for the electro gnosis. The last confirmed separate segment that we get visual confirmation of is the one from the manga.

To make is easier we can assign them names since we'll talk about them a LOT in this post.

The original - Zandik

He is the real Dottore who created the other segments and the one they are based off. We haven't seen him on screen yet and due to his standoffish nature we can't really get a good grasp on anything about him because we can't confirm whether the source talks about a clone he sent in his place or not. The only confirmed info I feel safe about concluding is accurate to him is his backstory/pre-fatui days.

The Prime - Omega

This is the segment Nahida talks to and presumably (if he is to be believed) the last segment standing after the archon quest (unless Dottore already started working on new segments in the meantime). He is said to be the most selfish of the segments and is shown to be quite proud. The label of omega comes from the in-game cutscene where he is introduced as the omega build. He is said to be "in the prime of his life" which is why many call him that. This also causes confusion in many that assume that Prime is the Original, likely thinking Prime is just short for Primary.

Webtorre - ???

This is the segment that appeared in the manga and was later killed off by Prime. We don't know his build or much about him, with many speculating that he's actually two different segments that are just never explained to be separate by the text. He's also shown with a different design and a more offhinged personality.

Boattorre - ???

Another mystery build. This is the one we see confront Tighnari in the Sumeru archon quest and later leave by boat. From his interactions as well as dialogue from the fatui guards around him we can deduce he's more "friendly" and upbeat than the other segments. An NPC speculates that the Doctor's picked up the attitude of people in Sumeru, which could also mean that even most fatui don't know (or at least can't tell the difference) when it comes to the segments.

That's it for the 100% confirmed on-screen stuff (with some generally agreed upon speculation)

What we're guessing

Then we get into speculation territory. From the cutscene where the segments are allegedly destroyed we can hear 11 distinct voices. Combined with Prime and the original that's at least 13 Dottores.

Some people also interpret the use of Omega as there being 24 separate segments since there's that many letters in the Greek alphabet.

Personally I think both are valid trains of thought, but realistically we're probably lucky to see six segments so unless there's a Dottore expansion or he gets his own universe there's really not much point in speculating on how many there really are and who they might be. Not saying it's not fun though!!

Another thing we might guess about is any other appearances. I placed these under speculation as there's always an argument to be made that either of these could just be an already named segment. Nevertheless, if we take each instance to be a separate segment we end up with quite a few new Dottores to take a look at.

First we have the one seen at La Signora's funeral that talks with Columbina. The discoure around him is often focused on whether he is the one "in the prime of his life" as Columbina puts it. Personally I think omega takes that title and is also the one seen burning irminsul (logically speaking it's him as he's commiting blasphemy by burning the sacred tree as well as physically the last one standing after the archon quest).

Then we have the Snezhnaya segment, who could as just well be any of the previous but for the sake of extending the list I'll treat him as separate. In the conversation between the fatui in the Boattorre scene they remark that in Snezhnaya he's much colder (ha) than the one they're with.

Also the likelihood that Webby is multiple segments due to his varying personalities, but again that might just be him ❤︎.

₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚₊˚

I might update this with more fanon names, but I'm still not confident enough to deal with all the different OCs and whatnot. Hell, I'm still not fully confident in what I wrote here with all the conflicting opinions. I tried my best though. If there's any new info I'll definitely try and update as soon as I can. If you have anything to add or I forget to update please don't be afraid to reach out!!

Thank you all for reading! ✿

Last meme cred to XS_DENIED on hoyolab

[gingerylangylang1979]

Does Carmy die in the end? Don't hate me.

Ok @thoughtfulchaos773, here's the post.

I've been thinking for a while that Carmy may die in the finale. I may not be able to write this post as intelligently as it deserves but here it go.

You know how shows tend to end how they begin? The pilot begins with Carmy on a bridge with the bear in a cage. This is a dream and seems like a final showdown with his nemesis/alter ego. They are about to battle and then a car horn and swerving sound breaks the dream state and Carmy wakes up in his reality. We also get a scene of a body in a morgue. We assume it's Mikey but what if it's Carmy. We also hear voices from Micheal as if him and Carmy are in the same realm.

All throughout the show driving is a theme. It always seemed noteworthy to me because it's a show themed around cooking. Why is driving so important?

In "Hands" there is a lot of emphasis on who can drive and who can't. In "Dogs", there is confusion on where Cicero lives. Cicero later discusses a dream about Carmy's dad driving and what seems to imply Carmy is the little boy flying forever in the air. Sounds ominous. Syd names her catering company Sheridan Road. In season two Carmy and Claire make random trips out to the suburbs and needing a ride is central. Why do either of them really need a ride to do these errands? Donna crashes her car into the family home. Syd tells Richie to drive friends and family night.

Now back to it all coming full circle. There has been a lot of speculation of Carmy leaving for a different career or not. If we fully accept that he doesn't leave by choice, he could leave due to death. Why does everyone from the health inspector to Mr. Sirsky (sp?) confuse Carmy as the dead brother?

Carmy seems to be gradually handing the place over and disappearing but it doesn't seem to be conscious. That would make him seem suicidal like Mikey. But it's not that, he has no idea he's setting up his departure. He gives Tina the knife. His new whites have his initials in san serif white font, not the pronounced blue cursive, like he's a ghost. Syd's scenes parallel his as if she is meant to take over. He tells her it's her ship and I'll dial business you are everything else. Syd and Carmy are often shown in ethereal light, like Mikey looking back at Carmy in 1.8. Do they both pass on and Syd is the new hope/destiny?

And then, again there is the reference back to the pilot if this all comes true and full circle. Anybody who watched Six Feet Under gets it. I always found these two stories very similar. In the pilot Nate (Carmy) has an aneurysm. We kind of forget about it because the story shifts to him coming back home as the prodigal son and the whole family dealing with the death of the patriarch and the passing over of the family business. The brother who stayed (Richie) is resentful. He stayed. He didn't really want to be a mortician but it was how he stayed close to the family and tried to bond with the dad. The business is in shambles and they have to "change the chemistry" to make it work. A new talent (Sydney) comes in that makes it all better and offers a different perspective. I won't go into the entire plot but in the end what happens? Nate dies. Aneurysm. Full circle. This is often how shows end. There are often clues.

My theory is that somehow Cicero and his dad tie into some sort of trip to the suburbs. I honestly think Cicero is Carmy's real dad. I feel somehow this will come to light and he makes a trip to see one of them. Why was Carmy confused about where Cicero lives? I don't think that was a throwaway line.

Does Carmy die in a car accident in the suburbs?

I may have left out a few things but I dunno, thoughts?

[sarahwroteathing]

Project Amaranth (4)

[Bucky Barnes x Reader]

Word Count: 2268

Summary: Bucky and Sam move you to a new safe house.

Warnings: None

A/N: AH sorry, my loves. I had class tonight and didn't notice that the post didn't go through when it was supposed to. Nice to know that my queue still only works half the time. Reliably unreliable. Anyway! Happy Halloween!

Catch up here!

"How does he already look mad?" Sam sighed as the car cleared the last bend in the long, heavily forested road to Steve's house.

He was waiting on the porch, leaning on the rail with crossed arms and a displeased expression as he watched them approach up the gravel drive.

"His face got stuck that way when he was eight years old. Try not to take it personally," Bucky said mildly, smirking at the snort it elicited from Sam.

"Alright, I'll go talk to him. Let him know what's going on before we spring his new roommate on him"

"He's not going to say no," Bucky said, glancing at you where you sat in the backseat, hands tightly clenched in your lap.

"I know, but we still need to give him a chance to."

Sam put the car in park, pausing for a moment to meet your eyes in the rearview mirror.

"One way or another, we'll figure this out. We've never been good at giving up on people. You okay with me telling Steve everything you've shared with us so far?"

The corner of your mouth tugged down, but you nodded.

"Okay. I assume you two need to talk too. Bucky, I'll text you when we're ready for you. But take all the time you need."

With one last nod that seemed more for his own benefit than for yours or Bucky's, Sam climbed out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition. You watched in silence as he approached Steve, clapping him on the shoulder and drawing him into a brief hug before gesturing him inside. Steve glanced towards the car curiously, but made no show of protest, disappearing into the house and closing the door behind them.

"You didn't warn him," you said quietly. "About me. He doesn't know I'm here or what you're going to ask him to do."

Though your words had a ring of accusation, your voice was flat, emotionless. He knew it well. It never meant anything good.

With a bracing breath, Bucky unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the car, moving quickly to join you in the backseat before you could jump to any dangerous conclusions. You looked a little startled by his sudden closeness, but you tried to hide it, scooting a couple inches away from him while masking it as a change in position. Your shoulder pressed firmly against the door, but you didn't reach for the handle, watching him closely.

"We didn't tell him because we didn't want to risk anyone else finding out. Sam called to tell him we were visiting, and that was enough to let him know something was going on without tipping off anyone who might have been listening."

You pursed your lips, turning your head slightly to scan the surrounding trees while keeping Bucky in your peripheral.

"I thought you said he was your best friend. Do best friends not visit each other?"

Bucky smiled a little.

"I visit. I just never ask."

Your eyes returned to his as you gave a speculative hum.

"And Sam Wilson?"

"Sets up visits at least a week in advance."

"He sounds like a better friend."

"He might be. But Steve's known me too long to give up on me now. He's always happy to see us anyway."

The small smile you'd been sporting slipped a little.

"Not this time."

"He's just worried. He'll get over it. I just want to make sure you're still okay with this plan before we go inside."

"Well, I don't have a better one, so..." You sighed. "Nothing can be worse than where I was before."

"Come on now. The couch wasn't that bad."

Bucky smiled when his comment shocked a laugh out of you. Fleeting and confused, but a laugh nonetheless.

"That's - That's not what I - "

"I know," Bucky said with a shrug. "But it made you smile for a second."

You stared at him, something strange passing through your eyes. He thought you may have been about to speak, but the chirping of his phone had you receding again behind a stoic mask. 

Sam, telling him they were ready. 

“You alright?”

You nodded.

“I trust Steve with my life,” he reminded you quietly. “He’ll always try to do the right thing. He won’t hurt you.”

“What if I hurt him?” 

“Do you want to?”

“No, of course not,” you said quietly, frowning down at your hands.

“Then you won’t,” Bucky said with a shrug. 

“That simple?” you scoffed, but Bucky stayed steady, nodding slowly. 

“This time? Yeah, I think it is.” 

You broke eye contact again to tug restlessly at the neckline of your borrowed sweatshirt. 

“Ready?”

“I guess.” 

Bucky slipped out of the backseat, holding the door open for you as you followed. Neither of you spoke as you approached the front door, the crunch of gravel beneath your boots softening to a nearly silent step on the porch. He couldn’t tell whether it was intentional or instinct.

Sam and Steve were sitting on the couch when the two of you walked in, but Steve stood slowly as you came into view. You held position one step behind Bucky and half a step to the right. 

“Hi,” Steve said with a gentle smile, keeping his hands shoved deep in his pockets to curb the habit of a polite handshake. “I’m Steve.” 

You gave an uneasy nod, face tense and blank like you were unsure how to act or what to say in this situation.

“I know we’ve just met, but I’m really glad you’re here.”

Your brows furrowed slightly, head tilting to the side in question as your eyes darted to Bucky and back to Steve again. Steve wasn’t smiling anymore, eyes solemn and projecting that 110% sincerity that only he could pull off. 

“Whatever happened before and whatever Hydra did to you, I hope you know that you didn’t deserve this.”

You blinked hard, faltering a shuffled step backwards. Bucky stepped in smoothly before the overwhelm could shift to panic.

“Does this mean she can stay here with you?” he asked. 

“Of course. As long as she needs.” 

Bucky glanced over to you, and though you still looked slightly dazed you nodded your acceptance. 

“Okay. Her stuff is in the car. Give me a hand with it.”

The sharp clap he landed to Steve’s shoulder left no room for argument, and you lingered uncomfortably in the hall as Steve followed Bucky outside. 

“You’re going to need to ease up a little, pal,” Bucky said softly as they trailed down the porch steps. 

The sun had already set, but full dark had not yet descended. Between the gaps in the trees, the clouds were clinging to the last of their fiery glow. 

“I just wanted her to know where I stand,” Steve said, holding out his hands obligingly as Bucky reached into the backseat for your borrowed duffle bag and the two heavy backpacks from the bunker. 

“I get that, but you can’t treat her the same way you treated me when you found me again. Even when I could barely remember you, I still loved you. Like muscle memory. It made things easier. But if you try to talk to her about her feelings, she might punch you.” 

“Give me a little credit,” Steve said, accepting the duffle and choosing not to comment when Bucky kept a tight hold on both backpacks. “I wasn’t going to start with that.”

“I mean it. Go easy.”

Something shifted in Steve’s eyes at the severe expression Bucky leveled him with. 

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll give her space. I’m not trying to scare her off, Buck.” 

“I know you wouldn’t mean to. But your heart's too big for your own good, and that can be… a lot. For people who aren’t used to it.” 

Steve nodded slowly, a smile starting to creep up the corner of his mouth. 

“What did Sam call it again?”

“Aggressive compassion.” 

“Yep that’s the one,” Steve said with a snort. “I’ll try to tone it down for now. No promises.” 

When they reentered the cabin, Sam had managed to convince you to sit on the couch with him. You still looked uncomfortable, but you seemed to be making a concentrated effort to push through it. 

Bucky surrendered custody of the backpacks to you immediately, and as you started to tuck them between your feet and the couch, Steve spoke up.

“Let me show you where you’ll be staying. So you have somewhere safe to keep those.”

