#was trying to remember how to draw something more difficult than sticks

[yoshidatommy]

[wisteriagoesvroom]

For the trope mashup thing whatever: arranged marriage and neighbors 👀 - CX

again not one i would've picked but thank you for prompting it !! this also uh, got longer than i thought.

(from the prompts mash up - still taking submissions)

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“What do you mean your visa’s running out?” Lando asks.

“I’m Australian. Not a magician. Commonwealth only gets you so far.” 

“I thought you were here on a scholarship.”

“Well. Yeah. But scholarships stop. Once you graduate.” 

Lando toes the doorway rug. It feels weird to be talking about this in the middle of the hallway, though the only other person who would be listening might be Mrs. Kapoor, and half the time it’s only because she sticks her head out to ask if Lando or Oscar would take one of her mystery vegan curries. Lando is neither a huge fan of vegan food nor curry, and he trusts Oscar’s word for it that it’s good because they eat it while playing Gran Turismo at Lando’s place. But Lando always accepts the curries nonetheless, because his parents raised him to be polite, and he wasn’t raised in a barn. (Even if he technically grew up in converted farmhouse in the countryside, but that was besides the point.)  Either way, this is slipping away from him much quicker than he’d anticipated. Late night hangouts, dropping mail and post-it notes, text messages about the community garden. The most inane smalltalk about things big and small from the origins of moths to whether aliens were out there or just chose to ignore the +44 area code. Oscar always laughing in the right places when Lando regales him about tales of his terrible online dating stories, Oscar always picking the pickles out of the roast beef bagels before he passes one to Lando. The corner of Lando’s sofa that Lando has started to think of as Oscar’s because he’s there so often, reading one of his books or trying to speedread a JSTOR article about the lifecycle of urban pathogens while Lando worked on artwork for his upcoming store launch. 

Lando’s synapses are firing too fast. His brain did that most days, and that was what made him exceedingly good at his job, and today in particular - it doesn’t feel like there’s any logical way out. 

Lando remembers that movie they watched once though. As a joke. The one they both pretended not to enjoy, with Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds in Alaska. The one they watched when Oscar sat next to Lando on the sofa, and they both pretended the entire night that their knees weren’t touching. 

His therapist said he had a tendency to get ahead of himself when under stress. But it’s a joke, it’s not serious, there’s no way—

“We could just like, get married.”

Lando shoves his hands in his pockets. That came out way more calm and cooler than he thought it actually would.  And to his credit, Oscar doesn’t drop his mug of tea. Lando knows that’s his favourite one, because Lando got it for him, and it says Science is my superpower. Oscar does, however, slightly shift his grip on the mug.

“I feel like it’d be complicated to explain to my mum why I randomly married my upstairs neighbour?” 

“But it’s not a no.”

Oscar tilts his head. There’s a glimmer of something focused, maybe even hungry in his eyes. Oscar gets like that when his mind turns, when he’s working on an especially difficult thesis, when the pieces are forming and he can lock into the crucial details.

Lando is a little alarmed at how much he already recognises it, and how much more often he’d like to draw that reaction out. 

“If the facts don’t fit the theory, then reexamine the facts. Right?” Oscar says.

And Lando is there, in the doorway. Conscious that Mrs Kapoor might’ve heard everything, but all the more conscious that there’s a hammering in his heart that he can’t tell is nervousness, or anticipation. 

What’s the stress limit for a joke you’re probably already pushing too far? Lando thinks.

He isn’t sure.

But maybe it’s a thesis worth testing out.  

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

(and ok maybe i cheated a little on arranged marriage but i think this is the closest i could get with the contemporary context. thank you @cx-boxbox for the prompt <3)

[scoobyrooster1]

"But to Qimir it also unearthed how little he truly knew you. And something he couldn't predict or control... that probably terrified him."

Their relationship is so realistically tense and terrible i LoVe it. Because YEAH Qimir having 'killed my last teacher <3 ' in their resume doesn't really mean anything good for YOU does it.

I agree! Thats something that Qimir might want to consider haha! Glad you like it!

She's Mine [Part 2]

Qimir x (she/her)!reader

Summary: You and Qimir travel with the crew to Corinth where you pose as a high class bidder at a black market auction. However, a few unexpected events complicates your mission leaving you wounded and with more questions than answers about the nature of the job. Warnings: Angst, cursing, violence Notes: This is a slow burn story between you and Qimir. I've been researching high republic history and I'm really excited for the next chapters!

*Im trying my best to use canon history but high republic era is a little difficult so there will be discrepancies and times where I have to improvise... bear with me!

She's Mine Masterlist

She's Mine [Intro] She's Mine [Part 1]

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

One month ago...

Under the thick canopy of trees, the clearing was small, just enough space for the two of you to move without constraint.

You and Qimir had stopped on this planet for a brief respite, also provding one of the few places you could train without drawing unwanted attention.

"Again," Qimir instructed, his voice steady and commanding.

You tightened your grip on the wooden stick in your hand. The makeshift training weapon was a far cry from a lightsaber, but it would have to do. You squared your stance, bringing the stick up in a defensive position.

Qimir moved fluidly as he swung his own stick toward you. You managed to block the first strike, the wood clashing with a sharp crack. But Qimir was relentless. His next move was faster, a low sweep aimed at your legs. You jumped back just in time, narrowly avoiding the strike. You were able to catch your breath if only for a moment as he spoke.

“Keep your elbow up,” he reminded you. “Or else I'll catch you before you can block.”

You nodded, trying to focus on his advice even as your muscles burned from the exertion. It had been a long time since you trained like this. Your heart beat inside your chest so rapidly and with such force that you thought it would burst. You had to remember to control you breathing, only letting air pass through your nose, and conserve what little stamina you had left.

Qimir lunged again. You lifted your arm to block, but your elbow dropped just a fraction of an inch too low. His stick slipped past your defense, tapping your ribs with just enough force to sting. Your torso buckled over in response.

Stepping back to give you a moment to recover, he didn't need to tell you what you had done wrong.

"I get it." You said sternly.

"You need to anticipate the next move. Don't just react—predict."

You clenched your jaw in frustration, wiping the sweat from your face with the back of your hand.

You took a deep breath and adjusted your stance, raising your arm higher this time. Qimir watched you carefully, nodding in approval before launching into another series of attacks. You parried each one, your movements more precise now, more controlled.

The two of you moved in a deadly dance, sticks clashing and feet shifting on the soft earth. You began to lose yourself in the rhythm of it, your mind clearing as your body took over.

It was just you and Qimir, the world narrowed down to the space between your bodies.

Until his stick found your ribs again.

Qimir stepped back, lowering his weapon. "Better," he said, his voice softer now, less harsh. "Still a lot to learn."

You made a face about to mock him for saying a high and mighty master line.

He caught you before you could. "Don't start."

You just laughed, then nodded, panting from the effort. Your arms felt like lead, but there was a sense of satisfaction in knowing you had improved, even if just a little.

"Thats enough for today," he said, tucking his stick under his arm.

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

You jolted awake shaking off the memory that overcame your senses.

You had been traveling for a few hours and had fallen asleep regret-tingly straining your neck in the process. Qimir sat on the other side of the cargo hold.

After the heated discussion you both had… yeah it was probably for the best.

You had both taken precautions to hide any personal items that wouldn’t classify as civilian.

I.E. one cortosis helmet, vambrace, and lightsaber.

You remembered tracing your fingers over the embedded scars of the metal. It was terrifyingly beautiful.

Try it on.

Those words sent shivers through your entire body.

You wondered if when you returned to Qimirs little backwater planet, you too would craft something made of the precious metal.

Would we ever be able to return?

"Put these on"

Ian had thrown a duffle at your feet. You unzipped the bag to find far nicer clothes than the ones you were wearing.

"What happened to drawing less attention?"

“You’ll be bidding with some serious credits, you need to look as though you didn’t just crawl out of a bantha pit.”

You didn’t bother to scowl at Ian for his cruel joke.

“And who will I be today?”

“Bidder 79.”

“Lovely.”

The outfit was formal, modest, a suit-like ensemble made from breathable fabric in dark hues of blue and gray. You took one of the scarves from the bag and wrapped it around your head and hair. The less recognizable you were, the better.

“Don’t look at anyone, don’t talk to anyone, don’t answer any questions you don’t have to—”

“I think she gets it” Qimir interrupted, his voice curt.

“Don’t do anything stupid.” Ian finished.

You gave Ian all the confirmation he deserved. "Don't do anything you would do... got it."

You were dropped at the nearest corner with Rod following closely behind.

The coordinates Ian had provided led you to a rough, gritty part of the city, where the streets were narrow and the air thick with the scent of smoke and decay. The towering buildings around you were a patchwork of cracked concrete, rusted metal, and flickering neon signs, casting eerie glows onto the damp pavement. You approached the entrance of a large, nondescript building, its facade faded and crumbling, blending seamlessly into its surroundings.

Pushing through the heavy, rusted door, you stepped into a dimly lit lobby. The few figures loitering in the shadows eyed you with suspicion. You made your way to an elevator at the far end of the room, its grated door screeching as you pulled it open.

The elevator groaned to life, descending into the depths below the city. As you felt the air grow cooler and the hum of the city above fade into silence, your pulse quickened. When the doors finally slid open, you were greeted by a stark contrast.

Before you lay the Corinth black market, a sprawling underground bazaar hidden beneath the city. The space was vast, its ceiling arched and lined with cables and dim, industrial lights casting a dull glow over the scene. The market was alive with activity—merchants hawking their illicit wares from makeshift stalls, the air buzzing with whispered deals and low, guttural conversations in a dozen different languages. The scent of exotic spices, machinery, and lawlessness filled your nose.

The Corinth black market was a place where laws were only mere suggestions.

Rules, Rules, Rules... If you don't follow them, you never have to break them.

Minutes later, you found yourself seated in an uncomfortable chair, dark lenses shielding your eyes as you scanned the stage ahead. You were in a small room dimly lit but far richer than the bazaar outside. The items up for auction you guessed based on size and weight was a mix of trinkets and far more dangerous contraband, all locked away in secure containers.

Your client had provided you with only a number, leaving you in the dark about what you were actually bidding on. Your job was to outbid everyone else. Rod, as Ian assured you, would make sure you had the funds to back up whatever figure you landed on. How they’d managed that was another mystery, but one you didn’t need to solve.

“Item number XN2187”

Your eyes tracked the stage.

This was it.

What the staff placed on the table next made absolutely no sense to you.

It was a book... or... a journal?

"Let’s start the bid at 100,000 credits."

Maker.

You had to withhold your gasp.

Two people had already called out raising the bid to 250,000 within 3 seconds.

You threw your card up.

“300,000.”

You saw another card go up near the front.

“350,000”

Maker how could a journal be worth this much.

You raised your card again with no hesitation.

“400,000.”

They matched it again. "4500,000."

“500,000”

It was all fake credits and Ian had given you your instructions... attain that item at whatever price... better to end it right here.

You waited for their response, but there was none.

Got it.

“Sold...to number 79.”

Small claps ensued.

You headed to the back of the stage where the transactions were being held.

Suddenly your path was blocked, now inches away from a hooded figure.

"Whatever your being paid, we can double it." They hissed in your ear.

Rod glanced at the human stranger with his fixed glowing pinpoint eyes that seemed to show concern even for a droid.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about." You continued to walk past them.

They grabbed your forearm. Their grip was strong.

“You take it and you’re a dead woman walking.”

You could now see their face. A male human with rusty brown hair and dark eyes.

You shook off the strangers hand and stated with cold indifference, "I already am."

Your response seemed to catch him off guard.

You shrugged him off turning away, finally reaching the desk behind the curtains.

"Bidder 79?" the attendant confirmed.

"That's right. Item XN2187."

"Please have your droid exchange the credits for your purchase."

Rod stepped forward, inserting his chip into the computer. A moment later, a man presented the box.

The attendee looked at the screen, seeming pleased. "Thank you madam. Have a wonderful evening."

Your breath resumed as you smoothly took the box and gave the courtier a smile. What ever Rod had done it had worked. You cracked it open checking that the item was inside.

Rodney turned in the other direction taking a different route to meet back up at the rendezvous.

That had been surprisingly easy.

"See you back at the ship." You whistled as you turned into the crowd behind.

Something struck your mind. The force had shifted near you and you could feel it. You started scanning your surroundings more carefully.

Watch out.

You unholstered your gun but it was too late.

It was all of 2 seconds before you felt the box knocked out from under your forearm. The force of a back kick to your chest sent you crashing to the ground. Dirt filled your mouth as you hit the earth, the impact reverberating through your body. Your blaster had been sent flying across the ground.

Damn it had been a while since you were hit that hard.

Gritting your teeth, you turned to face your assailant— female Twi'lek with green skin, her imposing figure casting a shadow over you. Her face sheathed in fabric and some manner of breathing apparatuses. Time seemed to slow, the sounds of the chaotic crowd fading into the background.

The journal had fallen out of the box now laying between you and your attacker.

It was too valuable to lose. You couldn't just run.

You pushed yourself off the ground, moving faster than you had fallen. As the warrior lunged for the book, you reacted instinctively, snapping your leg out to kick their hand away. The clash of metal and bone echoed in your ears as you simultaneously snatched journal, pulling it close to your chest. The adrenaline surged through your veins as you regained your footing, your breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

She charged at you closing the distance swiftly. You dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding her grasp. She swung her arm in a wide arc that forced you to duck, the wind from her strike grazing the top of your head.

With the book still clutched tightly to your chest, you spun around, using your momentum to drive your elbow into the Twi'leks side. The impact caused her to stagger.

She recovered swiftly, raising her arm to strike again this time brandishing a small blade. You heaved your body from left to right to dodge, the knife dancing centimeters away from your chest.

You dodged another stab. But she was smart. The Twi'lek flipped the blade through the air catching it with her left hand. You felt a sharp pain spread in your chest. Too distracted with the wound in your right side, you failed to notice her right hand swinging towards you head.

Your brain rattled inside your skull as you hit the earth. Applying pressure to the bleed you turned your pounding head upwards. She picked up the journal from the floor, her other hand now brandishing a blaster pointed directly at your forehead.

"Should've taken the deal"

You only stared down the barrel of her gun. This couldn't be the end.

You wouldn't let it be the end. You blinked. She pulled the trigger. A shot rang out.

You weren't dead.

You stared at the gun.

The blaster shot hung suspended in mid-air, glowing red just inches from your nose.

It floated there, trembling as if struggling against an invisible force, caught between you and the barrel.

Qimir.

You almost couldn't breathe and realized it could only last for so long. You ducked your head before the shot could continue its intended path, piercing the dirt behind you, leaving a small scorched black hole in its wake.

Your breathing was rapid and deep as stared at the hole in the ground that was intended for your head.

The Twi'leks eyes widened. Baffled by what she had just witnessed.

"You... you're a jedi." She sounded as disgusted as she was surprised.

“Not quite.”

In a fluid motion, you kicked a cloud of dust up towards her face. She loosen her grip on the journal stumbling back. Sprinting past her you grabbed the book, the pain of the stab wound luckily numbed by the adrenaline coursing through you. She roared in frustration, but you were already several paces ahead.

You could hear her quick footsteps behind you, but you didn't look back. Your only thought was to put as much distance between you and her as possible.

You ducked into an alleyway once you thought it was safe to stop, determined to sacrifice just a moment to see what you were truly risking your life for.

You opened the book.

Scribbles you couldn't understand filled page after page. Flipping through it all you couldn't make any sense of it.

You stopped at the back of the last page.

Written then carved delicately into the leather near the binding was a name.

Mari San Tekka.

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

The plan had gone off without a hitch... if you hadn't included the unknown assailant that almost put a blaster hole through your skull.

Closing the blast doors, you buckled over, heart still racing. You ran your fingers over your cheek which was tender to the touch. It had to be badly bruised and you could better feel the one developing across your chest now that the adrenaline was wearing off. Not to mention the blood dribbling down your side.

"That went well."

Qimir had caught you off guard. You didn't think he'd be back to the ship by now with how much of a crowd that stood between you and the ship.

You inhaled deeply resting against the cold metal wall your right hand still pressing the right side of your ribs.

“You had me worried.”

You paused for a moment. You had him… worried?

"I thought I'd have to find a new acolyte after today."

You relaxed your shoulders dropping your hands into fists.

"You son of a bitch."

He smiled with his teeth, his eyes taunting, but his smile faltered when he saw your now exposed lower chest wound.

"That looks serious." You couldn't tell if he was still joking or being earnest. "And what a foul name to call with your mas--"

The ship doors hissed open.

In walked Ian and Rod.

Qimir went quiet not daring to finish his sentence. They didn't need to know what you and Qimir were. If they did, they'd all be dead.

The Jedi say I can't exist. They see my face... They all die.

If that's what it took for Qimir to shut his mouth then fine.

You snapped back to reality reapplying pressure to your side and took the opportunity to interrogate Ian.

"What the hell was that." You yelled.

Ian look disgruntled. "Seems like this cargo is more high priority than I thought."

"Ya think?" You only gave him a pleading look in response.

"Look nothing has changed. You knew what you signed up for."

"I didn't sign up for this... remember?"

"Rod, signal Shaun and Kiro. Prep the hyperdrive, set a course for Canto Bight... You might wanna take care of that." He motioned to the wound that was still leaking blood at your side. "Theres a med bay. Two rights and left."

"Thanks." You started walking towards the doors slightly lightheaded from the blood loss.

He extended a hand. "Here let me help. That looks bad."

You waved him off. "I've got it." Before disappearing down the hall to the med bay.

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

Luckily, Ian had the sense to keep a decent med droid on board. With how sketchy most of his jobs were, it would be foolish not to. The droid had effectively stopped the bleeding, stitched it close, applied bacta fluid, and recommended a pressure dressing before shutting down.

Okay, so not a fully functional droid.

You pulled out the rolls of gauze and compression wraps. The droid had cut through your bloody shirt to access the wound, leaving the tattered fabric hanging from your shoulders. In the mirror, you could see the damage--your chest was mildly bruised, the skin slowly turning a deep purple, especially closer to the wound. You applied a generous amount of gauze and began wrapping the bandage around your chest.

You managed 6 tight loops before a sharp pain made you wince, the movement of extending your torso and raising your arms too much to bear. Breathing deeply, you tried to steady both your head and your heart.

Then, a sudden movement caught your eye, and you nearly reopened the wound as you jumped—Qimir was standing in the now open doorway, silently watching you.

"Maker, you scared me... How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long enough."

"Ha. Ha." You mocked, still guarding your chest, covered but only by a sheer wrap.

"Need help?"

"I got it."

He gave you a look that said, Yeah, sure you do.

You sighed deeply. Every breath was painful. "Fine."

He walked up to where you sat on the med table, glancing at the now deactivated med droid.

"The droid couldn’t do it?"

You tilted your head in response.

"I can call Ian to wrap the rest. He seemed pretty eager," you teased.

Qimir clenched his jaw, clearly not amused, and quickly seized the large roll of gauze from your hand.

"Put your arms around me."

You shot him an incredulous look.

"Maker, you're difficult," he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. With a gentle touch, he grabbed your hands and placed them on his shoulders. Then, he took the roll and began wrapping it around the rest of your chest.

You let your hands move closer to his neck, lacing your fingers together and allowing your arms to sag, finding a small amount of relief.

"It's a faulty piece of equipment," you continued. "Leave it to Ian to have a semi-working med droid on a risky job."

Qimir's eyes were only focused on his hands, meticulously layering the bandaging over your wound, making sure it was secure.

"Hey, my eyes are up here," you quipped.

His focus remained unwavering, but you noticed a small smile tug at the corners of his lips.

You allowed yourself to dissolve into this moment. It was innocent, and it was yours.

He finished the last length of the bandage, gently tucking it into the top wrap. His fingers brushed against your skin, and your breath hitched slightly. If he noticed, he pretended not to. Both his hands now rested softly against your ribs, checking the stability of his work. Your hands remained on his shoulders.

He looked up at you.

You met his gaze.

"If you let someone get that close, you must make every decision with confidence and conviction. Remember—"

"Don't react, predict," you repeated the mantra.

"There's no room for error in a fight that close."

"Yes, master," you added with a touch of sarcasm.

He only nodded, still getting accustomed to your use of the title.

"Thank you," you said, recalling what had happened only hours ago.

"For the wrap?"

"No. For saving me."

"Saving you?"

"The blaster shot."

"... You're welcome."

He released you, making you remove your arms from his shoulders.

The moment was gone... and something in you would've done anything to get it back.

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

The sound of the ship rattling against the void of space ripped you from sleep. The walls trembled, and a deep, ominous roar echoed from the rear of the ship, filling you with an immediate sense of dread. You ducked out of your cot.

Qimir was already on his feet.

Before you could fully grasp what was happening, he was out the door, and you were right behind him. The cold, metallic floor vibrated beneath your bare feet as you both sprinted down the dimly lit corridor.

Suddenly, the ship lurched violently, a brutal force that sent both of you stumbling. You felt yourself losing balance, your body careening toward the metal wall. But before you could brace for impact, Qimir’s hand shot out, grabbing you by the waist. He swiftly twisted his body, pulling you against him, sending himself backwards.

His back slammed into the wall with a sickening thud. You felt the force of it reverberate through him as he grunted, but his grip on you remained firm.

For a second your chin rested on his collar bone. His mouth grazing your forehead and hair. The heat of his body was a stark contrast to the cold metal wall you were expecting moments ago. You were pressed against his chest, your breath catching as you looked up at him. His expression unreadable.

"Your stitches." He questioned.

"Fine." You assured him.

He only scanned you for a moment then let go of you continuing to walk down the corridor. You hesitated for one second, your heart still racing, before following him.

When you had finally reached the cockpit you found Ian walking toward you and through the doorway before grunting. "Might be a problem with the hyperdrive. We have to make a pit stop."

Any thoughts of Qimirs skin against yours was gone.

You followed him back down the hall.

"Qimir."

He stopped.

You gave him a look.

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

"Mari San Tekka” he repeated the name you had given.

“Do you know that name?”

“Not the person, but the San Tekkas were a great dynasty, closely affiliated with the Republic as hypersurveyors”

"Hypersurveyors?"

"Mappers who worked for the clan, charting new hyperspace routes."

"The writing, I didn't see it at first but they could've been notes or calculations."

"Could you read any of it."

"I've seen hyperspace calculations before, but I didn't recognize the figures in this book. Why would someone risk so much to retrieve it?"

Qimir took a long pause. "I don't know."

The uncertainty laced in Qimirs voice irked you more than you'd like to admit.

———————————————

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think!

[sakasakiii]

Hi!

I love your work!! Your art is very pretty. Do you have a specific idea of how old everyone is ? Do you lean more towards canon or do you have your own dates in mind ? If don’t wanna a answer it’s ok!

Hope u have a nice day

(Remember to drink water!)

hiiii nonnie!!! thank you for checking in, and im happy u like the stuff i put out!! when it comes to ages, it's difficult to answer sometimes bc of the way professor tolkien's timeline is-- it makes gauging one singular place where most of the cast can be compared something that makes my tired brain go 😵🤧🤕 but i love the prompt youve given! and thus heres my attempt at it

with most of my tolkien stuff, i always try to stick to canon wherever possible emphasis is on try lmao and the topic of ages is one such place. i do make exceptions to the Professor's canon sometimes for a few reasons: 1) i like some of the scrapped ideas in his drafts, or 2) i just prefer other options. with ages, i think the only charas with canon-established ages i deviated from are fingolfin, finrod, turgon, and aredhel. i try to keep cases like these minimal tho, so i hope it doesn't bother anyone too much... 👉👈

anyways i figured just dropping a list of numbers would be kinda boring to look at so heres an illustrated guide to what the ~rough~ ages of the finweans are in my head whenever i write or draw. Y.T. 1495 (the year Finwe dies) is the controlled medium ive used to enable a fair comparison of the Finweans

note: "born Y.T. xxx" means this is the canon date of birth listed on Tolkien Gateway. "est. born [xxx]" means this is a noncanon estimate:

the First Age gets a lot more muddled from there due to the hullaballoo of everything going on, so ill only be including the doriathrim and a few other denizens of nargothrond:

it's mostly the older elves that are more undefined/vague with their ages (i.o.w. others like elwing, earendil, the peredhil twins, and most Men all have set dates of birth), so they're all i'll be doing for now. but it's that vagueness which makes hcing all the more enjoyable, isn't it! plus since we’re on this subject, under the cut are just a few headcanons and musings ive had that i wanted to put somewhere 😙

Finarfin and Earwen were born within months of each other! Finwe and Olwe made a Really Big Deal out of when they found out their wives were pregnant at the same time. As a result, the two were often sent on many playdates with each other to “bolster healthy relations” between the Noldor and the Teleri. It wasn’t an arranged marriage situation, but I like to think they were goofy for each other from the start… Resulting in the two eventually getting married as soon as they came of age, the fastest out of all of Finwe’s kids to do so. 

The reason the Ambarussa are significantly younger than the other Finweans (especially the Feanorians-- there’s a 100 Valian year gap between them and Curufin alone!) is because I imagine they were accidental babies that even Feanor didn’t expect to conceive. too bad morgoth said "its morgin time!" and started Messing Things Up shortly afterwards.....

Anaire was Lalwen's good friend long before she married Fingolfin; they met through Lalwen who wingmanned Fingolfin the whole time. i like think Anaire'd be the best out of all the wives at keeping good, healthy bonds with all the women of her family :DD

luthien's potential 姐姐/big sis dynamic with all the younger doriathrim elves is something i daydream about a lot 😌 but sometimes the fact that she's older than finarfin keeps me up at night

this has been really fun, so thanks again for asking-- annnd yessir, i am chugging water as i write this so you better be doing the same ❤️ have a great start to your week!

[happyprincesscycle]

Grump and Pupp series:

Butcher'ed Mission (see what I did there 😏 lol)

Characters: Billy Butcher, reader, M.M, Frenchie, Hughie

Summary: You and The Boys were on a mission, and despite your well intentions, you ended up causing trouble for them 🫠

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

The Boys were on a mission, involving dangerous people (as per usual), and a lot of things that could go wrong. So Butcher had one clear instruction for you: stay out of the way!

You tried, you really did. But with all the excitement, secrecy, and, let’s face it, a bit of impatience, staying out of the way was easier said than done.

The team had infiltrated a heavily guarded warehouse where Vought was rumored to be storing something very valuable. The plan was simple: get in, find the goods, and get out without drawing too much attention. Simple, that is, until you got involved.

The Boys were moving stealthily through the dark corridors, Butcher leading the way with Hughie, Frenchie, and M.M. close behind. You, however, were at the back, bouncing with barely contained energy.

"Oi, remember what I said, y/n," Butcher whispered over his shoulder, his voice low but laced with authority. "No messin’ about. We’re in and out, quiet as a mouse."You nodded vigorously.

“Got it. Quiet as a mouse.” you said as you mimed to zipping your lips shut.

That was the plan, really, but as the group crept closer to the main storage area, you couldn’t help but feel the urge to contribute. I mean, sure, you weren’t exactly a trained agent, but you had started training with Billy since he had figured if you were gonna stick to him like a gum under the shoe so he might’ve as well taught you a few things to protect yourself, you had learned a few tricks, you could be useful, right?

The moment came when the team reached a locked door. Frenchie was about to pull out his tools to pick the lock when you suddenly piped up.

“Hey, I bet I can open that!” you said, way too loud for Butcher’s liking.

Frenchie paused, tools in hand, and turned to you, one eyebrow raised. “You know how to pick locks?”

“Well, no… but I’ve seen it done in movies! How difficult can it be?”

Butcher’s patience snapped. “Just leave it to the professionals, eh?”

But before he could stop you, you pulled out a booby pin off your hair and shoved it into the lock. It didn’t go well.

The bobby pin got stuck, and you fumbled with it, making more noise than anyone on a secret mission should make.

“Bugger me sideways…” Butcher muttered under his breath as M.M. rubbed his temples in frustration.

Just then, an alarm blared through the warehouse, red lights flashing down the hallway.

“What the hell did you do?” M.M. shouted over the wailing siren.

“I don’t know!” you shouted back, panic setting in. “Maybe the bobby pin triggered something?”

“No time for this! We’ve got to move!” Butcher barked, grabbing you by the arm and dragging you along as the team sprinted down the corridor.

The Boys scattered, trying to find an alternate route to the goods while dodging security guards that were now flooding the warehouse.

You tried to keep up, but your nerves were all over the place.As the team took cover behind some crates, trying to regroup, you peeked out to see what was happening.