You looked up at him, fingers tensing slightly around the straps before you nodded.

“Okay.”

The guest bedroom Steve led you too was the same room Bucky always stayed in when he visited. He’d probably spent more time here than he had in his own apartment bedroom. It was small but clean, the queen bed in the center was crisply made and covered with a plush green duvet. There was only room for one bedside table, equipped with a small lamp, a candle, and an unopened box of tissues. There were two extra phone chargers in the drawer. 

Steve set your duffle bag down on the foot of the bed.

“It’s not much, but I hope you’ll be comfortable. There’s a fan and an electric blanket in the closet if you get too warm or too cold…” he trailed off, looking around the room for inspiration before shrugging. “If there’s anything you need, just let me know. The bathroom is across the hall, and it’s just for you. I use a different one.” 

“Thank you,” you said quietly. 

“You’re welcome. We’ll give you some space to unpack. Look around.”

You nodded absently, already opening the closet and shoving the two backpacks into the back corner. Steve didn’t comment, leading Bucky back out to the living room in pensive silence.

“Everything good?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah, we’ll be fine,” Steve said. “How long does she need to stay for? What’s the plan?”

Sam looked pointedly at Bucky who rolled his eyes.

“We’re working on it.” 

“Working on it…” Steve repeated, his face carefully neutral.

“I’ve been focusing on getting her somewhere safe,” Bucky said, crossing his arms defensively. “I haven’t had time to think much farther than that.” 

“Okay…” Steve said quietly, but the slight strain lurking behind the calm facade made Sam snort. 

“I think you’re breaking his brain.”

“He’s done plenty without a plan before,” Bucky argued. 

Steve hummed noncommittally. 

“Having no plan is better than having a bad plan.”

Sam obligingly switched sides, hearing the frustration in Bucky’s voice. This was intensely personal for him. He was terrified of fucking it up.

“Give us a couple weeks. We’ll come by again and figure things out,” Sam said, standing from the couch.

“Okay,” Steve agreed, accepting the handshake-turned-hug Sam offered.

“We should probably go. Let you guys get settled,” Sam said, turning towards Bucky. “You ready?”

Bucky glanced back towards the door of the guest room. 

“I’ll meet you at the car. I wanna…” He gestured vaguely at the hallway, and Sam shot him a significant look.

“This was your idea, you know.”

“I know. I’m not - I just want to check on her before we leave.”

“You told me you’d be cool about this.”

“And I am. But I wanna see where her head’s at.”

Sam sighed. 

“Alright. Five minutes.”

“Or what? You’re gonna leave me here?” Bucky asked skeptically.

“No. But I am gonna talk to you about boundaries and countertransference all the way back home.” 

“Fine. Five minutes,” Bucky said with a grimace, waving Sam towards the front door. 

Steve shot Bucky a curious look that he pretended not to notice before following Sam.

You were sitting on the bed when Bucky entered the room, looking around the small space with the frown of a lost child. You glanced up at the sound of his boots on the old hardwood, but your expression did not change.

“Are you going to be okay here?” he asked, resisting the urge to close the door behind him. Sam and Steve would be outside by now. “You feel comfortable?”

You tilted your head curiously, gave a little shrug.

“I’m fine. Better than the alternatives.”

“So you’ll stay?” he asked carefully. “You’re not going to run?” 

“For now, I will stay,” you confirmed.

Bucky studied you for a moment, the way you always studied him. You sat still, patiently allowing his gaze to linger without comment. You looked sincere, as far as he could tell. Nervous but not quite restless. He had no way of knowing how long your resolve would last, but for the moment it seemed that you at least wanted to stay.

“Could you tell me if that changes? Please?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. Not anger. Focus. 

“You’re worried,” you said softly, and Bucky took a deep breath.

“Yes.”

“Tell me why?”

He bit his lip absently. He didn’t want to lie to you, but he wasn’t sure how much of the truth to share. How much would make you feel safe. How much would make you run.

“I want to help you, but I’m not sure I’m doing it right,” he said finally.

You sat with that for a moment, never taking your eyes off him. 

“I’m not in chains,” you said. “I’m free to walk away when I want to. That’s what you told me.” 

“Yeah.”

“If you weren’t helping me the right way, I would leave.” 

“That’s… true.”

“It is,” you said insistently, standing to move a little closer to him.

“Okay,” he said quietly. “So… good, for now?”

“Good. For now.”

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

I've been missing this one - what about you? How are ya feeling? What are we thinking?

Tags: @shifutheshihtzu @internalbullshit @lilasiannerd-blog @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @iwillbeinmynest @scotlandasshole @netflixa @hardcorehippos @singingprincessstudent @sophiealiice @blue1928 @tinuviel015 @a-book-pressed-rose @bbparker @battlebunnyteardropsinthesun @feelmyroarrrr @orangespocks @multifandomgirl-us @creideamhgradochas @buckybarneshairpullingkink @rebekahdawkins @xxbuckysbxx

[starsreminisce]

Papa Archeron favors Elain so he must have seen some potential in her. What other potential or speculative skills do you think Elain could have that can aid her in becoming an independent actor from her sisters and the Night Court? Do you think she got some of her skills from her father?

What kingdoms or courts do you think the next book (if it's an Elucien book) would explore and expand on?

If political drama were to be the focus of the next ACOTAR book, which political actor (could be any HL, non-HL, or any person of power) are you excited to see more of?

Lastly, fears for the next book that you are not looking forward to that you think can possibly happen.

Sorry for the many questions.

You're fine with the questions! I worry that I'll ramble and give you like a dissertation that ends up being too long to read so if you managed to get to the end of it, I hope your pillow stays cold. thank you haha!

I found it interesting that Elain was described as someone who can convince anyone to do anything with her pretty smile, and her father was a great negotiator who managed to temporarily free Vassa from Koschei, whom Elain had also dreamed about.

I think Elain stays close to her father and picks up on how he conducts his dealings, learning to read body language and details for negotiations. Cassian said that Elain saw it all and understood why—she has shown this ability when she pinpointed that Papa Archie's death caused Nesta to spiral, and when she read Azriel's decision and agreed (hence the confusion). Feyre would not have had the use of the house to meet the Queens if Elain had not convinced Nesta to allow it, showing her influence.

It's also notable that Elain is a seer, and this can tie into Papa Archie's background as a merchant, relying on intuition. We were told that Papa Archie gambled on three ships to Bharat to pay off their debts completely. Although he lost their wealth, part of being an entrepreneur (or merchant, in this case) is knowing and calculating risks for a high payoff—sometimes it works out, and sometimes it doesn't. With that, we did see Elain gamble on some decisions, and I wonder if her ability to assess risks and potential payoffs quickly plays a role in this.

I also wonder if Papa Archie set up something related to the key to freeing Vassa or defeating Koschei that only Elain would understand, which could come into play later. It's notable that Lucien is the only one who met Papa Archie, and it was for Elain's sake that he found Papa Archie in the process. Lucien spent time with Papa Archie while he was alive, and this connection may deepen his bond with Elain, much like how Papa Archie's death connected Nesta to Cassian through his understanding of her grief over being too late to save his mother.

Since the political drama and questions about the courts sort of blend together, we will likely see Autumn. We have to — there's the bargain between Eris and Rhys, of which only Eris's end has been fulfilled. We left off SF with Beron becoming more proactive about allying with Koschei. I would also love to see more of the Day Court and Helion in action.

Honestly, I'm not thrilled that we are going back to the Spring Court because it feels like… we've been there already, you know? We'll probably see some interaction between the Spring Court and the Human Lands since they border each other. From the sounds of it, if Vassa will be leaving soon, it's likely much more stabilized now. Hopefully, we won't spend too long there (possibly up to Part One?) before moving on to the Day Court and/or Autumn.

This last question though...

I'm worried that the next book may not meet the extremely high expectations being set.

It will officially declare where SJM stands in the ship wars, and there are two groups of people that will have to be satisfied: those on the other side of the ship, and those who have grown dissatisfied and critical with her writing. I fear it won't be as well-received as I hope, especially if it's a book about my favorite ship in the series.

Of course, people can ship who they want, and endgame status doesn't really matter in the grand scheme of things, but I love Elucien and hope to see that appreciation for them come through, even from those who didn't initially support the ship, and that it's done right by those who feel SJM has lost her touch.

With that said, I don't mind waiting for the announcement. I'd rather have a well-done book that took time to refine than a rushed release that needed more polishing (looking at you, HOFAS, even though I liked you).

Also, I'm feeling a bit jaded after the last couple of series I've read fell flat for me despite my initial excitement for their release.

If you made it this far, nonnie, I hope this answers most of it! Thank you again for taking the time to ask and I hope you have a great day!

[thesinglesjukebox]

CHARLI XCX FT. LORDE - "THE GIRL, SO CONFUSING VERSION"

We opened July by giving you a Charli remix; we now close July by giving you a Charli remix. Let's work it out in the blurbs, then see you next month!

[7.62]

Julian Axelrod: The girls are fighting. The girls have always been fighting. Sometimes with each other, sometimes with their labels, usually with themselves. But even in a year dominated by petty beef, the girls are rarely fighting on record. Leave it to Charli to realize pop music is all wrestling and execute a perfect reverse heel turn. The week BRAT dropped, pulling back the coke-stained rug to reveal a trap door of professional insecurity, fans and critics clung to "Girl, so confusing" as the last vestige of the carefree club romp we were promised, spawning a million think pieces about which curly-haired brunette started the beef. Bringing Lorde into the mix one week later was at once an escalation and denouement, negating the feud narrative and digging down to the real emotions buried beneath its glossy sheen. Charli resents Lorde's success, her flakiness, and her critical acclaim. Lorde sees Charli as a 365 party girl too cool to acknowledge her, let alone invite her to collab. It's all so insular and meta and self-obsessed and earnest and honest and real, to the point where it's almost too intimate to witness. But it's a testament to Charli and Lorde that the whole thing doesn't topple under its own weight, and hearing them write to each other's style makes you realize they have more in common than just hair. The girls are talking. The girls are collaborating. The girls are working it out on the remix. [9]

Jacob Sujin Kuppermann: Iconic! Culture-changing! This could have been a podcast! [5]

Andrew Karpan: Upon release, it was funny to hear the speculation that this record was about Lorde, in that way that it is always funny to know something that feels intimate and real about a roving symbol of pop phenomenology. At any rate, it was satisfying to hear that we were right. Turning this from subtext to text feels like a decisively modern gesture, a living and breathing genius dot com annotation, something one could easily confuse for Taylor Swift’s 1989 rollout or any other kind of “this phony fake friends fake girl power shit” -- but I’m less inclined to be cynical, even in the meme economy of it all. The fiction of these two people with their relatable problems is played so straight that I practically cried at the end. She rides for Charli! Charli rides for her! Hang it in the Louvre, but down in the back.  [8]

TA Inskeep: I've traditionally not been a fan of Charli XCX, for various reasons not worth getting into here. That's relevant because I am thoroughly knocked the fuck out by the next-level-meta "girl talk" dialogue of this meeting-of-the-minds remix. Lorde responds to Charli's verse with a lacerating one of her own, spilling her guts and getting very real; talk about "work[ing] it out on the remix," goddamn. Charli, of course, is expert at riding producer A.G. Cook's hyperpop rhythms, but to hear Lorde matching her as the track heaves and bumps is a shock. This is profoundly soul-baring pop, what with Lorde candidly talking about eating disorders and Charli admitting on her opening verse "I don't know if you like me / Sometimes I think you might hate me." That they're doing this so publicly is frankly stunning. This feels like -- this is -- a true pop moment. [10]

Alfred Soto: They're having fun, and for once one of these interrogations sounds lived-in. The beats pop harder. Listening to Lorde and Charli ribbit around the cheerful electro-frogs is a visceral pleasure. Few of the problems they describe code as "girl," though, so I'll be the spoilsport. [7]

Katherine St. Asaph: The original "Girl" had three problems, none of which got worked out on the remix. Problem the first: As with hot girl walks and girl math, this stuff is not especially girl-coded. Social anxiety and fake friendships are the human condition! Problem the second: I know it's a fandom joke, so apologies for bringing reality into your memes, but it must be said that basically no one is out here seriously comparing Charli XCX to Lorde, at least that I recall. I did a quick search to prove that I hadn't gaslit myself for a decade, and all I could find was this interview; which was almost definitely a bit; this anecdote about a taxi driver, which is mostly telling about the tastes of taxi drivers; and this Vox piece, which is... not good (or if you want to be charitable, maybe also a bit). In a music world where half the girls are regularly compared to half the other girls, that's an honestly impressive display of how much something hasn't happened. I know that none of us are privy to the actual lived history of Charli and Lorde's friendship, and I can certainly admire Charli stoking a grudge for 10+ years. But the emotional stakes just don't feel as dramatic as they've been hyped to, and thus the Internet inside my heart remains unbroken. Problem the third: There's also a song beneath the parasocial moment-making, and it sounds like "Take My Hand" but not as fun. [6]

Will Adams: Will I be sent to the gallows if I admit that this pairing had about the same emotional impact on me as when Taylor and Katy reunited in the "You Need To Calm Down" video? [6]

Hannah Jocelyn: I got thrown into the fire when it comes to female friendship, and honestly I still don't get it. There are entire movies about how nobody gets it, men just assuming women disappear into each other without a man to anchor them. I feel like cis women have the same bafflement, and they've been women for longer than I have. The questions are the same: do you like me? What do you need from me? Do you desire my company? What can I be, and what do I look like from this particular angle? Am I the one you tell your fears to? Do we have the same hair? Do you want to be me? I don’t think it’s a coincidence that this is in the tracklist right after the SOPHIE tribute of “So I”; it’s the same push-pull dynamic, the fascination and the fear of getting too close. Lorde’s devastating verse reveals the insecurities underpinning her decade of coolness, but she manages to add another quotable to her pantheon at the same time: “let’s work it out on the remix” is as sweet as “you buy me orange juice” and “down the back, but who cares, it’s the Louvre." I don’t care much about the rivalry (if there really is one) and don't need to, and that lack of care for extraneous knowledge is why I don’t quite love Brat like the rest of the internet. The juxtaposition between electroclash and Real Feelings occasionally feels like a gimmick, but the best songs make the melancholic subtext into text. This one, with its flanged chorus and cyclical chord progression, gets across the angst underneath the blurry JPEGs and silly memes. [8]

Taylor Alatorre: It's unfortunate that the zero-sum economy of the pop remix led to the excising of the song's most crucial lyric: "Think you should come to my party / And put your hands up." Apart from its now-obsolete function as a barely veiled clue, it encapsulates the nervous mixture of resentment and admiration that bleeds through both versions and that is so hard to portray sympathetically, let alone with such an impish wink. Charli, as someone who attended more warehouse raves than I did in the early 2010s, had more of a reason to puzzle over that particular line from "Team," to shake her head and wonder whether this post-twee moralizing was really what the kids were into – "the kids," of course, being those three to four years younger than her. Like, it just seems so childish to be genuinely bothered by the chorus to a Flo Rida hit, doesn't it? And yet Charli XCX still goes by the MSN screen name she had when she was 14. The "girl" in the title is as much an age signifier as it is about gender, and the humanizing awkwardness of the remix is a product of its function as an intermural high school reunion, the kind of event that's "confusing" by necessity even if it goes well, which this one does. Your Pop Class of 2013, 'til infinity. [7]

Jonathan Bradley: In 2011, an eternity ago, Drake offered Kendrick Lamar an entire track on his Take Care album, giving the then up-and-coming Lamar space to talk over his worries about fame and the professional anxieties he felt regarding his more successful host. "React like an infant whenever you're mentioned," Lamar recalled of the Canadian. "He said that he was the same age as myself, and it didn't help cause it made me even more rude and impatient." Having worked it all out on the remix, surely no trouble between the two would ever rise again. So confusing! In 2024, Lorde and Charli XCX connect to puzzle out some feelings, and it works better as an event than a single. Lorde is a savvier writer than Charli and works away at old wounds and insecurities with a sense of intimacy that only appears artless. Unfortunately, the production runs her through filters and bleeps that mold her presence into simply another type of Charli, dispelling the tension created by bringing these two women together. Blame it on Ms. XCX. [5]

Jackie Powell: The beauty of this remix is how it shines a light on how women in pop in 2024 deal with "diss tracks" -- although, to be honest, the remix makes me question whether "Girl, so confusing" really was one in the first place. Diss tracks often don't reveal complex emotions but just function in a universe filled with envy and pettiness, but this remix reveals the chaos that resulted from poor communication, fear, body issues, anxiety and depression. Both Charli and Lorde admit that the confusion of being a girl is a result of comparing your insides to someone else's outsides, a mental exercise that's often destructive but difficult to stop. "It's you and me on the coin/The industry loves to spend" is their acknowledgment of what came across as transparent and icky on Kendrick Lamar's "Not Like Us." Also, Lorde sounds the most compelling she has since 2017's "Melodrama"; while I always prefer less Auto-Tune than more, her talk-singing with audio distortion behind her vocals reminds me why she was so beloved. Her messaging is focused: Lorde at her best. Her vocals are dark: also Lorde at her best. What I find most fascinating here is the choice of words during the final pre-chorus. Charli and Lorde sing that they "ride for each other" after working this out, which sounds more sincere than singing that they now magically love each other. It's not an artificial "love ya," but the more sincere "I see you and I know now what you've been through." I'm actually quite jealous of how seamless this appears. Charli and Lorde are somehow giving me some hope that maybe my own friendship breakups could have been resolved by something like this.  [8]

Wayne Weizhen Zhang: Too many friends, not enough time to keep up. Too much life. Too much work, too many health issues, too much doomscrolling. Too much fun and connection and joy had together, but then rewinding it back, wondering whether everyone else felt the same way. Too much anxiety, becoming paralysis, becoming withdrawal. Too much wondering, "Did people notice I was missing? Should I reach out? Is this made up in my head, and if so, why?" Too many panics, trying to find the exact date of their birthday. Too much energy spent internalizing the loss—or even the potential loss—of friends as my own fault, not enough time spent understanding circumstance and accepting change. (Coincidentally, too much “Bad Friend” on repeat, god bless.) Too much time wasted not reciprocating the love of others, when they easily and excitedly extended the grace that I didn’t extend to myself. Too much adulthood, so confusing. But in this song? Just enough. Just enough sweat, enough mess, enough of the internet going crazy. Just enough payoff for being terminally online. Just enough intrapersonal catharsis, brought by talking it out, and making it clear that you do indeed ride for each other and will always “work it out on the remix.” Just enough tears shed, understanding that others, including the ones I idolize, can feel the way that I sometimes do. Just enough possibility of redemption. Just enough hope for salvation.  [10]

Nortey Dowuona: Two things I learned today. 1. Lorde is still her. 2. We need to re-evaluate Solar Power. [10]

[Read, comment and vote on The Singles Jukebox]

[the-whispers-of-death]

stone x bartender stone x bartender pls write like 8000 'chapters' about them i'll read it all

Alright, one more for you. (Not that I'm intending on stopping, I had just burned myself out answering so many asks at once so today I'll be taking breaks in between. Feel free to keep sending asks though, I'll get to it, eventually).

Stone walked to the park where you and him had scheduled your meet-up. It was one of the few days he had where there were no missions, no shift in the base hospital. It was free time and usually he'd hate it because it left him feeling lonely, but today he was going to be with you.

And that made it all better.

"Am I late?" you asked, making Stone turn around. The two of you had just entered the park at the same time. "Sorry, my cat had been crying at me not to leave my flat."

"You have a cat?" Stone asked, brushing your unnecessary apologies off. All he could focus on was that you had a cat, you were an animal lover.

You smiled at the way he was so intrigued by you having a cat. You started walking further into the park with him following you. "Yeah, I have a cat, she's five. Her name's Toffee," you answered. "Do you have a cat?"

Stone nodded his head. "Well, not officially," he said. "She's a stray cat that roams around base, but I give her food and cat toys. I named her Monster." He looked out in front of him as you two continued to walk. "I'm thinking of officially adopting her when my deployment's over, if I can."

"Why is she called Monster?" You were curious, it was a unique name for a cat. Usually it would fit more with a dog, and you wanted to know more about this cat who endeared herself to this enigma of a man.

"Ah, she bites and scratches all the other soldiers whenever they come close," he replied, grunting in disapproval at the memories of the other soldiers saying she should be run off the base. "She's just misunderstood, though. The first time I saw her, she came up to me and meowed so sweetly. She's a sweetheart."

Your lips twitched into a smirk, unable to help yourself as you looked up at him. "Guess she's like her unofficial owner, huh?" Your smirk widened when you saw confusion flash across his face. "You're a sweetheart underneath all that coldness and stoicism, aren't you?"

The result was so beautiful, the way he whimpered ever so softly at being called a sweetheart. So cute, so you just had to keep going.

"Yeah, you're so sweet. I remember the way you melted when I called you handsome." You both stopped walking now, facing each other fully. You reached out slowly, resting your hand on his broad chest and he so sweetly leaned into the touch. "Mm, you're a handsome sweetheart. Not used to being flirted with, but you enjoy the attention, hm?"

Stone couldn't help himself, he nodded. "Please keep flirting with me," he blurted out, practically begging.

Your eyes sparkled at that, you had no intention of stopping. You two resumed your walking again, enjoying the nature all around you. You learned more about him, learned that he was a Fleet Marine Corpsman, that he had been in the military for fifteen years and counting. He told you his favorite color, how he listens to Bollywood music on vinyl records.

Each new thing you learned about him made you want to take care of him even more. Which was why when you two stopped near a snow cone vendor and you saw him eyeing the snow cones, you dragged him—though you speculate that he allowed you to do so—to the stand. You both ordered what flavor you wanted and you refused to let him pay for it.

"Don't be silly," you said, your voice practically a purr. "A sweetheart like you deserves to be pampered. When was the last time someone took care of you?"

"Never," Stone admitted softly.

And it was true, no one had ever taken care of him really. The closest was medics patching him up when he himself couldn't, but that didn't really count. They were just doing their jobs.

Your eyes softened in sadness at the answer and so you gently pushed the hand with his wallet in it away. "Let me take care of you, please."

He stared into your eyes for what felt like hours but was only minutes. He was searching you for a hidden agenda, a lie. But he then relented, nodding.

You two enjoyed your snow cone together and continued walking around. You gave him soft touches on his arms every so often as you walked and spoke, relishing in the way he leaned into every touch. He seemed so touch-starved.

By the end of it all, Stone didn't want to leave. But you had work tonight, so you two had to part ways. "Until next time?" he asked, hoping this outing hadn't made you not want to see him again.

His heart melted when you said, "I'm definitely seeing you again." You lifted yourself up slightly to kiss his cheek, smiling at the way he stood there frozen at the touch.

He hadn't moved until you were long gone, his mind replaying the kiss on his cheek for several minutes afterwards.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Clark and sister reader having a moment where he warms up to her.

"Mr. Kent," you say by way of greeting, before kissing Alfred's cheek. And Clark smiled a little when the dignified British man blushed, just slightly. "Has Bruce come up yet?"

"Not yet," Alfred said easily, handing you a cup of tea. "I'll just go set another place- I didn't think you were coming, Miss Y/N."

"I didn't call?" you ask, looking confused, "I could have sworn-"

"Whether you called or not it's a pleasure to have you home this evening," Alfred said, unperturbed.

"But you don't have to-"

"Nonsense," Alfred scolded. "As if you'd ever be turned away." He scoffed and patted your shoulder as he passed. And before you can protest or offer to go, Alfred slips out of the room. Leaving you to entertain your brother's guest.

Clark shifted awkwardly and cleared his throat, "Thank you, Doctor-"

"Y/N is fine," you tell him, feeling too warm. When he was scowling at you he was very nice looking.

"Y/N," he said. "Without your help-" Clark broke off and shook his head. "I'm just sorry I was so rude to you. I shouldn't have believed-"

"It's alright," you sigh. "Bruce and I have apparently been taking turns going to rehab for years-"

"But you don't-"

"No, we don't," you snort. "Alfred would have killed us. Rehab wouldn't have been necessary."

Clark smiled a little, "Do they ever get anything right?"

"My last boyfriend was secretly gay- but it wasn't a beard situation. He just wanted good connections for his tech start-up. And to try and blackmail me for having dated women before- just not publicly."

"Ew-"

You half-shrug, "What he didn't count on was Bruce's protective streak. And someone else forcing me out of the closet at the same time on social media."

"The horror stories I have from their teens," Alfred said, shivering. "Rehab, partying, constant speculation about them sleeping with someone inappropriate- it's appalling. Nothing was private."

"How many times was I pregnant?" you muse, "I feel like that was a couple times a year. At least for a week or two."

"I lost count," he snorted. "About the time you and Bruce got bored of keeping a tally of who had a drug problem."

"So much for journalistic integrity," Clark scoffed.

"Tabloids don't need integrity," you snort. "They just need to entertain."

"That must have been very lonely," Clark said, blinking. He couldn't imagine being a kid and trying to navigate the awkward, painful landscape of romantic feelings while under constant scrutiny. And suddenly, the way you kept to yourself made sense.

Bruce had a crafted public face. One to deflect from his identity as Batman. But you weren't- you weren't a vigilante. You were a doctor.

"It could have been worse," you shrug. "Alfred could have believed them-"

"Never," he snorted. "You spent your weekends volunteering and on the off chance you DID go out, Bruce and Oliver would have never let you get into trouble. Not that sort of trouble any way."

[prolix-yuy]

Hello honey 💕 As promised, here I am submitting my request for the 500 follower celebration!

The list of prompts is amazing. I truly had a hard time choosing one, but after Chapter 2 of Both Side of the Door I need to know what happened between Mando and X'ian or I'll will never be at peace again. So I'll go for Heartbreak of betrayal with the two of them, hoping that you'll give us an insight into their relationship.

Ren's crew sees Mando as a sort of traitor, but I really can't see him act like that (as leaving Quinn behind) out of the blue. So who betrayed who? Who betrayed first? How? Why? And most importantly, what the hell happened on Alzoc III? S1E5 left us with so many questions. I need answers 🤯

Ma Chérie! My wonderful @amban-rifle! I have to start this off with an apology. I have held onto this ask for SO GOSH DARN LONG. This is from my 500 Followers Celebration OVER A YEAR AGO. I'm so sorry have kept you waiting but holy heck, what an ask! The drama! The complications! The holes in canon we all struggle with! Plus addressing one of the most confusing and complicated off-screen "relationships" many of us x Reader writers ignore. I wanted to do it justice, and it took a bunch of research, gorging myself on other Star Wars content, and staring off into space while that Spongebob meme of my brain being on fire danced in my noggin. But! It is here, finally. And for being so patient, it's an absolute monster.