“Butcher, I think I saw a way out through—” you started, but Butcher cut you off.

“Enough with the bloody thinkin’! You’ve done more than enough!” Butcher snapped, his usual gruffness now tinged with real anger. “Do us all a favor and keep yer gob shut before you get us all killed!”

You winced, feeling guilty and a bit hurt, but you knew he was right. You’d messed up. Big time.

The Boys were in a tight spot now, with guards closing in. Butcher was trying to figure out a way to salvage the mission when you spotted something—a lever on the wall labeled "Emergency Ventilation Release." Without thinking, you bolted out from behind the crate and pulled it.

“No, wait—” Hughie tried to stop you, but it was too late.A massive gust of air blasted through the warehouse as huge vents in the ceiling opened, releasing a thick cloud of smoke. It filled the room in seconds, obscuring everyone’s vision.

You coughed, stumbling back as the smoke poured out, but then realized something: the smoke was actually giving them cover.

Butcher noticed it too. He grabbed your arm again, this time with a bit less anger. “Move! Now!”

Using the smoke as a distraction, the team dashed through the chaos, evading the guards who were now coughing and disoriented. They made it to the storage room, where they found the goods and got out, all thanks to your unintentional blunder.

Once outside, the team caught their breath, safe for now. Butcher turned to you, his face a mix of relief and annoyance.

“Bloody hell, y/n. You nearly cocked it all up… but you might’ve actually saved our arses.”

You grinned sheepishly. “So… does that mean I did good?”Butcher stared at you, then shook his head with a begrudging smirk. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. You’re still a pain in the arse.”

Frenchie chuckled, patting you on the back. “You have a certain… chaotic charm, mon ami. But next time, let’s stick to the plan, oui?”

“Yeah, I think we’ve had enough surprises for one night.” Hughie added, still catching his breath.

You beamed, feeling a little more confident now. “Got it. No more surprises… unless they’re the good kind!”

Butcher let out a tired sigh. "For fuck's sake, give me strength, will ya?" Butcher muttered defeated, looking up at the sky.

[nogacheloveka-blog]

The Bad Sanses somehow ended up in the Backrooms. №1

next 2

This is the translation of the first post from Russian to English. I understand English, but it is very difficult for me to write in English, so I asked chat GPT to help me. I have corrected some parts, but there still may be mistakes.

Originally, this drawing was supposed to contain an alarming image to pair with another drawing of Dream with an alarming image. I couldn't make it work, so I decided to draw Nightmare on skates. Behind him, Dast appeared, and I remembered a fanfic that interested me, and gradually, all the others were drawn too.

This is actually art for the translation of the Wayward fanfic, which I sent to the translator to try to give him the strength to continue the translation. I just read the first chapter on ficbook, and I was struck by how Nightmare and Error were not alone, but with the Night's children, wandering around Backrooms.

I know that there is a lot of horror in the text itself, but I am a supporter of cuteness, and my Backrooms with a group of Sanses will be quite toothless and cute. I don't know if my inspiration will last long, but let it be as it is. Plus, Roskomnadzor has again gone through my VPN, and before I can finish reading other chapters of the original, I will need to look for other services (not cool).

The concept is as follows:

🔪 Killer. He doesn't see anything terrifying about his current situation. Probably the calmest of all these newcomers. It's really something new in his life. It is unknown how long his enthusiasm will last.

🪓 Horror. He is currently in a wild panic. He can't stop thinking about the lack of food around him. It's pretty critical for him because of how he was changed by his own dungeon - he needs physical food. But Kill's stupid jokes distract him a little.

🦴 Dast. This guy is extremely tense. He's not all right even in normal times. He found a way to cope by sticking closer to Papa Nightmare, who is quite noticeably sucking out his emotions. He doesn't feel strong hunger yet. It's unclear whether it's due to stress or other reasons.

⛔ Error. Oh, this guy is harder for me, but let's say that together with the soft and cute Backrooms, we have a less unstable and cute Err. He's scared to wander these corridors alone because "these anomalies" can find a way out, but he can't. Fortunately, he doesn't need food. Out of a sense of contradiction, he wanders nearby. They are especially useful to him. At least Nightmare and Cross. At the insistence of the latter, he keeps the group together with threads. He already wants to strangle Killer with them.

⚔️ Cross. An anxious child. In the same degree of panic as Horror, but copes by turning on his instincts as a former guard and watching their backs. He was the first to experience the fear of wandering alone, suddenly getting lost.

🌙 Nightmare. It seems that he is the only one who has fewer and at the same time more problems in the current situation. When they first lost Cross around the corner, they were able to find him by his panic. He feeds on the negativity of those around him, even Error feels it. Feeds Cross and Killer with magic (not ship things). He considers options for what to give Horror as food (remember all those survival guides in Backrooms on a cellulose diet). It is in his interest to take care of the survival of the others in order to feed himself. He uses all his diplomacy to prevent Error from leaving the group - this glitchy devil, due to his proximity to the code, feels all these "portals" that have already separated the group more than once. He understands that the group will soon get used to the environment, and the stress of novelty will be less.

==================

Links to the materials that inspired me:

Original: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46523554/chapters/117149551

Russian translation: https://ficbook.net/readfic/018cc86e-a416-7f80-8511-6d42d3136ac4

Nightmare belongs to Jokublog Killer belongs to RahafWabas Dust belongs to Ask-DustTale Horror belongs to Sour-Apple-Studios Error belongs to CrayonQueen Cross belongs to JakeiArtwork"

[nonclassyparty]

tuesday, 13:25, 18:02 (j.wy)

title; can you meet me halfway, right at the borderline, that's where i'm gonna wait for you, i'll be looking out, night and day, took my heart to the limit, and this is where i'll stay

summary; wooyoung is your sworn enemy but hooking up with him becomes a habit you just can't seem to quit (gen v au)

notes; part five of a drabble series called 'rule of thumb' set in the gen v universe where y/n is a bigender superhero and wooyoung is a blood bender. drabbles are posted in chronological order, there is no updating schedule.

playlist // my main masterlist // click to donate to palestine

san grumbles when wooyoung sticks his arms out between your two bodies and pushes you two apart to make room for himself in the middle.

you were showing san the drawings for an assignment that you had in one of your subjects where you had to design superhero merch. it wasn't really a useful class but you took it solely because you thought it might be fun and take some pressure off of you rather than taking something difficult for your elective to try and impress anyone.

it's not that you weren't ambitious, you'd like to be, but a bigender superhero was rarely a fan favorite and you were kind of tired this semester. if it wasn't for your friends dragging you to social events and putting your name out there, this school wouldn't care about you otherwise unless it was to use you in promotional videos to make sure everyone knows this is an 'inclusive' establishment. bullshit.

although, giving you a single-bed dorm already in your freshman year was nice. sometimes you could make due with the institution being performative.

wooyoung plasters himself to your side, looping his arm through your elbow, looking at your notebook and your brows furrow at the weird look san gives the two of you.

"oh, the little bald ones are so cute." wooyoung laughs, pointing at your top two drawings.

you frown, "that's starlight and queen maeve."

you were going to draw their hair on, of course.

he stifles a laugh, eyes holding something achingly close to endearment as he looks at you. "well, your bald starlight and queen maeve are very cute."

you pout again staring the drawings down. they weren't supposed to look cute, they were supposed to be badass.

"how were your exams?" he asks, fingers playing with the zipper of your hoodie as he presses even closer, all up in your business. you've gotten completely used to him hanging all over you, he does it to all of his friends. wooyoung is a naturally touchy and affectionate person.

"fine." you sigh, "i think i messed up one of the problems on my aerodynamics of human flight exam. it might bring my grade down."

wooyoung winces, "i doubt that's your fault, the class is a nightmare and brink always gives shit that he expects you to know even though he barely mentioned it during class or the study material."

"you got a 95 on it last year." you mumble, again embarrassed to reveal that you often compare yourself to wooyoung in terms of your academic success. you compare yourself to san and hongjoong as well but with wooyoung it's simply more personal. sworn enemies and all.

"you know that?" you stay quiet, not in the mood to disclose that you remember wooyoung jumping out of his seat last year filled with glee when the exam results were uploaded into the system.

he seems to bite back a smile, moving even closer that his nose almost brushes your cheek and you stubbornly refuse to look at him overcome with shyness. he continues quietly, "if you're not happy with your grade, i can help you prepare for the makeup exam in january, okay?"

you want to say something but you don't out of fear it'll come out choked, so you simply opt for a little nod as you pretend to do touch-ups on your (apparently) bad drawings.

"uh," you both turn to san who you completely forgot was even there, and who looks positively weirded out now. "i have class."

he turns to mingi (who you, also, forgot was even there), sitting opposite of you, "mingi you have class. let's go to class."

mingi looks up from his notebook, too engrossed in his work to pay attention to anyone else, "my class isn't for another ho-"

"you need an hour to get there, come on." san insists, already standing up and poor mingi has no choice but to pack his things up and get a move on.

san is still standing, staring at wooyoung and you, and you tilt your head to the side wondering if he's alright.

wooyoung stares blandly at him. "bye."

san opens his mouth before inevitably giving up and waving goodbye with a headshake.

well, that was weird.

"is san okay?" you ask, packing up your coloring pencils back into the pouch.

he takes your yellow pompompurin pencil case and looks at it with a small smirk before his expression turns puzzled, "what? oh, yeah. he's just an idiot."

you chuckle at that and he snorts as well when he sees the smile on your face.

"do you have anything else today?"

you shake your head.

"you wanna get food and go to my dorm?"

"okay."

-

it's a stupid question, really.

but it's been bugging you for some reason in this particular moment while wooyoung presses you against the pillows stacked up on his bed and his tongue slips inside your mouth.

he didn't give you a reason to ask it either, it was just something you were...curious about.

"are you sleeping with other people?"

wooyoung blinks at you a couple of times, face barely an inch away from yours, before he starts kissing down your neck. "no."

"why not?"

"hm?" his lips on your neck cause your breath to hitch as the warmth starts pooling in the lower pits of your stomach. you don't blame him for not following the conversation, you're barely keeping up as well.

"why not?"

he bites at your earlobe and you lightly push his arm as a reminder that you're waiting for an answer. "i don't want to."

"oh."

your lack of physical response to his advances makes him pull away. "what's the problem? do you want me to sleep with other people?"

your lips naturally tug downwards at that but you keep your thoughts to yourself. of course you don't fucking want him to sleep with other people. "it doesn't matter what i want, we aren't anything."

wooyoung groans at that, body still on top of you and holding himself up by his arms stuck on each side of your head.

"i was just curious as to why you're not?"

"and i just told you. because i don't want to."

"okay." you clear your throat feeling like you're about to walk into busy traffic on your own terms, "because you can, if you want. i don't want you to think that, like, you're not allowed or something."

"jesus christ, y/n." he gets completely off of you and sits on the bed with his legs tucked under. "okay, i get it. we're not anything and you have no problem with me sleeping with other people. i get it."

"okay." is all you can say in a much smaller voice because you kind of made him get the wrong idea. you certainly would have a problem with it but you'd never tell him that either because you know that a time will eventually come when wooyoung will find someone he actually wants. and he'll date them.

he stares at you with a frown that gets slightly deeper. "are you sleeping with other people?"

"of course not." you tell him honestly and don't miss the way his eyes glance at the left side of your chest where your heart resides. he was checking if you were telling the truth. you frown, did he really think you could want anyone else when you could be with him?

"then why do you think i am? you think i'd do something like that to you?"

"i'm not saying that." you sit up, feeling like the conversation derailed from the path you wanted it to take. you wanted wooyoung to know it was okay to have options, no matter how much it bothered you. you didn't want to be keeping him away from anything. "you wouldn't be doing anything to me, we aren't any-"

"we aren't anything, yeah, i know but i still don't want to." he firmly states, eyes gauging your reaction.

you swallow your own insecurities down and lean against his headboard. "it just makes it sound like we're exclusive or something. that's all."

"okay, maybe we should be."

"what do you mean?"

"exclusive. maybe we should be exclusive. it would be safer, for example."

"oh." you let out, scratching your cheek as you look around his room. the curtains are moved to let the sunlight in. "you'd want that?"

"i just suggested it, didn't i?"

"mmm..." you think about it, blush rising to your cheeks under his watchful gaze as he moves closer so that his leg is thrown over your thigh and he's nestled into your side.

you feel like being exclusive will only hurt you more in the long run but then again it will hurt in smaller fractions as well if wooyoung sleeps with other people.

one big hurt versus a dozen of smaller ones...they might inflict the same amount of pain if calculated properly. so you might as well decide to do it all at once when the time eventually comes. hopefully, it will feel like ripping off a band-aid.

"okay. we can be exclusive or...or if we decide to sleep with someone else we should tell each other. y'know, for safety reasons."

wooyoung's head picks up so he can look at you again, chin resting on your shoulder as he stares at you in frustration. "those are two entirely different things. i want to be exclusive, i don't want you to sleep with someone else and then come tell me about it."

you huff, "i won't be sleeping with other people."

you can't even imagine it really. you think wooyoung might've ruined you for other people. asshole.

"good. neither will i." he says simply, hand rubbing over your clothed stomach. "great. now that that's out of the way, do you want to pick up where we left off or do you want to do something else?"

you want to ask 'what else would we even do?' but you know that it will hurt his feelings again and you hate yourself for hurting him. it would be pretense either way. despite all the walls and boundaries you've put up, he's somehow managing to weasel his way through them one by one as the time goes by.

it would be a lie on your part to say that wooyoung and you have the same relationship you've had at the beginning of the semester let alone last year.

you've grown significantly closer, maybe even too close to the point where it's hard to distinguish where the friendship ends and wishful thinking begins. and you know the longer you allow for this to go on, the harder it will be to not get completely wrapped up in your delusions where wooyoung and you could be something more.

for now, you just kiss him though. you run your fingers through his soft hair and try to pour everything you are too afraid to say into the kiss, hoping he might understand. or hoping he might not.

it would be okay if whatever you tell him through kisses remains your little secret. he doesn't have to know.

[yukine-sakamoto]

Review of Cells at Work: Code Black

I know it’s in the name, but this show was dark. I was expecting something a little closer to the light-hearted slice-of-life of the original, but this was depressing. It was interesting to see how the body responds to adverse conditions, so the educational draw was still there. However, they throw a lot at you pretty quickly, so it’s not like I’ll really remember any of it. I certainly don’t remember much from the original. I did appreciate that there was a bit more characterization and plot in this one. The issues that the body faced each episode built up and the stress affected the characters. But I can’t say I really enjoyed watching all these characters nearly or fully lose it because of the stress and trauma of their work, and there really wasn’t much character depth other than that.