Interlude: Burn in My Bloodstream

Pairing: Din Djarin x F!Reader, Din Djarin x Xi'an

Summary: The Mandalorian has shared many secrets, but his greatest one is buried in shame and blood.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: Explicit, 18+ MINORS DNI, canonical-type violence, allusions to sex work, rough sex throughout, oral sex (m receiving), gagging, voyeurism, fingering (f receiving), PiV sex (don't be a fool, wrap your tool), anal sex, creampie, choking, degradation, threesomes, semi-public sex, cuckolding, blood and descriptive gore, character death, genocide (what a tag that was to write), suicidal thoughts, a fuckton of angst, The Helmet Stays On and it's a Big Deal, a very toxic relationship dynamic.

Notes: This one was an exercise in researching and complicated storytelling, but now that it's done I am over the moon with how it came out. I know that the Din x Xi'an pairing is not many people's cup of tea, but if you want my take on how it came about and what I think happened to give us The Prisoner, here's it all as best as I can surmise. I'm staying as canon compliant as possible because it's fun to connect a bunch of dots, but obviously this is all speculation with some liberal fudging of timelines.

Takes place after Both Sides of the Door, with much of the story set pre-S1 and spoilers for S1 Ep6 The Prisoner. Our Reader character makes an appearance at the beginning and end, so she'll still have a place in this interlude. The title is taken from Ed Sheeran's "Bloodstream" and if you want to know where my mood was for most of this, that song is a good place to start.

Cross-posted on AO3

I Think of You Series Masterlist

After you retire for the night, Din contemplates telling you about the other woman who left marks on his life. Omera was easy; wrong place, wrong time, and no right time on the horizon. And if he was truthful with himself, maybe no right time ever. He could have loved her, loved the way she cared for him and allowed a softer life for himself. There are times when he lies in bed and wonders what a world like that might look like for him. 

It’s…difficult. 

Even thinking of a little plot of land, a space all his own tied to the earth of a planet, makes him yearn for the skies and space that surround you three on the Crest. He could never truly root in soil, so used to being a seed on the wind. There would always be bounties to chase, duties to fulfill, missions to complete.

Right?

And if he digs even deeper, he might find the clearest truth hidden among the memories.

His heart belonged to you longer than even he knew. 

There were times when he let others touch it. Omera’s hands held it gently, too kindly for him to accept. And to keep it, she would need him to lift the helmet, the one thing he could not give her. Being a Mandalorian is all he knows. So he took his heart with him, and he’s sure she’s better off without it.

But there was another who reached into his chest with claws and teeth and left him bloody from her affections. One he tries not to dwell on as long as he can. A time in his life that brought more shame than any other, misted in blood and sex and credits. 

He wants to share more of his world with you. You deserve to understand exactly why he is the man he is today.

But he does not think he can tell you about Xi’an.

“Got something special for you, Mando,” Karga says when he settles across the table. “You’ve been requested by name.”

Din cocks his head, one hand drumming restlessly. 

“That’s new,” he says. He likes playing mysterious for Karga, embodying all that a Mandalorian is supposed to be, even when some days he feels like a small child wearing his buir’s armor. At least it hides the worst of his apprehension, impassive helmet masking how his eyes constantly dart around the room, legs tense and ready to spring. 

“Ranzar Malk. Leads a small team of mercenaries.” 

Din tips his head back, folding his arms over his durasteel cuirass.

“Didn’t think you liked sharing the spoils,” he drawls, watching Karga carefully. The man laughs, sipping back some spotchka and winking at a woman sitting at his bar. 

“I don’t. I like my work without middle men. But they bring in very, very good credits. A percentage is more for both of us than the handful of riff-raff I could offer you.” Karga leans forward, elbow coming down and speaking lower. “They want the reputation a Mando can give their team. Help them get some bigger and better jobs. You lend them your striking silhouette, and you’ll be in enough credits to buy a whole suit of beskar. And my cut will be…barely noticeable.” The sly smile Karga schools off his face lets Din know it’s a lot more than unnoticeable, but the job intrigues him. 

“What kind of work is it?” he asks. Flashes of memories play at the corner of his mind - Mandalorians coming down from on high to save him, droids shredded in their wake.

“Malk and I have a strict ‘no questions asked’ policy. You do the work, you get paid.”

Din rolls his shoulders, fingers itching to grab onto something solid and deadly. 

“How long do they need my…reputation?”

Karga leans back and sweeps his hands wide.

“As long as you want. Open contract.”

Din considers the offer. Mercenary work has never been too lowly for a beroya, but he’d never done any. Mostly small-time criminals and shakedowns in return for credits. But if the money is as good as Karga makes it sound, it could help the covert ten times over. 

“Deal.”

“You must be the Mando.”

The voice is snarly, raked over a steel timbre. Din turns to see a barrel-chested, long haired man with a thick salt and pepper beard to match. His face is folded into a smile but the light of it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Extending a short-fingered hand, he pumps Din’s gloved one vigorously. 

“Karga said you were in need of reputation,” Din says, cooly delivering the lines he practiced on the flight to this no-name hangar in Outer Rim rubble.

“And what are you in need of, Mando?” Malk says, eyeing him with blatant curiosity. Din had planned for this question during his supply run. The covert wasn’t to be named, the last of a culture eradicated. So why was he still traveling, wearing the helmet if he’s not of an unseen world?

“Target practice,” is the dry answer he gives, leveling the helmet at the shorter man. Malk raises an eyebrow before a conspiratorial smile splits his lips. 

“I like you, Mando. Man of few words. You’ll get along with the other chatterboxes I run with.” 

Malk leads him to a hangar pad, small ships in various levels of disrepair scattered across the peeling floor. A sharp whistle brings three people into view, two purple Twi’leks and a human man. 

“My crew,” Malk says proudly, gesturing for them to come closer. The female Twi’lek saunters over with a swing in her hip, the heavy forehead-first stride of her companion close behind. The human throws a grease-spotted towel onto a box of tools and comes to an exasperated stop in front of Malk. 

“Can’t believe you shelled out credits for a tin man. I could have put a bucket on and we’d be just as well off,” the man says. His face is Malk claps him on the shoulder.

“Varlo,” Malk says, nodding to Din. He gives a polite tip of his head back. Varlo rolls his cold blue eyes and turns on his heel. His jaw is sharp and squared, matching his lithe frame as he climbs back into an open access hatch. The male Twi’lek approaches Din, soft footwork with his hands in his pockets.

“Qin,” he offers before Malk’s introduction, nodding his head at the amban rifle slung across Din’s chest. “Is it true weapons are part of your religion? Or is that all bedtime stories?” His smirk is condescending, not even veiled. A simmer of annoyance bubbles in Din’s veins but he tamps it out.

“Among other things,” he says instead, earning a sardonic smile and a handshake from Qin. 

“All weapons?” the female Twi’lek says at Din’s elbow, running her fingers up the length of the rifle’s barrel. Din twists away, visor meeting the sparkling challenge in the Twi’s eyes. 

“My sister, Xi’an,” Qin interjects as she circles Din with roaming eyes. She hisses at him, raising Din’s eyebrows under the helmet, before sharply switching to high-pitched giggles, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever done. 

“Ohhhh, Mando, we’re going to have fun,” she says, finally coming to rest at her brother’s side. 

Din should have walked away in this moment, saved himself a lot of pain and heartache and blood. They were volatile, waiting for a spark to burn everything around them, and Din was only more kindling. 

The jobs were easy to start. Wealthy benefactors needing a little extra muscle to get their way. A handful of runaways returned home. One exceptionally smooth jailbreak. Din’s presence gave them a leg up on jobs, but his skills were where he became integral. Combat all done with the efficiency and proficiency of a Mandalorian, but flying was where he excelled. The Razor Crest, in her infancy when he first shook Malk’s hand, was a deadly bird under Din’s touch. Scrambling signatures aside, with Din piloting it was a ghost on the astral winds. 

It also became a strange cramped home to the five of them while they traveled. After complaints of too many credits spent on lodging, Malk casually inferred that the Crest could be a better home base. “We’re in it more than out most days,” was his dry reasoning, and with four people staring him down Din agreed, pangs of discomfort pushed to the back of his mind. It made sense, after all. The Crest was a cargo ship. Might as well fill it with cargo.

So between jobs and screaming dogfights in the sky, the mercenaries found themselves within the durasteel walls. Hammocks strung along the hold allowed for sleep, belongings mixing and melding to become communal. There was comfort in that for Din. Individuality beaten out of him in training, he preferred not knowing who liked what ration bar or whose ‘fresher items littered the floor. 

In that crush of company, however, he did learn about his family in arms. Not enough to urge him to reveal more of his own past. All of them lived in the present, their histories an inky shadow they let drag behind and paid no mind. He learned instead of their present, trial and error and observation his best tools.

Malk’s connections were far-reaching and unsavory, most bounties questionable in nature but not enough to turn down. He would choose jobs no one wanted, ones that were especially difficult or carried the highest price. A name for himself was the greatest goal, clawing for prestige in how fast, how deadly, how accurate the team could be. Din sometimes caught a feral glint in his eye when they returned, deed done. The crazier the escapade, the more he gloated in cantinas or to his associates. Rarely lifting a finger himself, he worked logistics and timing, connections and credits. And when the job was done, it was only his name that ever hung in the air as they walked away richer.

Varlo was quiet, calculating and cruel. Din thought the standoffishness was a front until he watched the man more closely and realized it was born of a distinct lack of empathy. He could not be bribed, or swayed, or bewitched. While Malk made connections and laid the groundwork, Varlo was the front man on foot. He could talk his way in, execute the seven councilmen sitting at a table full of secrets, and wipe the blood from a particularly valuable one before taking it as insurance. His carefully crafted armor of failsafes and blackmail let him sleep easy every night, no matter the strain Din might feel at the events of the day.

Qin was the strength of the operation. Not bulky like a Devaronian, but leagues stronger and more agile than his body could betray. With enough blaster cover he could incapacitate, maim, and kill anything in his path with his two hands. That surety in his body extended to his place in the world. His smile was always knowing, always scheming something behind the fangs. Time spent across from him could pass pleasantly - Qin could spin you a tale from thin air, wrestle someone into gasping submission, or share silence all in turn - but once he left there was the distinct feeling that he gained more than you meant to give. 

And then there was Xi’an. Qin and her relationship was manic on a good day, volcanic on a bad one. They snapped at each other constantly, enough that Din stopped trying to understand if they were mad at each other or simply passing the time. Where Qin was strength, Xi’an was stealth. Her steps made no sound, the silvery whistle of her knives the precursor to bodies on the floor. The delight she took in her own prowess turned Din’s stomach more than once. Brutal hisses and snarls giving way to raucous laughter and almost childish giggles raised the hair on the back of his neck. She was competent and brash, and Maker help anyone who said no to her. 

Behind all of them was Din, standing silent and glorious. His helmet parted crowds, murmurs and rumors following the swish of his cape. They wondered why he was running with this bloodthirsty lot, a member of one of the greatest warrior cultures. He let them guess. With his contributions his covert would grow, and one day the children - maybe even his children - would be able to stand in the sun on a world that they called home. 

Until then, he hunts.

Din manages to maneuver the delicate balance of this crew living on his ship for over a month before tensions rise. A week without work has made everyone snappish and riled. Malk is hidden away in the cockpit making calls so Din has to remain with them, arms folded as Xi’an needles at Qin. His lip curls into a snarl, and Din braces for a brawl.

“Treating me like your baby sister isn’t going to make the men think you’re tough,” she hisses, sauntering by Qin and circling Varlo. “They don’t care about blood when it comes to close quarters, long hours, pent-up frustration.” She walks her fingers up Varlo’s chest, stroking her pointer along his leather jacket. “Care to blow off some steam?”

Varlo skirts around her touch, dropping down on a crate and leaning back.

“Hard pass, I don’t dip into crazy,” he spits out, Xi’an’s mocking smile chased by a wink of his own. For someone who barely experiences emotion beyond curiosity and satisfaction, he’s good at faking it. With a turn on her heel, she approaches Din instead.

“Ever felt the touch of a woman, Mando? Let someone polish your beskar?” she trills. Din keeps his posture loose, tilts his helmet and sighs. 

“Quit dicking around, I’ve got something,” Malk says as he drops down the ladder. “Decommissioning factory has had some thefts. We’re doing short-term security until we catch the guilty party.”

Xi’an backs off, slumping down across from her brother as Din moves to set the Crest’s course. Out of the thick air of the cargo hold he can finally breathe. 

He’d wanted to rebuff her, brag about the women he’s brought to the heights of pleasure with just his fingers, but it’s a dangerous path to wander in the barrel of rocket fuel the Crest has become. Shifting his hips in the pilot seat, he thinks back to the last time he fucked his frustrations into another person.

A Togruta, maybe? Or was it that sassy brothel worker? 

(a girl on a desert planet that stopped time)

A shiver climbs his spine but he bats it down. In any event it’s been too long since he’s indulged in a soft body. He’ll take care of that after this job, ease some of the stress buried between his shoulder blades. It might make all of this strange arrangement more palatable.

Droids. It had to be droids.

Not the fact that the factory was decommissioning battle droids but that some were going missing, not turning up in the junk pile to be scrapped. The workers didn’t give two shits about it, but because the battle droids were so powerful and dangerous they had to have their chips pulled out and documented for the New Republic. Too many missing chips led to this group striding in like conquering forces. 

The first night is uneventful, Din passing patrols with Varlo and Xi’an. Varlo looks at him like another droid, the cold boredom on his face inexplicably boiling Din’s blood. Xi’an’s constant prowling only makes it worse, still determined to crack his stoic demeanor. He’s tired the next day, body running on too little sleep and too much adrenaline. Malk offers him caf that he refuses. He doesn’t like lifting the helmet in front of them.