I mainly wanted to watch this show because it featured a strong girl (WBC) protecting a relatively weaker boy (RBC), which is a dynamic I like and is so very rarely seen. (Kinda messed up that role reversal is only seen in the unhealthy body, not sure what they’re trying to say there.) I thought I was just being a perv, but apparently the artists had a similar idea. I won’t lie, I liked the WBCs’ designs. They’re tall, strong, confident, busty, dressed for action, and wield katanas. And, I could have appreciated a bit of fan service, but I think they went a little too hard. The tonal whiplash between watching the cells’ repeated near-death experiences and the copious boob shots was very difficult to process. The uniforms were nice but the plunging neckline felt out of place, and honestly some times the chests looked like they were drawn by amateurs, like, two big circles sticking straight out instead of the sort of tear-drop shape with actual gravity. And the characters weren’t deep enough to have any kind of real romance anyway. There were some cute moments but not much. I mean I knew it wasn’t a romance show going in but still.

I thought the show was a tad preachy as well. Like it felt very clear that it was urging people to lead healthier lives as well as commenting on work culture, especially Japanese black companies (thus the name). I think the weight of the work commentary is somewhat lost on a foreign audience, and while it’s not bad to encourage people to care for themselves, I don’t want to feel guilty while I’m trying to relax and watch tv. It was odd in the ED episode especially that they seemed to take a negative stance toward casual sex. I think that’s actually a very unhealthy stance to espouse, and it wasn’t really as scientific. Sperm die all the time no matter what your sex life is, so it’s weird for a cell to get worked up over it. Plus it felt strange coming after the episodes on smoking and alcohol, which are different and obviously unhealthy. It was honestly strange to spend a whole episode fixated on this guy’s boner. I mean sure, the follow up episode on STIs kind of makes sense, safe sex and all that, but those two came off with a different vibe for me.

Overall, it was decently enjoyable though somewhat forgettable: 7/10.

[juminies]

it could have been us

jumin and mc meet again years after personal circumstances pull her away from the rfa. loose ends are more clumsily tied up than she'd have hoped.

jumin x mc, 2826 words, angst

read on AO3

♡

Since they changed the bus route, her morning trip to work consists of a brief walk by C&R’s headquarters. She’ll admit her attempts to avoid it, futile as they may have been; getting lost in the back streets of Seoul and being fifteen minutes late trying to find an alternative route weren’t the worst of her mistakes. She’d seldom admit that she has thought of Jumin Han every time she hurries past, however.

Leaving the RFA had been a difficult decision — even more so when Seven had sternly confessed that leaving would essentially mean cutting contact with the members. He could just about get her out with several strict precautions and some temporary monitoring, but he made it clear that holding her association with them would create too many complications for any of them to comfortably deal with. If worse came to worst it could put her in legitimate danger again, even, but with nobody to protect her this time. And after only knowing the members for a few months, it was the most logical choice for her to put herself first. Her fondness would remain and she’d hold onto them dearly as a gone-too-fast memory, of course she would, but people come and go. She’s never quite been one to dwell on the past, for the most part. It had seemed safe to assume this would be the same.

These days it tends to feel as though her whole time in the organisation had been nothing more than a fever dream.

So, despite her passing daydreams, she’d never quite considered that she should ever actually see him again. Yet here she is, standing frozen in place outside of the little café a couple of doors down, and she can’t help but stare as he steps out of a car (was he always so tall and intimidating?) and thanks the driver just loud enough that she almost thinks she can hear it. It evokes something deep within her; makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. It feels oddly nostalgic, practically sickeningly so, and no matter how hard she tries she can’t draw her glare away.

He makes eye contact before she can process the situation enough to duck out of his sight. The way he looks at her aches, because it’s a look she knows. A look he’s given her before. Time and time again she’s regretted not letting herself stick around to see it more often.

What happens afterwards is not the plot her daydreams ever tended to follow.

He turns. And he’s gone.

The next thing she knows she’s standing outside of the revolving door of the C&R building, feeling her contemplation become dangerous as it verges on optimism. She quickly tries to recall the route to his office in her head as she traverses the entrance. When the receptionist does not so much as utter a word as she walks through the foyer and slips through the barrier behind an employee, she tells herself—if not just to mitigate the guilt—that they must still recognise her.

Assuming it hasn’t changed, the route to his office is not a particularly treacherous one, nor is it difficult to remember. She doesn’t believe he would ever voluntarily move, so the risk of ending up in the wrong place is not particularly notable, she decides. She steps into the lift and hits the button for the sixty-eighth floor; adrenaline pumping harder as she realises that not only is she technically trespassing with no safety net, but running into Jaehee means her gig is up. The safest option is to be quick to avoid eye contact with those who come and go, quicker to make her way through the corridor to where she knows he’ll be.

A passing look through the half tilted blinds of the office window as she approaches confirms her suspicions.

Knock knock. She holds her breath.

“Yes.” Muffled, from inside the room.

There’s no chance for her to hesitate before she opens the door and takes a single step beyond the entrance. Jumin looks up at her immediately, and his blank expression changes to something strange; undetectable.

“Who allowed you to come up here?” he asks with an uncharacteristic sense of urgency. All of her senses seem to drown in him as soon as they make eye contact. His voice rests heavy and uneasy on her ears. The smell of the room—of him—intensely grips onto familiarity. His eyes stay locked to hers, but she really can’t place how he feels at all. Hostile? Nervous? Angry?

“Nobody,” she chokes out. “Nobody said anything when I walked in.”

If only for a second, his eyes leave hers as he glances over her shoulder. “Shut the door.”

She can’t quite place how she feels, either. She shuts the door.

“Did anyone seem to notice you?”

She’s silent for a second, considering if any amiss glances were shot her way; if any whispers were shared as she walked by.

“Answer me,” Jumin says as he puts his pen down. The noise startles her. “We’re running on used time.”

“No,” she concludes.

“This can’t take long”—he glances to his watch before his eyes fall to the papers spread out in front of him—“I have a meeting in fourteen minutes. One I should be carrying out last minute preparations for.”

She glances at the clock behind him in response.

“I started work six minutes ago.”

He looks back to her and raises an eyebrow. She feels viscerally uncomfortable, suddenly, an immense wave of self consciousness crashing over her as his gaze burns her skin.

“You’re still just as surprising as when we met last,” he says. It takes her off guard, and it only registers in her mind at that moment that Jumin knows her just as she knows him. Her time in the RFA had been an unsuspected whirlwind for all seven of them, surely. And just like that, she feels frozen again. Just like she had outside of the café. She almost contemplates asking if there’s been some sort of glue trap placed in the entrance to the room to keep unwanted visitors at arm’s length. An unwanted visitor is exactly what she has painted herself to be in her head. Exactly what she feels like standing face to face with someone she had promised to stay away from for their own good.

“I assume you're aware that you’re unlawfully trespassing on C&R property by not signing in?” Jumin breaks the silence.

This is a question she is almost certain doesn’t possess a correct answer. So she says nothing. Jumin sighs, reaching up to massage his temples.

“Is there a reason you’re here? Or did you merely show up with the intention of tormenting me?” he says.

Yes. No. Of course there is. Of course she didn’t. But she doesn’t answer these ones either.

“Would you have let me up here, had I signed in?” she asks instead.

“It depends.”

“On?”

It’s his turn to omit an answer this time, so she opts to ask again. “Fine then. I’ll be more specific. Ten minutes ago, if you had gotten a call that I was here to see you, after no contact for three years… Would you have let me up here?”

“No,” he responds.

“Exactly.” She knows him too well, even still.

“Why are you still standing in the doorway?” he wonders aloud then. “Sit, if you wanted to see me so badly.”

Her mind goes completely blank as she unsticks her feet from the imaginary glue on the floor. What feels like years of silence go by as she walks over to his desk; pulls out the chair; sits down; waits.

“How are you?” she asks finally.

“You came here for small talk?” Jumin says. He exhales sharply through his nose. Amused. “I’m fine. Busy as always.” Then a pause, where he stops to think, before adding, “Everyone else is doing well, too. I hope that you can say the same for yourself.”

“Good. That’s good,” she murmurs. More silence follows and she uses it to fiddle with the strap of her handbag, now placed haphazardly on her lap.

She finds herself cringing thinking about how impossibly soap opera this all seems. He always liked those in secret, though, didn’t he?

His voice cuts through the silence again, then, almost on cue. “This reminds me of a scene in a drama I watched recently,” he says. And he laughs. She worries for a moment that he can read her mind.

“Romance?” she finds herself questioning.

“How did you know?” A rhetorical question, maybe. She doesn’t answer it either way. She feels sick.

“I should go,” she states.

“Already?”

“I shouldn’t have come,” she reiterates.

“Maybe so.” As she stands to leave, through the ringing in her ears, he adds, “But it was two years and five months. Not three.”

She halts.

“You counted?”

“I’ve always had a tendency to remember important dates relating to people I care for.” He leans over his desk slightly to press a button on the keypad of the phone perched there. Raises his finger to his lips as it rings.

“Mr. Han,” Jaehee’s voice.

“Assistant Kang. Is it possible that the meeting can go ahead without my presence? Something unexpected has come up.”

“It’s short notice,” she says. The scratching of a pen seems to just make its way through the receiver. “But that should be fine. I’ll send an email to the expected attendees immediately.”

He reaches to press the button again to end the correspondence, but this time stays leaning over his desk in a way that the woman across from him can’t help but notice seems awfully uncomfortable. A tension hangs between them so thick that she’s certain she’d be hacking at it for hours to so much as scrape the surface. Words float unspoken, time lost builds up a wall between them.

“I assume Luciel isn’t aware that you’re here, either?” he says once he’s sure the phone line is no longer connected. He gestures to the chair she’s now awkwardly standing in front of as he speaks, but she doesn’t sit back down. The cushion’s material scratched the backs of her thighs in an unpleasant manner, one she’d rather not think about. “No. I wasn’t planning on coming. Besides, he made me delete any form of contact I had with any of you. I promised I would stay away.”

“You promised, yet you’re here?”

“You pride yourself on your loyalty, yet I don’t see you telling him I’m here either.”

“If he wanted to know he would find out,” Jumin offers as he stands from his seat. She watches as he picks up the paper scattered over his desk and tucks it into a neat stack, then into a drawer out of her sight. He looks at her again after gently closing it, his expression softening as he does. Then another sigh leaves his lips before he strides past her and begins to pace. Maybe he’s not as predictable as before, she thinks. Maybe he’s a different person. Maybe she doesn’t know him, not now.

He only manages a few steps before she asks, “Are you okay?”

“Confused,” he exhales, stopping in his tracks. “You never told me why you came here.”

“I don’t want to impose my emotions onto you. We barely know each other,” she says.

“We know each other.” He steps towards her, leaving space for time’s wall. Looks down at her hands balled into fists by her sides. She unfurls them when she notices him looking. “I’ve no right to judge your emotions,” he finishes.

“We don’t know each other any more.”

Yes, that seems right, said out loud.

His eyes move back up to meet hers.

“I miss you,” she whispers anyway. She’s not entirely sure who she means, or what she misses. “I’m lonely, you know?” A pitiful laugh.

He takes a deep breath, followed by a similar laugh of his own. “I can’t so much as begin to judge emotions that I feel too.”

Two lonely souls standing in a room.

A pause.

“I should go,” she repeats.

“You shouldn’t have come,” Jumin reiterates. “But you’re here now.”

His eyes scan her face, looking for any sign of hope. She doesn’t provide it; it merely reflects the emptiness the two of them have been holding onto for so long. His eyes drop down to her hands again, still by her sides, tense, as they had been before. Another pointed look shoots back to her eyes, then back to her hands. He hesitates but takes them into his own. The contact is too much, not enough, ought to make her leave, ought to make her stay forever.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs; squeezes his hands where they rest between them.

“Me too,” he says.

She laughs, then, surprised. Tears start to glaze her eyes, and she knows he notices from the way concern falls upon his brow. She continues to laugh, as if Jumin had just said the most hilarious thing she’s ever heard in her life.

“Isn’t this ridiculous? Maybe it’s selfish of me, but this might be my last chance to tell you," she muses through her final giggles. “I’m not sure what’s come over me. I think seeing you outside earlier dug something inside of me up, the corpse of the person you knew, and I’ll have to go out of my way to cover her over again with fresh dirt after this." A deep breath. "I liked you so much. I buried it, because I felt as though it was the right thing to do. And maybe telling you now is even worse, but for a while I really saw something for us.”

“It’s not ridiculous,” Jumin assures, as if he's never been so certain of something. He steps closer again—the gap between them closes itself as though it’s natural. Like there was never supposed to be space between the two of them at all. His eyes skip over her features, then, eyes, hands, chest, eyes, lips. They come to rest. “Would you mind?” he says.

“Mind?” she echoes.

“If I kissed you,” he clarifies. Then his voice drops quieter as he mirrors her words, “This might be my last chance to ask you.”

Her hands release from his and find their way to cup his face, in a way more intimate than she’s experienced in a long time. The rise and fall of his chest becomes just noticeably heavier as she finds herself in control of the situation; brushes her thumb over his lips. Dizzy is what she feels, maybe. What she’s felt this whole time. She’s not sure dizzy is a feeling so much as a symptom.

“It’s unlike you to be so rash, Jumin Han.” She matches his volume.

“You don’t know what you do to me.”

In this moment, she can’t comprehend how she ever let herself leave him behind. When he had been unrelentlessly kind to her, cared for her like he had known her for years. Gave her passing looks—ones she pretended not to notice—that suggested he saw her as nothing short of the sun. The sun obliterates everything in its path though, doesn’t it?

She suddenly wishes it was her second day in the RFA again, that she had no idea what was to come. Maybe things could have been different.

Her hands drop to his shoulders as she nods gently. The first kiss is soft; nothing more than a test. Her brain clouds over as he invades all of her senses again. Their lips move together, a little hesitant, and then he pulls away. She blinks up at him, desperate, regretful, terrified. He opens his mouth to speak, then, something she doesn’t give him a chance to do. Whatever he’s going to say, or ask. She’s not sure she wants to know. “Again,” she breathes against his lips.

If the first kiss had been for him, this one is just as much for her. There is no hesitation left as he pulls their bodies together to meet again; one hand against the small of her back, the other on the back of her head; urgency almost overwhelming. She finds herself unthinkingly biting his bottom lip as though this is the last thing she’ll ever do. He hums surprise into her mouth as he parts his lips for her, giving access—permission—for them to become even deeper intertwined. Every second she has spent without him tastes present on his tongue. She drinks in his loneliness, a subconscious thought that she deserves it far more than he does. She can’t figure out whose heartbeat she hears pounding in her ears, nor how quickly the world around them is turning as their bodies beg for more kissing, more contact, more time. She always needed more time.

[fightabear]

okay i just got home from atlantic entertainment expo and i need to share the highlight of my con. also hi @amtrax i cannot believe you found me here

so! last year i started tabling at conventions. last year's Atlantic Entertainment Expo was my first one ever. i absolutely love doing this and getting to meet fellow creatives, and i try to make it a point to create something for creators & actors whose work really impacted me as a way of giving back. and like it feels like (to me, this is not reflective of reality but the imposter syndrome) giving a teacher a stick figure drawing they're just going to put on the fridge. but it's the smallest way to show appreciation for the work they've done that's made my life better.

the second i heard that austin lee matthews, motorcycle master of midgar himself, was coming to one of my local conventions up here in the ass end of canada, i was excited. immediately knew i had to make something special because roche was one of my very favorite things about remake and i'll quote his big bombastic speech patterns when i'm trying to psyche myself up to deal with difficult clients at the day job.

so i make my little roche charms, set one aside and keep it on me, and go about my con weekend - and end up being so busy i can't slip away. i check his table a few times when its slow but i keep missing him, so i just resolve to get it to him tomorrow or send one of my friends.

and an important part of this story is i am terrible with recognizing people from photographs. like... once i actually meet someone in person that information is locked and loaded but i don't remember faces from photo promos.

(i have a story where i didn't recognize adam croasdell who stopped by to talk to me during setup last year, which was my first year of doing cons & i was so busy trying to get everything set up and i didn't recognize him because i was so deep in 'oh god what am i doing' and that is going to haunt me)

near to the end of the day i'm working on a client's commission and someone comes up to my table and waits incredibly patiently as i'm trying to muddle through some EOD burnout. sometimes people just come up and watch me draw so it can be kind of hard to tell if someone's just vibing or waiting for my attention (and my helper had disappeared into the ether so i was Very Whelmed) so when i finally turn, incredibly apologetic and awkward because oh god they were so patient and were waiting way too long, this guy is still beaming. i'm just like! i'm so sorry, is there anything i can help you with? and he just grins and says,

"oh i just wanted to come by and say," and then immediately drops into the roche voice, "HELLO MY FRIEND!"

AND WHEN I TELL YOU I LOSE IT. i immediately apologize to the client because i just need to give this man the thing i made, so i grab the charm and offer it and just start gushing. we get to chat a little bit - i don't even remember i was just so excited - but i have a client waiting. so i assume he's going to disappear into the crowd because - this is taking so much time.

but austin just stands there as i finish the commission... which takes longer than planned! i don't even know how long he was there. he's super supportive the entire time, making comments about my art, and when the commission is done and the client leaves.

so! he buys a vincent charm and then shows me the adorable promptis print he bought from another table and is just like a goddamn ray of sunshine the entire time. he also tipped which he absolutely did not need to do. again - incredibly enthusiastic and excited just to be there and be around fellow fans. it made my entire weekend. we get to talk a little more before i text my next one to let them know i'm ready for them.

i didn't get nearly as much time as i wanted to because man if someone every radiated golden retriever best friend energy, it's austin. literally everyone i spoke to who interacted with him was so taken.

he stopped by again near the end of the day yesterday when i had a line again so i didn't get to talk, but then he dropped that he'd found my tumblr (i'm sure my face was a perfect mask of horror, i pretend to be a professional artist & adult on twitter and here is where i radiate my feral rat gremlin energy) and i am going to finish the extra surprise i was working on and add more to it because - sincerely - made my convention and turned what could have been a very stressful situation into a wonderful memory. my literal only regret is that i forgot my ultimanias at home (along with half of my setup, crying into my hands) because i wanted to get those signed.

Austin, i will bring my awkward ass to your dms once i've recovered from con crunch, but sincerely if you are ever on PEI or get the hankering to go during the summer season, please hit me up. my family has a little cottage by the beach (not to be confused with a cabin in the woods) that is welcome and free for friends to use (in the least parasocial way possible, welcome to the island. after like two good conversations with someone you're buddies). i love the island, i love sharing what i love about it, and i hope this weekend made it clear that the island loves you.

( also if you ever have any art needs that require... whatever in the hell my style is please know i am here )

my god. i cannot emphasize how much i love doing conventions. the vibes, the excitement, all of the connections. realizing people are getting to be regulars and i recognize them from con to con and i get to ask them about how their year was while i draw and get to celebrate the good and try to offer whatever i can to balance out the bad.

my heart is so full right now.

also!! if anyone is still reading this rambling post, please check out @palletteknife. this isn't final fantasy related i am just absolutely obsessed with their work and spent like all sunday showing people this fantastic carrie charm they made ITS SO CUTE AND HORRIFYING AND THE STYLE IS AMAZING

[turbobyakuren]

@cerastes oh no worries!! i'm actually OK to answer this because maybe the key is that i'm doing something wrong and knowing how to fix it might make it enjoyable for me again.

More of a "circumstances" cause than what i was expressing in the post, but right now is more a problem of space and time. I live with my parents and I have a problem with the volume of my voice and since i tend to prefer streaming late at night i find it impossible to be comfortable unless i'm guaranteed to be home alone. I could have streamed more when I was in my apartment in Paris, but it is what it is. So, if i ever change my mind, it would be after i solve this problem!

Maintaining a schedule is a difficult, especially since i tend to be more of a "fuck around and decide what to do on instant T". I could be more of a "guerilla streamer" where I don't stick to a schedule (like i did in the past) and stream whatever i want, whenever i want.

I don't really know if I can bring a community and it impacts my self esteem to not really know how to draw people in because (continued in next point)

Overall, I do not consider myself to be an interesting person to watch. I have a bit of an "identity crisis" where I try to perform but also want to be myself and I overall feel very uncomfortable. I know my bit is my Antagonizing Relationship With Chat (which i do love and appreciate because, despite having a bit of paradoxical issues with "joke trashtalking", i am conscious that this is The Bit like pro wrestling. i actually love it haha), but I also feel there's eyes watching my every action and that if i don't do something Funny, people will lose interest. And the paradox is that this fear just manifests in me... not speaking, being confused, having trouble finding my words and thinking "god, i'm making a fool out of myself" and just thinking of excuses i can make to end the stream to stop embarrassing myself. My last streaming experiences last year was just that all the time. I really wish I could fix this.

Maybe the problem is that I haven't found my niche as a streamer, since it takes time and effort + trial and error, and that i need to actually find out what i like.

And there's also the fact that, in the end, video games are a hobby for me and streaming them brings a totally different experience. There's good and bad aspects of this. The Super Castlevania IV streams were my ultimate favourite experience because everyone made it so fun, whereas i ended up disliking streaming a certain game i used to like a lot because i kept getting backseated. I don't know how to express it, maybe "i don't like the pressure of monetizing my hobby" (without the monetizing aspect and more of the "dedicate to the bit" aspect of it). But that's a non-problem in the end because the pros outweighs the cons, so Perish the Thought.

Writing all that down was actually a good idea, because i externalized the struggle i felt about streaming (whenever i feel like i want to stream something i always kill the thought thinking "you're not interesting. don't do that. remember your last streams?"). I actually wrote this vent post after someone asked me enthusiastically if i'd be streaming the new Pizza Tower update, which made me kind of bummed because i would love to do it if there wasn't all this struggle i just listed (+ the time constraint because "you have to stream the hot new game NOW" although i have made it clear in the past that i do not vibe with that school of thought), and in that i feel like i've let down the few people who do appreciate me streaming...

So in the end, it's all that. But writing this made me a bit more hopeful I can enjoy this again...! If i make the effort, I can do this!

[jahayla-parker]

Hii, I was wondering if you had any tips for us ADHD folks for focusing on tasks because I’ve had a horrible week with focusing on tasks even as small just doing the dishes and it’s really stressing me out. No pressure to answer this, I really like your Freddy fics btw, they are soooo comforting and your most recent was is PERFECTION.

Thank you for your question. I’m sorry you’re struggling! As a fellow ADHDer, I know how difficult this can be and that many people don’t understand what it’s like and that it’s NOT laziness or a lack of willpower.

I have put a readmore break for those not interested or otherwise trying to get to other posts. 💜

Sleep! Omg sleep is ssooooo important. I struggle with this so much! (If you need more advice on how to fix this lmk). But sleep is crucial otherwise the symptoms will get worse as sleep deprivation only increases adhd symptoms.

Write down notes/ideas as they come. Don’t try to make yourself memorize or remember things when you don’t need to. My iPhone notes are so random but helpful! This will help get take the pressure off and allow your brain to rest.

Focus on easy wins! I cannot stress this enough!!!! ADHD paralysis/executive dysfunction can make everything feel overwhelming. Breaking tasks into smaller and more manageable tasks seems simple (and in terms of application it is) but it helps more than you’d think! It takes the pressure off of each task. Don’t forgot in getting it all done. Choose one task. Then, chose the first step(s) of the task and set some time (what seems manageable currently not what “you should designate” to it) aside to do it. Then give yourself some rest (see ideas below). Then repeat as needed.

Unless you have to, don’t force yourself to stick to a strict schedule. You might want to choose one important task to schedule if needed (ideally still do it the way mentioned above though). But don’t map out your whole day if it can be avoided. This feels, looks, and in many ways is, far too much. Ideally plan a rest activity too if you’re going to schedule anything.

Rest and self care is super important. This can look different from person to person. Especially downing on what your triggers are or what type of stimulation is best for you. For me and many others (but not all) prefer/find calming stimulation to be easier/better aka grounding. Examples of common grounding techniques include: painting (I alternate between my nails and a color by number set personally), coloring, drawing (for some, not me personally though), reading (varies a lot on effectiveness for people), yoga, etc.

Physical activity can help too but is understandably hard to do when these symptoms hit. Smaller/shorter/less intensity exercises are typically better and easier to get done when it feels like this. The key is rhythmic movement as studies have shown this to help (can help with ptsd too!)

Rhythmic activities examples (both physical and otherwise): Things like a few minutes of yoga/stretching, rolling/bouncing/tossing a ball, (drawing/paint/color can be included here too), tap feet/fingers/etc at a calm but steady pace, find something that makes (or can make) a soft sound and initiate that sound in a calm steady pace, listen to meditation music, petting/brushing a pet, etc.

Don’t strive for perfection. This is a hard one for me too. But, aim to complete something even if it’s not perfect. The pressure to perform well can in itself make the task harder. In these times, completion (even of a tiny step within a task) is perfection!

Motivate yourself! Completion isn’t enough motivation, so don’t even try to argue that idea lol. Instead, reward yourself for reaching small milestones. Motivation is a great psychological tool to overcome this. It can be whatever is the most exciting for you (please consider your health as well. -mostly referring to avoiding substance and addictive behaviors)

Hopefully this helps!💜

[noemitenshi]

Second Chances

a post season 8 story by

NoemiTenshi and rebelbravado

Chapter 1 - Maimed

The second he regained consciousness, he wished he hadn’t. His entire body crying out, shouting, screaming – tortured. He felt tortured, the pain overwhelming and all-encompassing. It took away his breath, took away his ability to think – what had happened? Why didn’t he know?!

He felt like throwing up, like screaming, like escaping. He felt like dying, the only way to escape, the only thing his mind could come up with, not even words, just a sentiment, vague and helpless. Desperate, so desperate—ohgodohgodohgod.

Panic seized him, a flood-wave collapsing over him, drawing him under, drowning him. The sudden and complete understanding that he was dying, coming over him with such clarity.

He was dying.

He was dying.

He had to do something. Anything. Had to move. Had to find help – and something in him recoiled – why though? Why, what had happened? Oh god, he was on the verge of death and he couldn’t remember. Couldn’t remember and it was more than just the unbearable agony he was in making it difficult. He just couldn’t. Didn’t know how this had happened, why it had happened. What had happened. All of him feeling like he was on fire, he could hardly parse where the pain was located. It was everywhere.

Everywhere.

Feverishly and with a pounding in his head he tried to look around, to concentrate on what he was seeing, but god, it was so difficult, his vision blurring, his head so heavy, feeling like it would explode any second now—he could hardly make sense of anything – nothing looked familiar, as if it was his first time he’d laid his eyes on his surroundings (but that couldn’t be).

His gaze dropped, exhaustion or frustration causing it, who could tell and a howl tore from him – more animalistic than human – wounded.

Maimed.

He’d been maimed.

The metal rod that had been used to skewer still in him. His hands reached for it – as if he could do something about it – or was it just the horror of seeing an object with the circumference of his lower arm sticking out of his stomach?! Running that through him – and his hands closed around it and his world tilted, turned and he felt like throwing up.

Something sticky on his fingers pulled his focus, blood, he was bleeding, bleeding since that thing had been put in him, red warmth seeping through his fingers and he was unable to stop it, unable to do anything but watch himself bleed out.

He needed to do something!

He needed to… get to someone. Find – anyone. Alone he couldn’t survive this. He could barely even think. This time the jolt of discomfort at seeking help didn’t even register, he was too focused on trying the unwise choice of standing up.

Movement hurt.

Movement made him feel this foreign object in him so very clearly. White hot agony he was wrapped around. It knocked his breath out of him, blanked his mind and he could only pant, exhausted.

But the panic was still there, the bone-crushing fear he’d die.

No, not fear.

Certainty.

The certainty he’d die had him in a vice grip, tore and ripped at him. And so he did move. Did move because anything else was death. He didn’t have enough energy to stand up, hardly had enough to crawl, but he did. Somehow he did, one hand at that iron rod, trying to not vomit, not to black out, more dragging himself forward than crawling, without even knowing where to, where would be safe, where could he find help!?

He just didn’t remember, oh god, why didn’t he?!

Didn’t matter, he just had to find someone. Anyone. He had to.

He was dying.

He was dying.

Not yet, not yet, not yet.

Inch by agonizing inch he was moving forward, under pain of death – and it was, it truly was – nauseous and hot all over. In flames, he was standing in flames – that was what it felt like. Burning up. And he would, would burn up, would burn right out.