The second night the issue comes into sharp focus. Not theft, but escape. A droid spray painted in yellow stripes enters the facility to reactivate its brethren. For what purpose they don’t know, and Din doesn’t care. Putting the droid in his sight, muscles tight around the amban rifle, Din squeezes a lifetime of pain behind the trigger. 

A cloud of dust. No more droid.

He thought that would satisfy the roar in his chest, but back in the Crest he’s more of a caged animal than before. Malk tells them to enjoy a day on-world, and Varlo and Qin follow him out to the industrial maze of the city. Din knows he needs something tonight, a fight or a fuck or both, so he gathers enough credits to cover his proclivities and makes to leave the ship.

“Where are you biding your time, Mando?” Xi’an’s voice purrs in the low light of the cargo hold. She’s draped over a storage crate, inspecting her nails and flashing a devious look at him when his visor turns. “Going to finally lose your virginity?”

He doesn’t know what compels him to say it. Maybe the constant pressure on all sides, or the neverending sniping at his expense. He knows it’s a mistake the moment he opens his mouth.

“Been a long time since I called myself that.”

Xi’an’s eyes flash up to the visor. It spikes in his stomach.

“I find that hard to believe, Mando, with all the…” She waves her hands around her head, pulling a serious face that she can barely keep on. He should stalk off, leave her to pouting and him to pounding into something softer and sweeter than whatever this was.

But it’s been too long, and he’s itching for confrontation in a way he’s never desired before.

“I’m good with my hands,” he says, one coming up to rest on his belt buckle, tilting his head to the side. Xi’an lifts off the crate, circling him with the serpentine swish of her gait.

“Oh I can believe that. Seen you with those weapons, your ‘religion.’ Man who keeps them that well cared for must be attentive in…other ways.” She slinks around to stand in front of him, dragging her eyes over the broad expanse of durasteel on his chest, flaking paint and silvered scratches. She walks her fingers down his chest, stopping at his trim waist. “But that doesn’t mean you know how to use this.” Her hand flashes out to grope at his crotch but he snatches her wrist, jerking her hands up as she squeals. For a moment he thinks it’s in pain, but the glint in her eyes and the flash of tongue between her fangs reveals it’s excitement. Releasing her, he moves to exit the cargo hold and find something, anything, to calm the rushing of his blood.

“Oh Mando, come on, wait,” Xi’an pleads, skipping back in front of him and adopting an apologetic expression. “We’ve all been cooped up here too long, rubbing each other the wrong way.” This time her hands glances down his side, nails lightly scraping along his hips before she drifts them feather-light over his cock. The electricity of her touch burns in his groin, filling him quickly. “Let me make it up to you, Mando. Rub you the right way this time.”

“This is…not a good idea,” he grits through his teeth, common sense screaming at him to leave, but the many-toothed monster that lurks in the back of his mind drools at the feeling of her fingers getting bolder, now stroking her palm over his stiffening cock. The helmet tips back a fraction as Din’s eyes flutter, excuses melting back into the delicious heat of her touch.

“The best ideas are the bad ones,” she teases, sidling closer to him. Her breath is hot on the edge of his cowl, soft little sighs zinging down his spine as she swipes her thumb over the clothed head of his cock. He tries to suppress the groan but it comes out a whine instead, spurring her on more. “You could use some release. Let me suck your cock, Mando. I’ll trade you for a kiss.” 

This is a monumentally bad idea and his survival instinct kicks in just before the monster waiting in the darkness claws his way to the forefront. 

“The helmet…stays on,” he grunts, backing up a half step. She rolls her eyes but triumph lives there now. 

“Fine, fine, your precious Creed. Then how about I give you a hand, and next time I’m in need of one you return the favor?” 

He struggles to take in a full breath, her fingers now wrapped around him and adding just enough pressure to spark in his pelvis and surge into his chest. He nods, fists clenching, as Xi’an’s smile breaks across her face.

“Oh Mando, how long have you been wanting this?” she purrs, sliding down his body to rest on her knees. Alarm bells sound in his mind. It’s too out in the open, too vulnerable. If Varlo or Malk or Qin, Maker forbid, came back he’d be caught and probably gutted. But the lap of her tongue along his waist as she opens the plaquet of his pants dissolves the worries into heady arousal as the monster he’s suppressed so long rears to life.

“Kriff,” he curses, tilting the helmet down to watch her pull his flushed cock out of his pants, thighs flexing when she coos over it. 

“So you’ve got the goods to back up all that swagger,” she sing-songs, looking up at him through her lashes as blood pumps loud in his ears. The arousal he’s feeling is unlike his usual encounters. In those he’s simmering even when his frustration is at an all time high, his pleasure delayed in favor of watching them writhe and gasp with the force of the orgasms he pulls out of them. It gets him harder than anything else. But now, looking down at someone who makes his blood boil at any given moment, his libido is at a roar screaming at him to fuck and bruise and take. The force of it makes his heart pound, unfamiliar and exciting.

“If you’re only going to look at it, I’ll go somewhere else,” he growls, keeping his voice as level as possible. It does the trick, her smile sly before she licks a long path from base to tip. The shudder is involuntary, a hot wet mouth not something he usually seeks out. He prefers a dripping pussy to bury his frustrations in but the power this position yields makes all the lewd cantina talk he’s scoffed at come into focus. 

“Patience, Mando,” Xi’an lightly scolds, but the thin wire of restraint he was still holding onto snaps. One large hand palms the back of her head, fingers digging into the edge of her head wrap for leverage. Her eyebrows lift in surprise just before Din presses his hips forward, breaching her lips with the head of his cock. He groans at the slick heat and the brush of her teeth over the ridge as he thrusts shallowly against her tongue. He thinks he sees a wrinkle of anger in her brow before her eyes flash with vengeance. She wraps her lips around him, sucking his head. 

“I’ve had enough of waiting,” he grits out, pulling back a fraction before sliding in deeper, pressing her further down his shaft. Her hands come up to his hips, fingernails digging in as a warning. The sharp points of pain focus his arousal, the mix with pleasure intoxicating. “You wanted it so karking badly, you….take it,” he growls, his thrusts deepening again as she takes him even further. Hissing around his intrusion, teeth come down enough to scrape along his cock just shy of unpleasant.

“Oh no you don’t,” he punches out, his other hand pinching her jaw to force her mouth wide. The lack of resistance drives him down her throat, a loud gag heaving her chest. The sound shocks his system, pulling back quickly as drool drips down her chin with her gasps. Uncertainty falls heavy over his libido now.

“Are you…?” he starts to ask, but Xi’an yanks him back to her face, pumping his cock quickly with the thick saliva she’s left on it.

“What’s the matter, Mando? Afraid of a little mess?” she taunts before swallowing him down again, the rough gags of her throat beginning in earnest. He can feel her spit dripping down his length, sliding over his balls as she rolls them roughly in her hand. It’s nothing he’s ever felt fucking a woman before, frustration and anger burning him inside out. He palms her head again, thrusting with her own bobbing rhythm as she hums around his cock. His hips pump, thighs clenching, stomach quivering at the onslaught of sensations driving him closer and closer to his high. Hazarding another look at her, she laughs around his cock before pulling off.

“If I’d have known it would be this easy to make you fall apart…” she begins to say, but Din shoves his cock roughly back into her mouth.

“Shut up,” he pants, fucking into her face in earnest. His orgasm is on the brink, body convulsing around her prone form as the monster ruts and chases his end selfishly. His teeth are clenched so hard he tastes blood, puffing air through his nose and snarling behind the visor. Vision red around the edges, his control is long gone as he fights her sharp nails and encroaching teeth and wild eyes. The tiniest voice begs him to stop, to look at what he’s doing, but when he sees her kneading at her mound over her pants, bucking her own hips in time with his punishing thrusts, everything lets go. He cums with a bellow, holding her there as his spend empties into her mouth. He gasps, sweat rolling down his neck and spine, the helmet almost suffocating with the heat trapped inside. 

When he pulls out Xi’an gasps and the gravity of the moment makes him stumble back. Tucking himself away he watches her cough on her knees, white streaks of his cum dribbling down her face to drip onto the durasteel floor. Once she catches her breath she looks up at him, and in her flashing eyes and feral smile he realizes something dark and devastating.

He wants to do it again.

Striding past to slam open the cargo bay doors, her roughened voice calls after him.

“That’s one on the books for me, Mando. I’ll come calling soon enough.”

His hands don’t stop shaking for hours.

Xi’an is right. It doesn’t take long for her to come to him.

A simple job gone bad, the target fleeing into hyperspace too quickly to follow. Xi’an had been seducing him in a flashy racetrack before he fled. Din had followed as her backup, watching her writhe on the target’s lap and whisper in his ear. Every now and then her eyes would flash to Din, holding the expressionless gaze of the visor as she guided another man’s hand to knead her breast. 

He told himself it wasn’t supposed to affect him. He didn’t care what she did, or who touched her. The scene from that night played in his head wrapped in nausea and regret. No partner he’d ever laid with drew out that much uncertainty and self-loathing, and he wasn’t keen to return to it.

But her curves still called to him, now straddling the mark’s waist. Familiar stirrings pulled up hard against disgust as he pushed the ravenous monster back down. It had gotten louder, fiercer after taking his pleasure so brutally. It screamed to take her again.

All of her work led to nothing. The target caught Varlo stalking up to apprehend him and make a quick exit. Even with four highly skilled mercs after him his resources won out. A faster ship, quicker access to his speeder. He was just within their grasp when he blasted off and into the atmosphere.

Xi’an shrieked her frustration into the air as the team re-entered the Crest. Malk confirmed there was no point following. They’d try again when he showed up at whatever gambling circuit he fancied next. She couldn’t stop prowling the ship, head down, glaring through her lashes. Varlo got a few sharp swipes for giving away their plan, but he threw up his hands and moved into the engine bay to let her cool off. Qin reclined in his hammock, watching bemused as she tried to self-soothe with no luck.

“Mando!” she finally hisses, jerking her head sharply as she strides past him and out of the Crest. His shoulders stiffen instantly, her brother’s hot stare branding his back. Hazarding a look back, Qin’s raised eyebrow and smirk make his face burn. But he still follows.

Xi’an is around the front of the Crest, leaning against the landing gear and seething. Din comes close, waiting for her to acknowledge his presence. Her eyes rake over the helmet, snarl less playful and more agitated. 

“I’m cashing in your debt, Mando,” she says, whipping her belt out of the loops so quickly it cracks. Din’s hands tighten on his, stance faltering.

“Not sure that’s a good idea,” he murmurs, bracing for the impact of his words. They land hard on her skin, quick steps bringing them chest to chest.

“I don’t give a flying kark what you think. I gave you my throat to cum in, it’s your turn. Give me your cock.” 

Din balks, trying to disentangle from the swirling vortex of rage, but her hands are small and quick to grab at the fabric around his neck.

“Or you can give me something else, Mandalorian. Show me your face if you won’t fuck me,” she snarls, grabbing for the edge of his helmet. He yanks her arm away, but the other tries just the same. He snags it in his fist, whipping his head back when she tries to knock the helmet off. Both wrists captured he pushes her back, pinning her against the landing gear. Her hips jerk against his own, legs kicking at his shins. Some blows land, leaving dark reminders for days to come. Her bared teeth and hissing finally push him to pin both of her hands with one of his, the other coming to firmly wrap around her throat. 

That finally stops her, eyes fluttering as he puts just enough pressure on her windpipe to quiet her. Hips rolling against his hardening cock, he leans in to crowd her against the durasteel mechanics.

“Is this what you want?” he husks, removing his hand from her throat to shove into her pants. The fit is tight, his thick forearm and vambrace stretching the waistband, but his skilled fingers cup her hot cunt. Even with the gloves on he can find her clit, roughly circling as she gasps and rocks against him. “Needed this attitude fucked out of you?”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she moans, hooking a leg behind his thigh to pull him closer. He yanks his hand out of her pants and pushes slick-soaked leather between her lips.

“Take them off, or I won’t,” he growls, waiting for her teeth to tug his gloves off his fingers. She stares at the tawny skin, all the silvery lines cross-crossing his knuckles and fingers. He tries not to dwell on this, on how she’s already pushed him past what he knows he shouldn’t do. Jamming his hand back into her pants he buries two fingers in her wet cunt, setting a fast and firm pace that has her crying out against his overwhelming hold. The monster snarls inside him, salivating at the prospect of rucking her pants down and…

“Mando, need your cock, need you to fuck me,” she whines, just short of begging. It knots his stomach that she knows how much she’s making him lose control. The rhythmic slap of his palm on her intimate flesh has him full and hard, grip tightening as he feels her walls spasm around his flexing fingers.

“Cum like this first and I’ll see if you deserve my cock,” he rasps, buying himself enough time to calm his raging libido a fraction. He shouldn’t fuck her, shouldn’t let this go on any longer than it already has, but his body is thrumming, snapping and snarling into her as she beckons him to let go, to find something blinding in her soaked cunt. 

Her orgasm clamps down on his fingers suddenly, the raw shriek making him clap his hand over her mouth. The loss of his hands pinning her wrists gives ample opportunity to rush open his pants and find his weeping cock. A few well-placed strokes has his rational mind dissolving into the single-minded concept of fucking.

He bends her over the landing gear, tearing her pants down over her ass to expose her glistening pussy. Normally that sight makes his mouth water. Instead he tugs on his cock a couple times to prepare. 

“Hurry up, Mando,” Xi’an whines, arching her back higher to present her hole to him. He pushes her chest down hard, a whoosh of air escaping before he sheaths his cock in her tight pussy. The momentary ecstasy of his slick entrance washes over him, planting both hands on either side of her head. His first thrust punches a moan from her lips, followed by a litany of curses and whines as he snaps his hips fast and hard. The loud smack of skin pulls out a thin moan of his own.