There! There was movement, sounds. God, he almost hadn’t heard, hadn’t seen, too fucked up to register anything but the entirety of him in brutal, all-encompassing pain. But there was someone! He tried calling out, a broken sound escaping him. Tried again, put his all into it. All or nothing now. What else was he supposed to do? His next hey! was louder, loud enough for the person to turn, slowly, movements jagged – something felt wrong about this, sent a new sliver of fear down his back but he didn’t pay that any mind either. Didn’t until he saw that person’s face, registered, what it was, he was seeing, skin half rotted off the bones, mouth curled into an unnatural snarl and oh god, the sounds! Why hadn’t he noticed that the sounds were all wrong too?!

The impulse to run smacked into him and he followed it blindly, forgetting for a heartbeat that he couldn’t, and so he fell backwards, a scream torn from him as the impact moved the rod but he didn’t stop, half-crawled, half-dragged himself away while his eyes were glued to that form, that wrongness walking, advancing towards him now.

He felt the fight instinct rising, he had to, if it got to him – and it would, get to him – but how, how could he when he could barely move himself. How could he when he was barely alive.

Pain exploded behind his eyes, his head felt like it was about to burst open – he had collided with something. Someone he realized as the figure bent over him – he’d run headlong into another one of those things. Of course there were more, oh god. This was it.

This was it.

Something in him, remnants of useless resistance didn’t let him close his eyes, had him stubbornly confronting his fate head on. The last thing he’d ever see, these ghastily grotesque features approaching, the certainty that he’d be ripped apart.

That vision was so strong that for a moment it eclipsed reality. But then the figure's eyes widened, then, a furrow on its otherwise smooth skin of the forehead. No rotten flesh, no unnatural snarl. Not dead, after all. And that face – oh, that face! He knew that face, that face free of rot, no unnatural snarl pulling at dead lips.

“You,” he whispered, voice thin and croaking and still, still it was unmistakable colored with relief.

Because he knew that face. Knew it, without knowing how or why. And more, even. It made him feel not only relieved but safe.

The echoed “you?!” clearly surprised, confirmed it; this person knew him, too. Oh god, he knew him, too!

“Help me,” he managed to press out, gasp, really, on a stuttering breath – so drained of—everything.

And still he added, despairingly, tasting his own death already in the bitter tang of blood in his mouth, in the trickle down his chin, “P-lease.”

Then, everything went dark.

[schrijverr]

I Dig You 3

Chapter 3 out of 8

Robin is tentatively excited for her first internship: an archaeological dig in the Netherlands, where she has been studying. However, when she gets there, Steve is there too. The dick of their uni that she now has to work with. Great. But being stuck digging for six weeks makes people bond and maybe he isn’t too bad. Maybe he can be her friend.

AKA an archaeology interns, modern, enemies-to-friends stobin au

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~

Chapter 3: Weekend

Living together with Steve is nicer than Robin expected it would be. It isn’t immediately perfect, but it’s nice. They eat together that first night, then turn in, since despite being nearby, it’s still an early morning. Though, Robin suspects Steve scrolls through his phone for a while like she does.

The next morning she is horrified to discover that Steve is an oatmeal person, while he laughs at her expression, telling her it’s healthy, while she tries to explain how oats are the most horrid thing one can do to their mouth.

Luckily, Steve brings bread to work, so Robin has a normal breakfast, before they get ready and get on their bikes.

That day Steve gets whisked away to put seven with Jeroen to learn how to work the GPS. They haven’t seen it in action much, since it’s used to set out a put and to draw the sporen before they get couped, which had already happened in put five and was done by Sjors in put six.

Jeroen promises he’ll show Robin later as well. However, Astrid decides that Steve shouldn’t be the only one learning, so she teaches Robin how to draw the coups, which has been Astrid’s job for most of the dig so far.

The drawing is done on a tablet in a GIS program, Robin hated the GIS course, which is very confusing with computers and maps and all sorts of buttons, so she is terrified. However, she is pleased to discover that inputting data is a lot less difficult than trying to get results from it, so she picks it up quite easily.

Drawing isn’t that difficult. You just draw the coup square and then cut out the feature by measuring along the X-axis on a predetermined height, before sticking the card with the spoornummer in the middle to let everyone know that the coup has been drawn and can be finished.

After doing two coups successfully under supervision, Robin is left to do the others on her own, something she is quite happy with, because she is not built for digging and this is a lot less effort than shoveling dirt.

When Steve returns from put seven after the lunch break, she sends him a smug look as she continues to draw, while he has to dig coups. Though he only gives her a mild pout and an eyeroll. Steve actually likes the digging. Weirdo.

At the end of the day, they bike back together at a more normal pace than the day before, talking about the day.

Steve apparently had to wade through high grass with the GPS on a stick so that they could set it out right for the machine excavator to dig out. Fortunately he doesn’t have a pollen allergy, something Robin checks immediately, since she still vividly remembers the rashes some people had during their fieldschool in first year.

In turn, Robin tells him about the drawing and they both commiserate in their shared failure at GIS, because apparently Steve had been bad at it too. At the time, Robin had been glad not to share the class, but now she mourns the chance of having another buddy to have sat there with her until five as everyone else left early, already done.

Back at the vacation home, Robin graciously lets Steve have the first shower. She is as always covered in dirt and tries to get as much of it off of her, before she enters to wash up. Then, like the day before, they sit outside together and write their reports, before Robin offers to cook.

Steve looks like he wants to take her up on the offer, however, something stops him, because he says: “I mean, I don’t mind doing it, if you’re offering to be polite or-”

“Steve,” she says in a tone that she more often uses to say dingus. “I don’t offer to do shit I don’t wanna do. We’re sharing this thing, right? I’m not a guest. I know how to fucking cook.”

“I- I didn’t mean to-” Steve starts up spluttering, eyes wide.

“I know, I know,” Robin waves him away, though three weeks earlier, she would have been surprised that Steve wasn’t saying he thought she didn’t know how to cook. “Just tell me what you planned, dingus. I’ll cook, you take a nap or something.”

“A nap?” Steve repeats with an incredulous look, before pulling an ‘actually not such a bad idea’-face and saying: “Uhm, pasta again. I don’t mind eating the same, but you can make whatever you want with what there is.”

Robin often eats the same thing three times a week and loves pasta, so she doesn’t mind in the slightest either. So she nods: “Pasta it is,” which earns her a smile from Steve.

Steve doesn’t nap, but Robin finds him slightly dozing when she comes outside with the two plates in her hand. She takes a moment to reflect how easily they have clicked together as Steve wakes himself up so he can dig into the food. She never really clicks easy with someone and it always takes a lot of time to befriend someone, who would have thought that forced proximity to Steve of all people would finally have a click.

The next two days proceed in quite the same fashion. They finish up put six and manage to get a small start on put seven.

Steve finds half of an in tact pot, which is one of the coolest things to date. Robin and Steve get to sit in as Astrid gets the whole pot out with sediment and all, so they can see if there are still traces left of what it used to hold or old bits that could get lost on site without the sediment there.

And then it is weekend.

In the days before the weekend, Steve hasn’t alluded to leaving during the days off, nor asked Robin to leave. Friday is too late to go home yet, so Robin wakes up on Saturday – finally sleeping in for a change – in the vacation home without knowing how welcome she is.

She wakes up at half past ten in the morning, but then stays in bed for another half hour to procrastinate having to confront Steve about how the weekend is going to work.

Gathering her courage, she leaves her room to find Steve already awake, way too awake in fact. He is on the couch, sprawled over it in basketball shorts and a tshirt as he scrolls through his phone, empty oatmeal bowl on the table. Once he sees her he grins: “Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

Deciding that it will be better to play into being just awake, she grouches: “You look way too awake.”

“I have been awake, for quite a while already actually,” Steve informs her cheerfully. “I went on a run. I left you a note, but it seems that wasn’t necessary.”

“A run?” Robin exclaims, unable to help it. “That is insane, what’s wrong with you?”

“I like the exercise,” Steve shrugs.

“Steven, we have been doing physical exercise all week. What do you think digging is?” Robin asks, not able to comprehend what kind of person Steve is.

“Closer to weight training than fitness?” Steve answers, a little confused. “And my name’s not Steven.”

“It’s not?” Robin asks, deciding to let the exercise go, because it is an answer to her question and it does explain how Steve looks at it.

“No, it’s Stefanus,” Steve says. “It’s a Dutch version of Steven though. My mom’s from this old Dutch family, who moved to the US back when New York was still New Amsterdam. They’re really big on their family tree and shit. It’s the reason my dad was okay with me even studying here instead of Yale.”

“You’re Dutch?” Robin is learning all sorts of things about Steve today that are not related to what she came out of her room here to ask.

“Not really, but kind of,” Steve tells her. “We haven’t lived here in like centuries, but recycling names is a big thing, so I got the same name as my great grandfather and like his father before him and then a distant uncle before that and down the line it goes.”

“That’s kind of cool though, in a way,” Robin says, because her parents are both hippies, who don’t have much contact with family, since the rest is pretty conservative. Maybe having a rich history like that would have made her feel less alone and disconnected.

“I mean, I guess, but can you imagine showing up to kindergarten with that name?” Steve laughs, though there’s an edge to it. “I’ve been Steve for way longer.”

Robin is familiar to that feeling, so she knows not to push, instead asking: “So, uhm, this is like totally random and completely unrelated to our conversation – which is a little weird now that I think of it – but I did want to ask this before that conversation started, so it’s not really a deviation as much as going back to the start. Not that you were involved in that, but-”

“Hey, Robin, calm down. It’s alright. Just ask the question,” Steve cuts her off.

“Well, uhm, I was wondering if you’re cool with me hanging around for the weekend or if you want me to fuck off back to The Hague for it?” Robin mumbles out as fast as she can, not meeting Steve’s eyes.

“Of course, I thought that was clear, sorry. It would kind of suck to go home on Saturday morning only to come back on Sunday evening,” Steve says. “Sorry, should have said that.”

“No, it’s okay, I’m just being weird about it and making it a thing,” Robin assures him, waving her hands around as if that will wave her awkwardness away.

“I don’t think you’re being weird about it,” Steve tells her genuinely, throwing her off.

“You don’t?” she asks, because everyone has always told her she’s being weird about things.

“Nah, the whole point of something being unclear is asking clarification, that’s how it works, right?” Steve shrugs. “Anyways, I was planning on doing groceries today, wanna come with or just influence the list?”

“I’ll come with,” Robin says. She doesn’t really like grocery shopping, however, Steve’s attitude has intrigued her and she wants to study him more.

“Cool beans,” Steve smiles, like a dork, before telling her to make breakfast, so she can help make the list.

As it turns out, Steve has A System for his lists, which is writing out the days of the week, then writing what he’ll eat, before turning the ingredients into the list and adding all the other stuff he needs to it. Robin is very impressed.

They have eaten pasta two times and tomato soup the other two. It takes them a bit to figure out where else they overlap, settling on buying potatoes and noodles as well as some mutually agreed upon veggies and meat options.

Steve writes down stuff he wants on his bread and the things he needs for oatmeal, letting Robin add her own stuff for on the bread, before they talk drinks and snacks.

With the list done, they grab grocery bags and get on their bikes. Robin is glad Steve already knows the way, because she is a horrid navigator, thus more than happy to follow after Steve as they bike around the town Robin has been traveling to for the past three weeks, yet has never seen before.

Robin has to swallow when it turns out Steve shops at the Albert Heijn, because of course he does, it’s the fancy grocery store, why would he shop at the Lidl? But Robin isn’t paying for the vacation home and shopping for two is sometimes cheaper than shopping for one. It won’t be more than a 20 euro difference in the end. She can do this.

Steve grabs the cart and gives her an impish grin as he offers: “Want a ride, my lady?” in an over the top accent.

“Oh my god, who taught you that voice,” Robin snorts.

“I did drama for easy credits,” Steve grins, pleased that he made her laugh.

“Of course you did.” Robin pauses for a second, then admits: “Me too,” making the two of them giggle again. Then she says in a similar put upon voice: “I’d love to have a carriage prepared for me, good sir.”

“Shit, for real? Wait, lemme hold this better,” Steve says, as he gets a better grip on the cart so it won’t roll away when she tries to climb in.

Robin wasn’t entirely serious when she took him up on it. She loved riding in the cart, but at some point it got weird for her to do, so she stopped. However, Steve doesn’t think she’s weird and is willing to facilitate, so Robin isn’t going to question it. She’ll likely never come back here, who cares if people think she’s weird. They do regardless.

Climbing in is less easy than she remembers, but she manages and soon is seated in the cart. Once she is in, Steve sets off into the store.

Steve also already knows his way around the store a little and Robin finds that she minds grocery shopping less with him there. He does the navigating around the store and she just has to judge his produce choices and convince him that penne pasta is better than the weird spirally ones. It’s actually quite fun.

They have too much stuff to be allowed in the self checkout, so Robin climbs out while they queue at a regular checkout, so she can help load their groceries on the counter while coming across as a normal person.

When the cashier rattles off a number too quickly for Robin to follow, Steve just smiles and holds up his card as he says: “Pinnen, please,” with an accent on the first word.

Robin isn’t sure if Steve knows how much he needs to pay before it appears on the little machine and a part of her envies him for it, so she quickly focuses on playing Tetris with their groceries to get them all into the bags they brought.

She isn’t sure how they’re getting the two big bags back, however, Steve is really confident in his luggage carrier, because he ploinks one bag on there, asking Robin if the other one can go in her basket. The basket is on the front and is more of a crate really. A popular thing in the Netherlands to easily transport a bag or something. Robin likes it, but it makes it harder to steer and her balance isn’t the best.

“Uhm, yeah, yeah, totally,” she says.

Steve gives her a skeptical look and says: “You don’t sound sure, I think. Just say no if it’s no, that’s alright.”

Robin flushes in embarrassment, then rambles: “Well, you can, but it makes it harder to steer and balance and I’m already not the most graceful, like I’m surprised I haven’t accidentally ruined a spoor by tripping into my coup yet, you know. So, I don’t mind, but the chances of me falling and then you falling and our groceries going, like, everywhere, is definitely bigger.”

“Hm, that makes sense,” Steve nods, then thinks for a second, before he suggests: “We can switch bikes.”