“Karking Maker, Mando, you feel so good,” Xi’an croons, a momentary lapse in vitriol. It makes Din chuckle as he grunts at her wet clutch.

“This all you needed? A cock to make you bearable?” he teases, angling his hips to drill into a spot inside he knows will make her scream. She gathers air before he shoves his sticky fingers into her mouth, pinching her jaw open as he penetrates her here too. Everything is dripping and liquid and hard and soft at the same time. His own orgasm is fast approaching, a roar in his ears that he chases with fervor.

“Gonna cum again,” Xi’an gasps around his fingers, slamming back against Din’s thrusts as she chases her own end. Two people so far inside but so far apart.

Din dutifully reaches between her legs and pinches her clit, sending her toppling over into a shuddering orgasm that clenches his cock so hard he has to pull out and cum all over her other tight hole. Lightheaded and heavy-limbed, Din tries to regain a semblance of control over the situation. 

This is just returning the favor.

This won’t happen again.

He doesn’t want this to happen again.

Shuffling back, he uses his bare hand to scrape his cum off her ass and flick it on the ground. Xi’an pulls her pants back up as Din tucks himself away and turns to stride back into the Crest. 

Stepping outside looking to be without a care in the world is Qin, licking Jogan fruit juice off his fingers as he discards the peel on the ground. Din’s whole body locks up, fight or flight response screaming at him to get away. 

“Get a good eyeful brother?” Xi’an singsongs behind Din, walking past him to re-enter the ship. Qin mock-glares at her as she passes and saunters away. When his eyes land back on Din he waits for a fist or a blade to connect with his flesh. Instead Qin just shakes his head with an amused expression and follows his sister.

Dread lands heavy in Din’s belly. His grip is slipping and he’s not sure whether he’ll hang on or fall into something even harder to climb out of.

That was the last time, he says to himself as he leaves a freshly fucked Xi’an in the ‘fresher. 

This time it’s over, he says as he splatters his cum on her tits. 

Never again, he promises after he spills his load into her tight asshole, cursing to the Maker about how good she feels choking his dick. 

He tries over and over to stop it, to tell her no, but every time she whines and needles and baits until he can’t help but bury his frustrations in her body. 

It’s been months since he joined Malk’s crew, and the spoils of their missions were fat in his pocket. He knows he should sneak off to the covert, give them the credits needed to keep them safe. Or to Karga, pay him his cut of whoring out his Mandalorian. It itches in the back of his brain, the duties he’s supposed to be performing.

Instead, he ignores Karga’s messages on his holo. He spends the credits on upgrades to the Crest and Corellian whiskey and brothels. The last is in a desperate hope to rid him of his addiction to the purple Twi’lek plaguing his bed. 

She stalks his days and haunts his nights, rarely away from each other. It makes it easy to let her straddle his waist in the tiny cubby of a bed and ride him until he’s dripping out of her. Sometimes she follows him when they’re on-world to the places where he spends his credits. The first time he caught her he made her watch as he fucked a plain but skilled prostitute. The following times, she joined him in his debauchery. 

He tells himself it’s the last time every time, but the fire always returns. The itch under his skin. The monster that roars under Xi’an’s sharp nails and sharper tongue batters the inside of its cage and howls until Din can leave more marks on her skin. It’s feral and bloodthirsty. Definitely unhealthy.

He still can’t stop.

The bounty they lost finally turns up in a swanky hotel on Coruscant. Xi’an goes to complete the job, her cover not blown enough to approach the target again. Words and drinks pass between them before his hands are groping her beneath the table. They slink away together, Din’s helmet following their heat signatures. The man’s crotch is white fire, but Xi’an’s registers no hotter than her body temp.

Couldn’t even get her wet. He’d have her blazing by now.

Din waits for the signal to apprehend the target outside the closed hotel room. Long minutes tick by, Din’s imagination spinning wildly as he imagines the man’s fingers in her pussy, licking her clit like he can never do, spitting in her mouth like he sometimes imagines with a frightening tightness in his groin. 

A trill sounds. Time for action.

Din bursts in, blaster pointed ahead of him to take in the lewd scene. Xi’an is naked on the bed, the target thrusting into her from behind. Her face is bored until she sees Din enter, lax posture trading for silky and sexy.

“What the kark-!” the target shouts, hands shooting up in surrender. 

“Took you long enough, Mando, I had to put up with this paltry cock for much too long,” she sighs, arching her back and presenting her heavy tits between her arms. 

“I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold,” he rasps, modulator hiding the strain in his voice. Xi’an tuts, shaking her head.

“This is my mission, Mando, and I get to decide that.” She cocks her head at him, backing up against the target.

“Does it make you jealous, knowing he’s inside me right now?” she purrs, circling her hips to elicit a choked gasp. Din’s hand tightens on the blaster, forcing his posture to be neutral.

“You did what you had to,” he grits out. Xi’an shrieks out a laugh.

“I didn’t have to fuck him. I wanted to, because I wanted to see what you’d do when another man tries to cum inside me.” 

Din’s arm begins to shake, and the monster snarls inside him. Mine, it roars. My fucked up little thing to break.   

“What are you going to do, Mando?” she taunts, rolling her hips on the terrified man’s cock. 

“What you want.”

Xi’an’s eyes flash in triumph. 

“I want to bring him in cold.”

Din shoots a blaster bolt between the man’s eyes, toppling him over and onto the bedroom floor. Xi’an wastes no time crawling to the end of the bed and turning around, round ass in the air. 

“Fuck him out of me, Mando.”

They pull orgasm after orgasm out of each other with a dead man on the floor. His blood stains one corner of the bedding, crimson as regret. When Din has her splayed out below him, tits bouncing at the force of his thrusts into her abused pussy, she croaks out a request.

“Take it off.”

He stills inside her, fire in his veins replaced by ice cold clarity.

“No.”

Xi’an snarls at him.

“Show me the face of the man that’s fucking me, Mandalorian.”

His hand comes up around her throat, a warning squeeze rougher than the ones he normally doles out. She quiets, but he has to flip her over to drill out his last orgasm. The disdain on her face is too much.

Seventeen missed holos from Karga. Shadows that follow him when he strides through town. And yet Din can’t pull his head above water. The light get fainter every time. During one mission he freezes in front of a snarling attack massiff and for a blissful moment wonders if its bite would kill him if he bared his throat. Varlo fells it instead, giving Din a confused look as they return to the Crest.

“You been sleeping, Mando? You seem off.”

Din bristles, stride widening.

“Don’t pretend that matters to you.”

Varlo shrugs, veering off to speak to Ranzar. The anger masks the anguish until later that night, when Din begs for the thoughlessness of sleep.

“Need some company, Mando?” Xi’an asks, like she does most nights. 

It’s better than guilt, at least.

It’s not long after Xi’an’s hunt that Qin climbs up into the cockpit while Din is piloting. They just entered hyperspace, the streaks of light soothing Din. The quiet sinks into his bones, contrasted against the dread of re-entering the cargo hold. The air is thick with boredom and potential energy waiting for a spark.

He’s turning to leave, find somewhere to escape for a few more moments of peace, when Qin clears his throat. He stands in the doorway, leaning against it with folded arms. Din stills, a standoff between the two men. He was wondering when he might have to endure this conversation.

“Whatever is going on between you and my sister,” Qin starts, right to the meat of the matter. Din respects that he doesn’t pull punches. “You need to figure it out soon. You may be having the time of your life fighting…and fucking.” He sneers at this, making Din’s face scorch under the helmet. “But the longer she thinks something is going to come out of it, the worse it will be when you tell her no.” Qin shifts to stand chest to chest with Din. They’re close in height but in this moment Din feels small and sacrificial.

“She doesn’t like being told no. I’m sure you’ve seen that.”

He has. The helmet is the symbol of his refusal, and Xi’an seethes at it. More than once he’s had to pin her hands down, too bold in her touches. Some days she playfully grabs at the lip, pulling him down to her level, but doesn’t let go quick enough for Din’s liking. Other times she lays her hands on either side and it feels tender. Her eyes soften, and Din wonders if there’s a hurt girl under all the posturing that wants proof that he cares for her. 

He’d told her once, as they laid in a post-coital tangle. The Creed, the helmet, why it meant so much to him. He didn’t speak of the covert, or of any other Mandalorians. They both have their own secrets.

“It’s a symbol of my fidelity,” he said. Xi’an lifted up on one elbow and studied the sharp lines and curves of the helmet, fingers tracing the impressive profile. 

“How beautiful it must be, to have someone so devoted,” she murmured. “What a gift.”

It’s one he can never give her, and she can never forget it.

“If you aren’t planning on giving her what she wants,” Qin husks, leaning in with a steely gaze. “Don’t drag it out. Make it professional.”

He leaves as quickly as he arrived, the weight of his words now on Mando’s shoulders. Qin has never been kind, but his ultimatum is a balm to Din’s anguish. He needs to end it. If he believes her to have any gentleness underneath her posturing it would be cruel to continue. There is no room in his devotions for her. 

The monster inside his chest finally soothes, curls into a ball and sleeps.

She doesn’t take it well.

“You want this to stop?” she laughs, lounging against a tree. Din had deigned to tell her away from the others, wanting privacy and space for her anger to hit a flash point.

“We’re professionals. This is too messy,” Din says, keeping his voice as even and calm as he can. Her face changes from incredulity to anger.

“This isn’t over just because you get a crisis of conscience.” She pushes off the tree and stalks towards him, suspicion coloring her demeanor. “Did my brother say something to you?”

That’s a trap he’s not going to walk into.

“I can’t give you what you want,” Din says, holding his ground as she comes chest to chest, much like her sibling. How alike they are in their ruthlessness. 

“Of course you can. You’ve got a perfectly good cock and talented fingers and some Maker-blessed stamina. Plus you’re filthy,” she purrs, raising goosebumps on Din’s neck. “What else does a girl need?”

Din tilts his head, watching her closely as he sees the shroud of the lie settle.

“The helmet,” he sighs, exasperated. His words hit the target. Xi’an’s features twist, shocked out of her feigned nonchalance.

“You’re ending this over a stupid little symbol?” she spits out, circling him like a prowling loth-cat. Din tenses, tempted to follow her path but knowing she’ll take advantage of it. He prepares for a blade. 

“I won’t remove it for you. And I’m done fighting you trying to do it yourself.” 

There’s a moment where he sees the hurt girl he’s trying to spare. It’s quickly raked back with fury. She hisses, digging her fingers into his cowl and yanking him backwards. He stumbles to his knees, his cape now wrapped around her forearms as she cuts off his air .

“All your morals and high ground as you’re spilling as much blood as we are, Mando. Defiling my body as you pray to your Creed. You’ll be crawling back to my cunt in no time, and I’ll slit your throat before I let you make a fool out of me.” Just as his vision begins to darken she releases her hold, letting painful lungfuls of air back into his chest. One boot kicks him square in the back, and he topples forward into the dirt.

“You’ll regret this, Mandalorian.”

She storms off to the Crest, leaving him gasping and coughing. He wishes, not for the first time, that he never shook Malk’s hand, never let them onto the Crest, never let Karga talk him into this. 

He wishes for time to stop, to take back everything the last months had carved out of his soul. For a bed, and a soothing touch.

(where is she now? Could she ever look at him the same way, after all he’s done?)

“New assignment,” Malk calls down, a groan of relief lifting the mood in the hold. “Big yield, and even bigger hush money.”

Qin grins, jostling his sister as Malk descends to them. She nods, listless since their argument. Din prefers that to the rage. It still pulls at a confusing feeling in his chest, something akin to regret.

“Where we off to? I’ve been itching to get out of this karking morgue,” Varlo gripes, taking the holopad from Malk. 

“Cleanup effort on Alzoc III. There’s some mines infested with a local species the mining company needs cleared out. Not sentient, but territorial. Mando, need you in the air. Varlo, running logistics. Qin, Xi’an, you’re with me doing ground work.” 

Din rolls his shoulders and cracks his knuckles. A big haul should set everyone up for a good while. Improve spirits, and maybe give him the boost to break away from this group that only becomes more hostile by the day. His silence will cost him, but with enough credits he may be able to buy himself back into the covert, and the Guild’s good favor. 

Alzoc III it is.

The planet is icy and hostile, vast snow-swept tundras and sharp peaks slicing up into the permanently gray skies. The harsh weather eats up heat from the outside in, the Crest’s life support systems working overtime to keep the interior above freezing. Din had to pull out a heavier flight suit, the other crew members donning furs and goggles in preparation for the mission. Xi’an had taken to glaring at Mando any time he was in the room, so he’d stayed in the cockpit for most of the trip. Malk had scoffed at him, standing behind the pilot’s chair as Din maneuvered them out of hyperspace.

“Women problems, Mando?” 

Din did not deign to give him an answer, but Malk persisted.

“Not a good idea to mix business and pleasure. A man of your experience should be more careful,” he says, clapping a hand on Din’s paudron. He tenses, but Malk releases him quickly after and heads into the tense hold with a snicker under his breath.

Din can’t wait to have the Crest to himself. Months of close quarters were making him itchy with tension, a constant frenetic thrum under his skin that he can’t even fuck out now. Varlo’s company would be silent at least. Plus a simple point-and-shoot mission has its appeal. The rest of the dossier states that the mines are overrun to the point that they can’t send in crews to extract the planet’s precious commodities. 

Varlo plots a multi-stage assault; Malk, Xi’an and Qin would place bombs at mine entrances and pick off anything that could tip off the plan. Once at their sniper posts, Din would aerial attack the mines from above, detonating the bombs and dropping his own payloads to collapse strategic parts of the tunnels. The mining company provided blueprints, and designated the choke points that would create the least amount of cleanup effort for them after the fact. 

In retrospect, when Din’s nightmares push into this shadowy period of his life, it was so well thought out it should have made him pause. They didn’t need highly skilled mercenaries, they needed bodies to carry out this plan. What the company really bought was silence, and anonymity.

Din circles the Crest just out of range of the mines, waiting for the go signal from Malk. Varlo lounges in the jump seat, occasionally speaking through his communicator. Din doesn’t much enjoy conversing with Varlo, so of course this is the time he decides to be chatty.

“So, was she purple like…all over?” Varlo says, raising the hackles on Din’s back. 

“You can ask her yourself. I’m sure she’d love to tell you,” Din replies calmly, banking a little harder to the left than he means to. Varlo chuckles low in his throat, his gaze burning into Din’s back.

“I mean I could, but it’s more professional curiosity. I’m surprised she hasn’t gutted you in your sleep yet.”

“Mando, time to shine!” Malk’s voice rings from the Crest’s holocomm.

“Roger,” Din murmurs, the muscle memory of his training kicking in as the Crest dives into the valley. Everything that’s plagued him for months - the loss of control, the cloying atmosphere, Xi’an’s magnetic push and pull - all fades into the background when he’s flying. His shoulders loosen, grip on the controls firm but relaxed. The lift and dip of the Crest is a familiar dance, lapping waves on a beach he’s never visited but somehow always knows. 

Then the first explosion appears through the transparisteel, and he dives into action.

The entire assault lasts maybe a quarter hour. Each explosion triggered by Malk is timed with another bomb Varlo releases out the cargo doors. The more powerful weapons hit their mark, miles of tunnels collapsing with shifting snow to fill in the depressions. Sometimes a small group of moving creatures - barely perceptible - burst from an entry, and the on-ground team quickly eradicates them. Din isn’t even sure he feels the cold creeping into the ship, too wrapped up in the warmth of a skill he’s honed for decades being used to its utmost ability. 

“That’s it, Mando, we’ll bring her down to pick up the rest at the hanger pad.” Varlo indicates a vast stretch of buildings, no doubt some shipping operation, with a generous landing zone. Din wonders how much trade must happen on this desolate planet, and how pitiful their price must be compared to the credits the company rakes in. 

Once landed, Varlo leaves to speak with their contact and provide a final report. Malk gets the payment, but he’ll be a little while traipsing across the frozen grounds. Din takes the lack of anyone on his ship as a brief moment of respite, checking for any potential damage and wandering through the cluttered living space. His annoyance at the mess is less than usual, the silence after a job well done vastly improving his mood. 

Deeper in the ship checking on engine function, Din hears a clatter. His shoulders slump again. He’d hoped for a little more peace and quiet before they returned. Trudging out to the cargo bay, he’s met with an even stranger sight.

Varlo left the cargo door open, the windbreak from the surrounding buildings keeping the elements at a minimum. Instead of the crew ascending the ramp, two furred creatures freeze just inside the warmth of the Crest. The larger one puts its body between Din and the smaller one, four black pearl eyes locked on him. His hand itches to grab his blaster, absolutely certain these are the creatures infesting the mines. They’re supposed to be hostile, ferocious and powerfully strong. He might be able to take one, but two could be a problem. He steels himself for a charge, but the larger one holds up one long-clawed hand, three fingers spread in the universal symbol for wait.

Din stops, confusion and a cold pit of dread opening in his stomach. The larger creature looks back at the smaller one, stroking its face as they make high pitched chirps and buzzes at each other through strange tubular mouths. Their fur is matted white and gray, easy to blend in on the tundra, as they tower taller than most bipedal creatures Din has encountered. The brief conference concluded, the larger creature rummages in its fur.

Din snaps his hand to his blaster, unholstering it in a flash to point at the creatures. The smaller one squeals - Din swears it’s in terror - and the larger one whips its head up to look at Din. It stills, one hand now held out overflowing with baubles. Din’s blaster falters as the creature takes a tentative step forward, offering lustrous milky pearls. His throat closes up, but his training keeps his weapon on them. At his lack of movement the creature looks back at the smaller one, urging it forward. It holds their faces together, foreheads touching as plaintive whines cut through the air. The pearls transfer, and the larger of the two urges the smaller forward. 

Din can’t breathe, chest banded with horror. The littler creature holds out the offering, clicking and chirping as the larger one waits back. It’s all too clear to a man who lost his family in a war he did not understand what this transaction is, and what the consequences of his actions means. He drops the blaster, stepping towards the creatures. They shrink back in fear, but the little one still holds out shaking hands, pearls dropping to clink on the durasteel floor.

“I…” he says, heart hammering in his throat. The larger one - the mother, he thinks - raises its head with something like hope. 

“What the kark?!” Varlo shouts, ascending the ramp. Din tries to speak, to explain that everything has gone so wrong in a handful of moments, but Varlo’s blaster is already out.

Three bolts, loosed with deadly efficiency, and the smaller creature falls, pearls scattering on the floor and rolling away. The shriek of the larger creature will haunt Din for years, as clear as the day he heard it when he finds another pearl lost in the ship.

“No!” Din screams, but Varlo is already turning to the charging creature. Three powerful swipes knock him down, blood spurting into snow, before he fells the creature with another series of blaster bolts. Then it’s just Din, gasping amongst the gore. Sobs wrench his throat, hot tears running down his cheeks as he shakes on his feet.

“Fuck, Mando…need…kit,” Varlo gasps. The creature cut him deep, flashes of white bone peeking through the layers of flesh. Blood dribbles from his lips, teeth stained red as he struggles to breathe. His voice is faraway and tinny, but Din’s body answers. He walks numbly to Varlo’s side, kneeling beside the man’s mutilated body. 

“They were sentient,” he says, and the horror blends into anger, one hotter and more encompassing than any he’s ever felt. 

“Get me a Maker-damned bacta shot!” Varlo burbles, a rough cough spraying blood on Din’s chestplate. He’s not sure when he decided to slit Varlo’s throat, but one moment he’s alive, the next he’s laid out with unseeing eyes, the messy slash of a vibroblade mimicking the brutal claw marks. 

He doesn’t remember moving the creatures’ bodies, laying them down on the icy ground outside the Crest.

He doesn’t remember what he tells the others when they return. Xi’an and Qin stalk by, barely affected. Malk chews the inside of his cheek, staring at Varlo’s corpse for a few moments before entering the Crest.

“Split is four ways now. First come first serve to his things. We take off in 5.”

Din doesn’t recall where his body was during takeoff, or once they got into hyperspace. The events play like a holovid missing an actor, feelings and sensations eerily absent. He thinks he piloted them off world, attributed to muscle memory. He remembers a conversation, but not with who, or why it began.

“The species was sentient. They tried to barter to get on the ship.” 

“Mando….”

“One attempted to sacrifice itself for the other. An animal can’t do that.”

“We got paid not to ask questions.”

“That wasn’t a mission. That was genocide.”

“You’ve done worse, Mando. We all have.”

Except that wasn’t true. In the song of Din Djarin, this would always be his greatest sin. 

One tip to the New Republic was all it took. A set of coordinates and a date and time. Malk wanted to gamble and whore after Alzoc III, and Qin and Xi’an had no qualms. Din only sat silently, the days since the genocide bleeding into one another. Xi’an had tried to tease him about it - seems like you lucked out against those claws - but his cold turn of the head and quick exit quieted her tongue. 

He waited for them to leave, credits in hand, before reporting their whereabouts to the New Republic garrison. He conveniently left himself and the Crest out, detailing his crewmates’ crimes and exactly where they would be. Then he laid low, waiting for enough time to pass so as to not arouse suspicion. 

He would not see Qin or Malk for many more years, though he’d hear of their escape from some Guild contacts. Not much could hold either of them for long. Xi’an didn’t leave him so quietly. 

“Karking traitor!” she screams, leaping on his back outside of the Crest. A blade sinks into his shoulder, ripping a cry from his lips. She pulls it out and drives it back in his bicep, his hands scrabbling to throw her off. She gets him two more times before he crushes her against the Crest’s hull, knocking her grip loose. His left arm is screaming, blood pouring down his fingers. 

“After all we did for you, you turned us in?!” Her knife hits home again, swinging to stab into his calf and the meat of his thigh in quick succession. Din disarms her, skittering the knife away, before landing a blow in the center of her chest that, with a little more force, could have stopped her cruel heart. She lies gasping on the ground, eyes wide and wild as they look at him towering over her. For a moment that uncomfortable feeling pulls at him again, something like regret and remorse and a mourning of what could have been. It weakens him enough to kneel down, body screaming.

“I’m sorry…” he tries to say, the next words lost in his turmoil. Sorry for starting whatever fucked-up thing they had between them? Sorry for not being able to give her what she wanted? Sorry for how it was destined to end?

Another blade sinks into his side, ripping down as she screeches. 

“You are nothing but a traitor, Mandalorian. Betrayer of your allies, of your Creed. I hope your Maker-damned helmet ends up in the gutter with your corpse.”

He yanks the blade free, head dizzy at the realization that much of his blood is on the ground instead of inside him. He puts one hand around Xi’an’s neck and squeezes down. She’s out in seconds, dragged to the hangar entrance for the New Republic guards to find. Safe or not, he takes off with the Crest and manages to close up enough of his wounds with the cauterizer to stop the bleeding, burnt flesh singing his nostrils. He blindly dials in coordinates for Nevarro, barely staying conscious through the jump. Once autopilot kicks in he dips into darkness.

The Guild takes him back. Begrudgingly. He pays his dues and offers them the pearls the creature spilled across the hold. Their value surprises him, almost annoyed he didn’t save some for himself, but the thought of his own pockets lined with treasures given by the dead chills his blood. He leaves them all with Karga, and waits for the distrust to fade from his face. 

The covert welcomes him back with disapproval. His wounds spare him for a few weeks, sequestered from the rest of his people. It makes him ache, the obvious disappointment of his alor and the wariness of his fellow Mandalorians. The rumors swirl about where and why he was gone so long, why their beroya would betray them. He takes his penance, every blow and setback and humiliation. It is no worse than how he punishes himself.

When he returns to the Crest, tucked in the back of a trusted hangar, the mess strewn about the hold claws at his throat. He removes every memory of those months, setting belongings and refuse outside the cargo doors for scavengers to pick through. Even his own personal items make it into the pile, the memories attached to them too painful. 

He cleans the ship top to bottom. No more hammocks strung from every corner. No more constant noise. No more ever-mounting tension. Just durasteel and silence. 

It takes a full day to bring the Crest back to pre-Malk condition. The darkness surrounds Din, and after weighing the pros and cons of returning in the night he closes the cargo door. Shuttling open the small cubby sleeping space, he crawls in and settles on his side. The door slides shut with the lights dimming soon after.

Din lies there as his body slowly quiets, his armor digging into his sore shoulder, tender ribs and neck. Piece by piece he removes it, laying the shining examples of his honor beside him. The helmet is last, and it’s the first time in months he’s been able to breathe without it inside his own ship. The pillow is measly under his head, but he sinks down with a sigh. Arms tucked into his chest, knees pulled up to his stomach, surrounded by the walls of his ship and nothing else, he lets himself mourn the deeds he’d done. It will be far from the last time, but this is the rawest, the most painful as he let the shame grip him. Once exhaustion wins the hums and whirrs of the Crest lull him to sleep.

Din doesn’t tell you about Xi’an. It’s a lie of omission - you never prod him on his past, and he rarely asks about yours. There’s no reason to dredge up pain. If you want to offer something you do, and if you truly ask him he’ll offer pieces of his own. But you’re not swapping stories around the fire. So he sees no reason to tell you.

Until one day, he does.

It was the perfect sandstorm of triggers. A child snarling at her brother, then squealing out a laugh that cuts through his head. The singing of blades through the air as some men toss them at a target. A purple Twi’lek between you and Din, reaching out a hand to clap your shoulder. Din’s hurried steps bring him to your side in record time, helmet tilted down in challenge but the Twi just looks at him curiously and takes a step back. Your own brow knits, a bag of supplies in hand. 

He tries to center himself back on the Crest, busying his racing thoughts with jump calculations and messages to contacts about the Jedi. It works until you climb up to the cockpit, leaning against the console as he turns his attention to you.

“Bean found something in the ship, I thought it might be important,” you say, holding out your upturned palm.

A pearl.

He thought he’d found them all, but the child’s nosiness unearthed one last bloody memory. He freezes, hands tight on the console. 

“Been holding onto some treasure?” you tease, but your face is uneasy as you sense the tension in the air. “I’ll put it somewhere safe, maybe we can barter it…”

“No,” Din rebukes sharply, snapping the visor to you. Your eyes widen, chest curling in on yourself. 

“Okay,” you say quietly, hand closing around the painful object. Din slumps, leaning forward and hanging his head.

“I’m sorry, it’s…nothing good will come of that. It was bought with blood,” he says quietly.

“So are most things on the Crest,” you say, wrapping your arms around your middle. Din heaves in a breath.

“Not the same kind.”

And so he tells you the story of Ranzar Malk and his employment, of the acidic crew and the six cloying months he spent with them. Of Xi’an and her allure, and the pain it caused. Of Alzoc III. Of the pearls. 

You listen in silence, watching as Din relates his darkest story. The shame burns his skin, eats at his stomach, sours his tongue. How can he possibly redeem himself in your eyes after this? Would you ever look at him the same again?