It takes a second before Robin processes, then realizes that might not be so bad. Steve has a ‘girls’ bike too, which doesn’t have the high rung, making it easier to get on, so it’s not that different from her bike and groceries on the back are definitely easier than groceries on the front.

“Yeah, that’ll work,” she smiles, glad that she didn’t fuck this whole thing up. She is also starting to get that Steve likes people being a bit blunt, which is great, because Robin is a horrible liar and good at being blunt.

“Toppie,” Steve says – and who the fuck says toppie? – as he puts his bike on the standard so they can switch.

Steve’s bike is a little tall for her, but not that much and the bike ride back goes off without a hitch.

Robin offers to put the groceries away, telling Steve to send her a Tikkie (a Dutch app for payment requests that is impossible to avoid when hanging around Dutch people, but also convenient). Steve gives her thumbs up at that.

It’s already afternoon by the time they get back, so Robin settles in outside on a chair, slathering herself in sunscreen before cracking open her book. Steve however, puts on headphones and goes to tan on a towel in the grass. It’s peaceful. Nice.

The next day, Robin sleeps in again, while Steve goes on another fucking run. He is a man of many mysteries to her.

They eat breakfast together, before Steve tells her that he’s running by the laundromat today and he doesn’t have enough for a machine, so if she wants to share one. Robin gratefully takes it, she needs to wash her work clothes before the next week.

Robin brings her book to the laundromat, while Steve brings a sudoku book, because he is a grandpa as Robin has discovered.

Naturally she teases him for his sudoku book, however, she attempts one when he is loading up their wash she gets stuck, which means that Steve turns on her, teasing her. It is completely deserved and doesn’t feel malicious. A novel feeling.

As they wait for their clothes, they puzzle and read. Robin often feels uncomfortable in silences, filling them with rambles to get away from the feeling of being awkward or weird. However, it feels comfortable to share the silence with Steve. They’re coexisting, sharing space, instead of not knowing how to talk.

At some points, Robin stops reading to tells Steve about the tomfoolery that has just happened in her book and Steve interrupts her to proudly show her the 4 star sudoku he solved without the aid of help numbers.

That night Robin cooks and Steve does the dishes, because she told him she hates the feeling of the water and the food bits on her hands and he said he doesn’t mind, but is way too impatient for cooking, so it works out.

All in all, spending the weekend with Steve isn’t the worst thing. In fact, it’s one of the nicer weekends Robin has had since coming to the Netherlands.

~~

A/N:

I hate GIS so much and I have so much respect for everyone who is able to work with it, but I was so bad at it, like to the point where the lecturer started laughing whenever I raised my hand because he knew it would be some dumbass question lmao

Fun fact, one of he guys I was on a dig with runs marathons in the weekend for fun, Idk how he does it, but respect xp

I think I made both of them autistic when the plan was to make only Robin a lill autistic and give her anxiety, but idk how neurotypicals communicate so lksdhgflk xp

Fuck, I miss riding in the shopping cart so much, that shit was fun

[labetenwar]

Hey friends !

I'm back online after a few days of break. Thruth is my computer has been broken. It seems that I made the processor burn out of too much hard work and this is going to become really reavelant next.

Actually those few days of forced vacation was for the better. Maybe you know that a few days ago I had a really bad mental breakdown to the point of putting myself in danger. Those last days I had a lot of time to process the recent events and the conclusion is bad.

Thruth is my small art business is in a really bad state. The sad true is that I'm working my ass off on a daily basis for peanuts. I have tried my best, I have tried to cut my expenses but bills keep suffocating me and I'm reaching bottom.

It deeply sadden me but I have came to the conclusion that I can no longer selling my creations for a living. It has always been difficult. For a reason beyond my comprehension I have never managed to build a large audiance online or during conventions. I have supporters and I am really gratefull to every single one of them for having me going this far. But this is no longer enough to survive.

I have been thinking a lot and I think that the best move now is to find the « easiest » job I can find, part time or something not to draining. This pill is really hard to swallow especially because it is something I have tried to avoid for my entire life. I'm really scared because my latest job experiences has been from, difficults to, complete nightmare fuels. I'm scared that I will no longer have the time an the energy to draw and this is more nightmare fuel since I have built my entire identity around my creations. I know as a matter of fact that work is draining me totally. After my last job it tooks me a year to find back the sparkle to create. But the facts are here, If I keep trying this bad to earn money with my creations it wont ends well.

I hope I could keep casually selling my creations from time to time but relying entirely on them to survive is no longer an option. I am not built to survive in this capitalistic era and I have enough years of experiences now to see the all picture and understand that I never will.

I know it seems that I'm making a big deal out of nothing but in the meantime I have seen that the warning signals have never been so alarming and I hate that I have to move on from my dream job. It feels unreal. It feels even more bitter when I remember how confident I was at the end of 2023, maybe it was just denial. Besides, I won't elaborate how much I'm still suffering the lose of my baby bunny Pépin, but trust me when I say 2024 has been horrible so far. It's easy to tell actually, I can't have a conversation with anyone without bursting into tears.

I know it might feels unatural to share all of this online but I have never been good at separating my personal and profesional life like some kind of partitioned computer. Profesional me is drowning in the same pool than private me so I have never knew where to draw the line.

From now on, I'm going to need a new life direction. I assume my plan starting now is focusing my energy on finding this job. I guess I'll keep my Patreon running for now and keep casually updating my social media but I'm probably won't be actively on the hunt for new clients. I assume I could keep taking commissions from time to time when I have the time and energy. On my free time, I'll try to concentrate on my personal projects, comics and merchs, because I love creating those. I also love having booth at conventions, so I hope I could keep doing that without the pressure to make some money.

I think that's it. Thanks for sticking arround even in those bad times, I'll keep being around. See you soon.

[urgonnaneedabiggership]

NAMOR (MCU) X MEXICAN!OC

MASTERLIST

A/N: Remember you can find this fanfic on AO3 right here. Any feedback and/or comments are greatly appreciated <3 If you want to be added to the taglist, just say so!

As always, Mayan and Spanish translations are at the end of each sentence.

P.S Disney+ come on drop the film so this looks like perfect timing and not writer's block.

Warnings: Mentions of violence, weapons, death and un-aliving people. Language.

Word count: 4,919

Apparently, much to Moni’s chagrin, they had arrived much too late to help with most of the preparations for the town-wide celebration that was the anniversary of the founding of Bawir De Los Mártires. She had put them on flower duty, which sounded much more pleasant than it actually was. Flowers were handpicked very early in the morning that same day so they looked fresh and beautiful. Sadie soon realized it would be useless to try and teach Namor how to make the delicate flower garlands that would decorate a wooden arch in front of the church, but quickly remembered the beautiful murals back in Talokan, waiting for him to return and finish them. It was a very nostalgic thought, and before she lingered on it for too long, asked him to help her decorate several pieces of paper in the shape of birds. She caught him staring at them intently, softly caressing the soft material with his fingertips.

“I guess you don’t see many papalotes back in Talokan,” She said with an amused smile, frankly finding his curiosity adorable. He shook his head and continued to paint.

“So…what do you do with these?” Namor asked. She noticed a certain restrain in his voice like it was difficult for him to ask questions. It didn’t take much effort for her to realize it was just a kind of…guilt over being interested in something related to a world he’d felt so alienated from.

“You glue them to a couple of sticks, tie a light thread to them and make them fly with the breeze while you hold the other end,” She explained, “We usually give these away to children, maybe I can ask one of them to teach you how to use it. Hope you can handle it.”

He turned to look at her, remembering one of their first conversations when he made fun of her with a child’s drawing. He tried to look unamused, but Mercedes easily saw through him and was unable to hold back her giggles. Shaking his head, he caved and began laughing softly as well.

“Did you live here for a long time?” Namor asked, seeing the dexterity with which she weaved the flowers to create the ornaments. She’d obviously spent a great deal of time doing it.

“Thirteen years,” She replied, gesturing towards the giant number eighteen covered in white flowers, “Since the town was founded until five years ago,”

A small group of people walked by them and greeted Mercedes like longtime friends, telling her to send their greetings to her aunt.

“You seem to know everybody here,” He observed again, his glance going from one passerby to another. The woman once again nodded.

“It is a very small town,” She agreed, “That’s why I left. Pueblo chico, infierno grande, right?”

“Why are there so few people?” Namor asked, cautiously. He realized from the way she answered his questions in a dry, apprehensive manner. It was starting to feel a little bit like an interrogation. Mercedes sighed and put the finished ornament aside before grabbing a new basket of flowers and starting a new one.

“Eighteen years ago, there was a campsite not far from here. It was full of people from a small village in the area who had left their hometown because the corrupt authorities had turned life into a living hell. So, they plotted to get rid of the root of the problem: the mayor. But turns out that sneaky bastard was a second cousin to some big-named politician who branded them a dangerous paramilitary group. And since they sent the army to disband them, they had to turn into one to protect their families. It worked for a while, but then when they saw they had become a “threat” to national security, the neighboring country offered some forces to help in a big counterattack. It didn’t end well for us.”

Namor remained silent, not needing any more information. The name made a lot more sense now. Since the first time Mercedes had appointed “kän-än” as his nickname, he searched among all his manuscripts anything on Lacandon Mayan, in all honesty, to make sure she wasn’t actually making fun of or insulting him. However, he had found himself enthralled by the differences and similarities between the two branches of the language and hadn’t stopped there. He remembered “Bawir” meaning “cause” or “purpose”. De Los Mártires, he could easily understand with his knowledge of Spanish.

The purpose of the martyrs. It was like the pieces slowly fell into place.

The lack of older men but not of older women, how recent the town was…

“These are their widows,” He expressed out loud as it dawned on him.

“Widows, children, mothers, sisters,” Mercedes confirmed, “Everyone who by some miracle made it out alive that day because of the sacrifice of the men who stayed behind so we could escape. After so many years of fighting, and now suffering alongside each other, none of us wanted to just go our separate ways. So we found this quiet, hidden place in the jungle, protected by the mountains, and slowly built this place.”

It was like seeing everything under the new light, knowing where it came from. People who transformed their pain into an opportunity to start over, into the kind of place they knew their loved ones had died fighting for. They even used the date of something that could be a gloomy, mourning day as a celebration of the chance they’d been granted.   Moni reappeared from behind the church and hesitantly approached Mercedes, greeting Namor before leaning down and whispering something in her ear. Sadie pursed her lips, worried, and took a deep breath. She nodded and thanked Moni before standing up and placing the flower garland aside.

“I have to go for a moment. Can you put that arch in front of the church? I’ll ask a few men to help you,”

“Xmeech…” He said, wanting to remind her that he could lift that arch himself like it was made of cotton, but she smirked at him and playfully squeezed his bicep.

“I know, show-off. But you’ll have to hide that inhuman strength for now. You’ll have to manage with just your good looks with the ladies for today.”

And with that, she smiled at him one last time before turning around and walking away. Namor didn’t know how to feel about that last sentence. He reacted by letting out a weak, quite forced laugh too late for her to hear. He found himself feeling self-conscious enough to take a look around him until his eyes stopped on an amused Moni, who had watched the exchange from afar. When she was discovered, the woman quickly lifted her hands feigning innocence before almost sprinting away with a smile on her face.

“¡Hola, Toñita! ¿Cómo andas?” Mercedes rehearsed out loud. She groaned, not pleased with the result before trying something else, “¿Antonia? ¡No inventes, cuánto tiempo!” Hi, Toñita! How are you? Antonia? No way! it's been so long!

That wasn’t right either. She cringed after hearing herself and realized all her attempts were futile. She never seemed to know what to say every time they met. When she arrived at Moni’s house, Sadie stopped for a moment before opening the door. For a few seconds, she felt tempted to return to the square, to her flowers, and just keep talking to Namor for the remainder of the day. Let him be her kä-än, her guardian, and save her from this conversation.

Finally, Mercedes opened the door. She immediately saw her. As it always happened, she expected to find a girl five years younger than her instead of a woman her age. Time had gone by as fast as everybody said. Antonia was standing in the living room, staring at the picture Sadie had taken of her father in the ruins of Palenque. She knocked on the door a couple of times to let her know she was there.

The other girl turned around and seemed to be just as shocked. A tense silence settled between them as they awkwardly stared at each other.

“Mamá dijo que no venías este año,” Antonia finally said. Mom said you weren't coming this year.

“Yo también pensé que no venía. Fue algo de último minuto.” I thought I wasn't coming too. It was a last-minute thing.

She just hummed in acknowledgment and fell silent once again. Before Mercedes could feel uncomfortable because of the lengthy silence, Antonia spoke again.

“Bueno, chance te veo en la feria entonces…” Fine. Maybe I'll see you at the fair...

“¡Ah, sí! Mi tía dijo que vas a ser la reina de las flores, felicidades.” Mercedes interrupted her, attempting to start a conversation again. Right! My aunt said you'll be queen of the flowers, congratulations.

The other woman thanked her with a slight nod and once again attempted to leave the room.

“Toña,” Mercedes called after her, tentatively addressing her by her nickname, “Tu papá estaría muy orgulloso de ti.” Toña. Your dad would be very proud of you.

The comment didn’t have on her the effect Mercedes hoped for. Instead of looking happy or pleased, Antonia’s back went rigid as she looked back bitterly.

“Qué bonito hubiera sido que estuviera aquí para decírmelo en persona, ¿verdad?” She nearly spat out before walking out of the house. Mercedes sighed, discouraged, and doubted for a moment before rushing after her. It would've been nice if he'd been here to say it to me in person, right?

Namor wasn’t precisely proficient in pretending to be weak. Even while doing his best effort to do so, he almost lifted two of the teenagers off the ground when they first attempted to move the wooden arch. After noticing their confused glances, he quickly put everything down and tried to look as confused as they were. Since it was a quick and easy task, they finished long before Mercedes came back, so he decided to wander off as he usually did, finding himself drawn towards a large, flat stone set in the middle of the square that produced bright flashes whenever the sun shone on it. Taking a closer look at it, he noticed it was because several names were written on it, all of them masculine. There was no further explanation around the monument. It probably wasn’t necessary with such a small population in a town that evidently didn’t receive tourists of any kind. He let his eyes move aimlessly from one name to another until they landed on one that caught his interest. Francisco Medina Canché.

“¿Ya lo encontraste?” A voice asked from behind. He turned around to see Moni approaching him. He nodded and looked down at the metallic engraved letters again. Did you find him?