Once he finishes, and the quiet of the ship pervades, you move to stand between his parted knees. Two hands settle on his shoulders, and without reservation he wraps his arms around and lays his head just below your breasts. The rhythmic inhale-exhale of your breathing cools his pain.

“Have you seen any of them since?” you ask. Din huffs out a sigh.

“Malk hired me for a job a few months back. Didn’t tell me the mission, just relied on a debt being repaid and the Crest still flying.” Din shifts against you, considering leaning away, but your firm hands keep him held to your chest.

“Was it bad?”

“We were rescuing Qin from a prison ship. Xi’an was there, set me up to be killed by the new team. I left them there.” After the draining retelling, he can’t bring himself to extrapolate on the tense reunion.

Tell me why I shouldn’t cut you down where you stand.

I did what I had to.

Oh, but you liked it.

You were hired to do a job, so do it. 

Isn’t that your code?

Aren’t you a man of honor?

“Thank you for telling me,” you finally say, stroking your thumbs along the line of his shoulders. “That was…difficult. To tell, I’m sure. It was hard to hear.” Din fists your shirt, squeezing his eyes closed at what will surely come.

“You made decisions and you’ve suffered the consequences of them.” You cup the back of his neck through his cowl. “And if you think I haven’t made a terrible decision about who to trust, I have stories I can share. Later,” you say, lightness in your voice. It makes Din lean back to look at your face. If you could see his, you would know his mouth is dropped open, eyes wide and wet, as you stroke the sharp lines of his helmet. You’re the only one he trusts to touch.

“Did you think I would hate you for this?” you ask, and Din’s nod is barely perceptible but you feel it. “You’ll surprise me, and terrify me many more times Mando, but you’ll never drive me away. The galaxy is only shades of gray.”

He lets you hold him for a time, hands soothing on his worn body. Your acceptance doesn’t heal him. By now he’s not sure anything will. But it balms the wound enough to breathe easier. 

It’s the beginning of letting himself know you, and be known by you. When you say that your best friend taught you how to skip rocks, he asks how you met her. When you look on in wonder as he dresses a piece of game, he explains how his buir taught him survival hunting. And when the child wraps his tiny claw around Din’s thumb and he strokes it gently, you ask him if he has a son somewhere. 

“No,” Din answers, the child warm in his arm and your body close enough to coax into his, if he would dare let himself want it. “But the Creed states the importance of caring for foundlings, and raising warriors.”

You hum and smile, turning back to your task, and for a moment much longer than fleeting, Din lets himself wonder if this is what a clan is supposed to feel like, and when it grew from two to three. 

END

Interlude 2 of the I Think of You series

[fleet-admiral-hiba]

Got pretty sick again for awhile but ill try to give you some ideas lmao

We get food poisoning but some of the others suspect it was one of the chefs who did it purposely as they have shown no liking to us?

this would be for the fox series lmao

anywho, I’ll put in more requests once I think of something

-Simon

Hopefully you'll recover soon man, I'm starting to miss your wild ideas.

BITTER ALMOND

It was a day like the other, but you weren't feeling all that good. At first you thought you were simply tired, feeling a bit sleepy and all from having just eaten.

But the others weren't so sure. You were looking a tad to pale, sweat starting to coat your skin. You were feeling nauseous, true, and a bit woozy. "Kitten, are you alright?" Asked Pulcinella, noticing your face contorting in pain.

You clutched your stomach, whimpering while cramps ravaged your body. Something wasn't right.

An allergic reaction? Possible, given that there were seafood in the dish.

"Cub,look at me a moment" said Dottore, while checking your temperature. Your fever was rising, and he could feel the muscles of your abdomen contracting.

"Here, drink this" he gave you a purple colored vial, and it tasted bad. But you bravely downed the content.

Moments later, the cramps started to subside, at least you weren't in so much pain right now. "The verdict?" asked Pierro, while covering your trembling body with his coat.

"Food poisoning most likely. But I wouldn't overrule a possible food allergic reaction" he said, while rubbing your back.

Your nausea was increasing, and you run to the nearby bathroom. You hated feeling sick. It left you trembling and dizzy.

Childe was already running after you, comforting you through the ordeal. He saw how confused and dazed you were becoming and he alerted Dottore.

"Let's take him to bed. The vial will do the rest, dispersing the toxins. But I'll need to attach an IV to make sure he doesn't get dehydrated" he said while accompanying the ginger.

"What if it was more than that? I hear rumours about one of the cooks not liking our little one. I think this was an intentional poisoning. The symptoms match " quipped in Arlecchino and Pantalone. They had done enough poisoning themselves to know that by now.

"The only thing left to know, apart from the motive is what kind of drugs they used" said Capitano.

"Why?"asked Sandrone, curious to see where this was going. "Because,there are different types of poisonous substance that will either make him feel like rubbish for some time or lead to a slow painful death. Or worse, it will leave him with some lasting damage" explained Columbina, while twirling a knife in her hand.

They all continued to speculate before a clone of Dottore came in with news. "I have some good news: y/n will pull through without much issues. He will feel woozy and tired for a few days. But the drug found in his blood was a mix between a paralytic and a toxic chemical" finished Omega, before leaving the report and exiting the room.

Bloodlust rose quickly. They all knew what that meant. "Let's have a chat with the cooks, and see who the pest is. I feel like doing some cleaning" announced Arlecchino.

Well that week had been interesting. Some cooks were missing, while you rested. You were still overcome by fever and shivers, but nothing too serious.

Although you avoided eating for a long time after that. Only your uncles and aunties could get you to eat food that had been checked before by them.

Hopefully,it will never happen again.

But until then, there's always space for a new Ruin Guard.

[mysterialistic]

Buddy Daddies PV2 and PV3 theories (PART 2)

Next up I'll speculate waaay more given that there's not a lot of images to makes coherent connections from. I'll start by the first new image we see of PV 3:

Apparently in this scene Miri is talking to Rei (I really need subtitles to tie this up better). And I have a theory for this: secret birthday party.

Now, I know it sounds a little far fetched, but I swear it makes sense. Hear me out, on the second PV we saw this scene of Miri with a birthday hat and decorations in the background:

And you're probably wondering, but who's birthday party? Well, it could be either Rei's of Kazuki's (not Miri since her birthday is in November and I don't think we would go through such a big time jump).

We don't know when Rei's birthday is, but we do know when Kazuki's is and the dates actually make some sense considering that it's been a few months and, if the episode where is raining comes first, it makes even more sense chronologically speaking. Kazuki's birthday, as seen in episode 4 (if it's his real birthday since they faked documents) is in May 16.

(sorry, I couldn't get the picture in english, but what matters is the date inside the red circle).

Now, this scene of Miri pouting is connected to this other scene of Kazuki looking worried:

And worried for who? Excellent question, I'll give you the answer: Rei. In this part of the PV Miri says "Rei papa seems very lonely" and we proceed to see this scene of Rei:

He is in someone else's car because the seats look different to his and Kazuki's car.

In that scene of Rei in the unknown car someone asks him "why do you kill?" to which he answers "it's my job".

So my theory is that either that's a flashback of the mission before he betrayed his previous organization (probably his father), because remember this dialogue from episode 5:

In the second and third PV we see brief action scenes of Rei fighting this guy:

And who is this guy? I'm pretty sure it's Rei's brother, just look at the marks underneath his eyes and the hairstyle, also in the third PV he mentions the word "father". So either he was send to kill Rei or this is a flashback of the betrayal (which I highly doubt to be honest).

I'm leaning more to this scene of Rei against his maybe brother being in the same episode of the party. I think that Rei is going to leave mid party, making Kazuki worried and Miri disappointed and saying that he seems lonely.

What confuses me the most is this next scene:

Kazuki is under the rain, dirty and looking super gloomy. The confusing part is that he's wearing the same shirt as in the party with Miri. So either he gets involved in the whole Rei vs family situation, or my theory is completely wrong and it's two different episodes lmao.

Honestly me being wrong is very likely. There still seven episodes to go and this brief scenes probably don't even scratch the surface of what will happen. In the end we'll just have to wait, see and probably cry because the angst is coming.

[happiest-hotch]

since you are amazingly thorough at expanding the backstory of reid, i'd love to hear some headcanons you have about hotch. what was he like in high school, college, law school? what do you think his life looked like after leaving the bau and once jack got to his teenage years? what do you think he'd be like in a second marriage? i love hotch and I think you''re great at like adding so many details to these characters that I've never thought about. thank you for answering! ps. does hotch wear boxers or briefs lol

i love stuff like this, i'm so glad you asked me to do this. also, i went right back to his childhood

CHILDHOOD

It's never mentioned where he grew up, just that his mom was from Manassas and went to college there. However, I have my own little theory. His dad was very abusive, likely to his mom as well, (mentioned in 1x08), and one thing that abusers often do is isolate their victims. If his mom didn't go far for college, she would have had family in Virginia, so I think his dad would have moved them away from people they knew who could have potentially helped Mrs Hotchner get away from her husband. I think they moved specifically to Seattle but I'll come back to why later.

In terms of personality, I think he was probably very smart, but more of a depressing wise-beyond-his-years type of smart and knew things he shouldn't know, probably very mature, well-mannered, and overly willing to please. He got a sense of right and wrong very early on and saw a lot of hypocrisy with how his family presented themselves, eg. his dad being a prominent lawyer, vs how they really were. This is based on what he also speculates in his interview with Vincent (1x08) that he (or they) learned to smile despite the abuse and how a house can look happy from the outside while being violent.

BOARDING SCHOOL

He and Sean aren't close because they didn't spend time together growing up since Hotch went to boarding school when Sean was still young. I think Hotch was sent to boarding school because he hit his father back based on what he also says to Vincent in 1x08: "you probably thought 'one day, one day when I'm big enough'" about fighting back. It sounds very self-reflective, so I think Hotch reaches the age of 13/14, and he decides he's big enough to take on his father, Mr Hotchner obviously doesn't like it, so he sends Hotch away. Then Mrs Hotchner persuaded him to send Hotch to boarding school in DC/Virginia where her family would be near him. I think this because he met Haley at high school (1x22) and Haley's father owned a store in DC (10x20) so it figures she went to school there.

I still think he was a rule follower, fearing his father and Hotch knew he could not share what happened to him, but it was an escape from his home life. He got to form relationships without his father knowing, and I think he had lots of friends, probably a lot from Haley's friend group as well. Also very self-sufficient, mature, intelligent, and determined.

COLLEGE

In my mind, his dad died in Hotch's freshman or sophomore year of college, since it's mentioned (in 1x16) that Sean was young when it happened. And I think it fucked him up a lot, like quarter-life-crisis level. This is where I could see him going a bit crazy, breaking up with Haley, underage drinking, a lot of hookups. Basically, just him using typical college behavior to be self-destructive. His relationship with his mom is really strained because he can't understand why she never left (and he doesn't until he's in the BAU), and he's jealous of Sean who didn't have to deal with any/as much abuse.

I think he was naturally smart so he didn't work any harder than he had to which makes him a little arrogant but in an attractive way. Also, he definitely has a trust fund or inheritance

LAW SCHOOL

the same as college really. i love the idea of him being a bit of a player and during his work with the BAU, he sees someone who knew him back then and they're so confused because he's all official and he used to be so laid-back but they just make a silent agreement to not talk about it

at some point, he starts taking things seriously, maybe when he got back together with Haley. and then they're really happy and in love <3333

LAWYER/SEATTLE FBI YEARS

i don't think it's mentioned where he was a prosecutor but he was in the FBI Seattle division afterward, and this is where my theory about him growing up in Seattle comes from because why would he pick Seattle to go to? It's a nice city but it's a big move from DC and GWU where he went to school. It's the type of move you might make if your mother and younger brother who's acting out live there. Also because at this point, he would know more about why abused women don't leave so he wants to heal his relationship with her

WITSEC

this always makes me so sad because did anyone tell Jess? Jack's friends? what about Roy, did he forget Jack ever existed? and Sean, did he just think Aaron got sick of his poor decisions and decided to cut him off completely???? someone tell me because i cannot cope. I don't think they were kept around the DMV like Haley was, and I doubt they went to Florida because Peter Lewis is from Jacksonville. I think they would move to the suburbs somewhere rather than a city center because they'd fit in with the general demographic and if they moved to a small town, it might be more suspicious. I don't think they'd place them in Virginia, Florida, Texas, New York, Chicago area, Arizona, Pennsylvania, Maryland, or California as there was a large concentration of cases there.

i don't think he had a job while in WITSEC, especially not if they were using aliases because then more people would have to keep his identity a secret, but even if he was allowed to use his real name, he can't exactly have a potential employer calling emily and asking for a reference and saying where they're calling from. Which would be a very good thing because Jack's at that age when he probably needs more support, especially after his fucked-up childhood, he'd love to be his dad's number 1 priority for once

POST-WITSEC

I think they stay living in the same area because Jack would have made friends, and hopefully, Hotch knows better than get a time-consuming job, but he'd go crazy with nothing to do so maybe he practices law again but with reduced hours but he could also lecture so he's able to go to all of Jack's soccer and do the dad stuff he didn't have as much time to do when he was in the FBI. I also think they travel a lot because Hotch mentions that he didn't travel with Jack when he was little so they'd do that during the summer

I like the idea of him meeting someone while he's in WITSEC and he seems really closed off so there's lots of pinning because he doesn't want to get her involved in something and he's having bad Haley flashbacks. then he can finally tell her everything when Scratch is dead. i think he'd be a lot more interested in getting remarried knowing that he doesn't work in a dangerous job that could put her in jeopardy and since his first marriage failed due to his absence, he's much more present

the boxers or briefs debate has been settled with this one photo