“Era el papá de Merceditas,” She explained with a wistful smile, “Pobrecito. Murió muy joven, como su esposa. Mi marido, él y yo nos conocíamos desde chamacos, y lo mataron como a todos ellos. Mi Cruz sólo quedó vivo porque ese día lo mandaron a un rancho por la capital donde tenían escondidas más municiones. Digo, de todos modos a él después…” He was Merceditas' dad. Poor thing. He died very young, like his wife. My husband, him and I knew each other since we were kids, and then they killed him just like they did everybody else. My Cruz was left alive only because that day they sent him to a ranch near the capital where they'd hidden more ammo. Well, anyway later he also...

She seemed to remember something unpleasant, because her eyes suddenly started to fill with water, tears falling down her cheeks no matter how much she tried to wipe them off. She then muttered something about being thankful for being able to enjoy him for a little longer before smiling weakly.

“Oye, ¿puedes ir a buscar a Mercedes, por favor?,” She asked him, “Dile que necesito que me ayude a colgar el papel picado,” Can you go get Mercedes, please? Tell her I need her to help me hang the papel picado.

Wanting to get out of a moment he felt was too personal to take place between him and a stranger, he once again nodded and promptly left, making his way to the back of the church where he’d seen Mercedes disappear when she’d left earlier. He thought he’d hear her voice from a distance, along with another one he didn’t recognize.

“…años! ¿Por cuánto tiempo podemos seguir así?” ...years! For how long can we keep going like this?

“No lo sé. Esa es mi respuesta. No lo sé.” I don't know. That's my answer. I don't know.

“¿Y mientras lo averiguas así va a ser cada que venga? ¿Cómo si no hubiéramos crecido como hermanas, como si no hubieras estado para mí después de lo de mi papá?” And while you figure it out will it be like this every time I visit? As if we didn't grow up like sisters? As if you weren't there for me after what happened with my dad?

“¿Cómo tú estuviste después de lo del mío?” The other voice hissed back. Mercedes didn’t reply for a moment. Just like you were after what happened to mine?

“Eso no es justo, Antonia. Tú sabes perfectamente…” That's not fair, Antonia. You know perfectly...

“¿Y sabes qué? Creo que ni siquiera hubiera querido que estuvieras, sabiendo lo que tuviste que ver con eso.” And you know what? I don't think I even would've wanted you to be there knowing what you had to do with it.

“Él fue como un papá para mí también, Antonia.” He was like a father to me too, Antonia.

“¿Ah sí? ¿Pues qué crees? El no era como un papá para mí, Mercedes. Él era mi papá.” Oh yeah? Well, what do you think? He wasn't like a father to me, Mercedes. He was my father.

“Tengo parte de la culpa, Antonia. Yo lo sé. Pero era una niña, no supe medir las consecuencias de mis catos. Y mi tió Cruz también tomó una decisión esa noche.” Sadie replied, trying to remain calm, even though Namor could recognize the fear that tainted her voice. I'm partially to blame, Antonia. I know. But I was a child, and I didn't measure the consequences of my actions. And my uncle Cruz also made a decision that night.

“¿Y por qué estaba ahí, Mercedes? ¿Quién lo hizo poner su vida en riesgo tantas veces?” Antonia argued back, “Pero supongo que para él eso era más emocionante que ir a cualquiera de los eventos que eran importantes para mí, aunque no implicaran balas volando sobre su cabeza,” And why was he even there, Mercedes? Who made him put his life at risk so many times? But I guess that, to him, that was more important than attending any of the events that were important to me, even if they didn't involve bullets flying above his head.

“Él te amaba, Antonia. Su hija eras tú, no yo.” He loved you, Antonia. You were his daughter, not me.

“Bueno, tal vez debiste pensar en eso antes de arrastrarlo a tus asuntos,” The other girl practically spat out before turning her back on Mercedes, who tried calling her name one last time just to be ignored. Well, maybe you should've thought about that before dragging him into your issues

Feeling guilty enough as it was for having eavesdropped on something like that, Namor slowly walked backwards to stealthily leave without being discovered. However, he heard a pair of footsteps rushing in his direction. He froze in place, knowing that if those steps belonged to Mercedes, he’d be discovered anyways. And he was right. She turned around the corner, tears dwelling in her eyes, without so much as angrily looking in his direction.

“Hope you enjoyed the show,” she hastily muttered as she walked past him, her voice trembling with emotion.  

After receiving that glare, he knew better than to follow her, even if it was to explain himself. Honestly, he was relieved to be able to just retreat into the house and not interact with one more single soul for the remainder of the day. Thoughts surged through his mind so fastly he thought his head would explode, so he locked himself in Mercedes’ childhood bedroom and sat on the bed with a sigh. It wasn’t until then that he realized how little he actually knew about Xmeech’s life before meeting him, and he realized that up until two months ago, neither of them knew of the other’s existence. Two months seemed to be such a short time for the number of things they’d seemed to experience together. Two months that could come to an end that night.

Namor’s insides cringed when he remembered their unfinished conversation. She seemed determined to stay, and no matter how much he refused to acknowledge it, he was running out of reasons to keep her in Talokan. He could no longer justify it as a means to protect her, and by then they knew just as much about the threat that had briefly loomed over both worlds. Hell, even if for some reason what was left of Wexler’s men reappeared, Wakanda would be a much adequate ally to turn to. Not her.

Even the last reason, his last resort, wasn’t as foolproof as he’d once thought. He hadn’t even had the chance to tell her. It could very well be the reason for another argument. But even then, there was a way for her to stay on the surface.

Why did he keep insisting on taking her back with such…intensity? Why was he unable to simply picture a scenario in which he returned to Talokan alone that night?

Why did it hurt so much to picture himself going back to his life before she arrived?

He would miss her. Constantly bickering because it would be easier to make a shark eat fruit than make her yield, answering a million questions every time they visited Talokan together. He hadn’t even had the chance to show her the inside of the city, and perhaps he never would. From the minute he saw her eyes light up when she saw Talokan from the submarine orchard/cabins he’d started thinking of ways of bringing her down there without that horrible, bulky suit that didn’t even let her turn her head.

It was amidst these thoughts that he realized it was getting dark. There were about two hours of sunlight left and she had given no signs of life. Namor sighed and, with a despondent grunt, peeled himself off the cozy covers of Mercedes’ bed and threw on the unbearably scratchy shirt he’d been given before leaving the house without having the slightest idea of where to look first.

Music filled the air, getting louder the closer he got to the main square, along with laughter and gleeful screams. When he finally arrived, he could barely recognize the space. Colorful garlands hung from the buildings, several food stands lined the square, filling it with unknown but pleasant smells, and the thousands of colors coming from stands with diverse fair games seemed to bounce off the white arch he’d helped place earlier. However beautiful it was, it all seemed a little overwhelming to him, especially knowing he’d have to locate Mercedes amongst hundreds of strangers.

Suddenly, a high-pitched scream pierced his ears. He’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Well, that was much easier than he thought.

He pushed his way through the crowd until he found himself being pushed against a flimsy wooden fence that enclosed a pen. The people around him cheered and loudly exchanged bets, yelling amounts of time ranging from one to three minutes. The poor Talokanil man felt his heart stop for a moment when he realized what they were betting on.

Before him, a young bull that even at six hundred pounds was still a bull jumped and recoiled in enraged convulsions. On top of him, with nothing but a rope to keep her in place, Mercedes looked as delighted as if she was riding the plastic horse in the merry-go-round. While she was holding on for dear life, she didn’t even have her eyes open and swayed dangerously from one side to the other, always looking as if she was on the verge of falling. Still, she actually managed to stay on for two more minutes, to the disappointment of half of the crowd and others’ elation. It wasn’t until she heard somebody calling her name that she opened her eyes, looking for that one voice in the crowd. When she finally spotted Namor, Sadie’s right hand let go of the rope to wave at him, but this small mistake was enough for the angry beast to feel the shift in the weight and stop dead in his tracks so suddenly that the girl was projected forwards, stayed in the air for two entire seconds and fortunately fell on top of a pile of hay against the corner of the pen. Almost instantaneously, Namor rushed to her aid, and seeing that she was being tended to, the crowd lost interest and turned to see the new rider.

Calling her name a few times urgently to no avail, Namor slid his arm behind her back to make her sit up. Before he could even begin to wonder how could she do something so stupid, the unmistakable smell of alcohol reached his nose. He cursed under his breath and, seeing she was still unresponsive, carefully slid his other arm behind her knees and picked her up, making sure her head was held up against his shoulder. He hoped her aunt would be home, but he knew it was unlikely since nearly everybody seemed to be back at the fair having the time of their lives. His suspicions were confirmed when he stepped inside to find the house as dark and empty as he’d left it.

Namor gently laid Mercedes down on the couch and, missing the medically advanced Talokan more than ever, fetched a damp cloth from the kitchen, which he used to clean the bleeding cuts on her forehead, lip, and nose.

When he placed it on her swollen lip, she made a weak hissing noise and muttered something along the lines of “ow, fuck,” as her eyes fluttered open, still with a lethargic look on them. He noticed she was watching him at all times, but remained silent. The moment he removed the cloth from her mouth to focus on her forehead, Mercedes instinctively pressed her lips together, forgetting her injury and groaning in pain, attempting to lift her hand up to her lips just for a very exasperated Namor to gently yet firmly push it back down without saying a single word. Even in her drunken stupor that simple action made something stir inside of her.

“Thank you,” She muttered, her voice raspy from all the screaming earlier. He just nodded, still silent.

“Where do you keep your medicine?” he dryly asked, standing up. She gestured towards a cabinet, from which he grabbed a small bottle of alcohol and poured some on the cloth, pressing it against her wound without as much as a warning.

“You are tough enough to do something like that, so don’t start complaining now,” He said when she let out a loud yelp. She looked at him angrily, her pride hurting more than the injury.

“Why are you so fucking pissed?” Mercedes roared when he repeated the action against her nose, receiving nothing but the same tense silence from him. With a sigh, she continued speaking.

“Listen, if you’re worried that we won’t get to Talokan on time, let me tell you…”

“Shut up,” He snapped at her, his face unreadable as he continued his task. Feeling there was nothing she could say to improve her situation, she remained silent, sure that he wouldn’t add anything else.

“I knew you were stupid,” He growled, “just not this kind of stupid,”

“I’m fine,” She argued, sitting up a little to try and prove her point, trying to look unfazed despite the sharp pain that cursed through her limbs, “It wasn’t that bad,”

“And then what? You keep going until it is that bad? Is that what you want to stay here for?”

“Are you seriously doing all of this because of a stupid bull..?”

“It is not about the bull, Mercedes,” He interrupted her, nearly throwing the cloth against the coffee table, “It’s everything.”

She looked at him, knowing damn well she was too tipsy to be having this conversation, but being aware and terrified of the point she knew he was getting to.

“All this time, I thought you were just reckless. That you overestimated your own abilities and launched yourself into situations you know you can’t win because you think so highly of yourself that you can’t see it.”

Namor shook his head and let out one of those ironic, breathy laughs she despised. Then, he once again turned to face her and shook his head again.

“The worst part is that you can see it, you just don’t care,”

Mercedes immediately opened her mouth to argue back, or at least tell him to shut up, but he was faster.

“You attempted an extremely risky escape, stayed aboard a ship full of armed men that you knew was going down anyways, accepted to undergo an extremely harsh training regime while recovering from an injury that had you unconscious for one week…”

“It’s what I do,” Mercedes interrupted him, “My line of work is dangerous, I have to suck it up, that’s the way things are,”

“I am very well aware of what your job is,” Namor continued, “You go all over the world just to see more, and more suffering because you think that the people who can do something about it will, by some miracle, have a change of heart and stop. How is that working for you? Has it actually done something in all these years? Are you happier now than before you started doing it, or is it slowly sucking the life out of you?”

“It’s necessary,” She croaked out, “I have to do it,”

“Is it?” He asked, kneeling beside the sofa and looking at her, “Look me in the eyes and tell me that you wouldn’t be relieved if somebody told you right now that you don’t have to do it anymore, that somebody else will take over and it won’t make a difference,”

She tried to swallow, but the tight knot in her throat made it impossible for her to do so. Sadie threw an incensed glare at him to try and downplay the fact that large tears were beginning to form in her eyes.

“It’s even spread beyond your work,” He whispered, not moving one inch away from her, “Why do you keep trying to gain the love and forgiveness of someone who will just talk to you like that before rejecting you once ag…?”

“No,” She said cutting him off, pushing her body forwards and pointing her finger at him threateningly, “Now you shut up, and don’t you dare speak about something you don’t understand,”

“Then please help me understand, Xmeech,” He urged her, his eyes softening for a millisecond.

“Why should I tell you about it?” She stubbornly protested, doing something Namor couldn’t remember seeing her do once. She lowered her glance.

“Because we are close,” He conceded after much hesitation, “I care about you. I do. It…pains me to see you hurting this much, and I can’t even tolerate the thought of you thinking you deserve it. I don’t care if you don’t think you deserve happiness because even if you didn’t, I would want you to have it.”

God, she hated it. She hated the way he could bluntly say things exactly as they were to her face, make her feel so terribly conscious of her feelings, she hated how clearly he could put her thoughts into words and then say something that made the truth sound so…bearable. And it was about to get even worse.

“There’s so much I don’t know about you yet, Xmeech. But it’s what I do know what makes me want to learn everything there was, so I can understand everything that is, and hopefully be a part of what will be.”

Everything that will be. That sudden confrontation with the unavoidable arrival of the future took her by surprise. Up until that morning, she was ready for her experiences in Talokan to remain a valuable treasure of her past and this small town to be her future, but she’d never wondered what they could look like if she looked at it the other way around. Was this overwhelming, frightening, and illogically soothing warmth in her chest a sign that what she saw around her could be a beautiful memory, instead?

She hoped it could be half as beautiful as the eyes that kept staring at her just inches away from her face. Mercedes wanted to get closer so badly that it made her want to run away until she was miles away from him and everything he embodied right then. But for now, she couldn’t run a few meters even if she wanted to. Instead, she just leaned back on the couch, putting some distance between them and letting out a sigh that seemed to contain her entire soul.

“Do you remember Cruz?”

The Translations/Notes

Papalote: Kite.

"Pueblo chico, infierno grande," : Mexican proverb. Its literal translation is "small town, large hell," meaning that living in a small town can have more downsides than one might think.

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@evita-shelby and btw congratulations on reaching 666 followers!!! 🎉🎉🎉